NB: All of the excerpts about folk dancing below are © the estate of Elsie J. Oxenham

The Abbey Girls Again (1924)

Here Jen moves with her family to London, providing an opportunity to see more of the London folk dance world (as well as Oxenham reappearing herself as a character). Mary Devine, another major character, appears for the first time in this book, and in the final extract here we see 'the Pixie' giving psychological advice about her. Most importantly of all, Daisy Caroline Daking's real-life party for school children is featured in detail in Chapter 9.

From Chapter 2: 'The Mary and Dorothy'

“I brought you this,” and Jen handed her an envelope. “I know what my writing’s like, and it’s worse still when he’s dictating to me; and I’m not much prouder of his than of my own. So I’ve printed all the place names that would be strange to you, and some of the dialect; you’ll soon get used to it. Then there are some notes from him as to how he wants it arranged.”

Mary glanced through the instructions. “That will be a great help. I wish everybody would take as much trouble. I shall have no difficulty at all now. You are very thoughtful.”

“Oh, but we want it to look right!” Jen laughed. “It’s part of Daddy’s baby - the child of his old age! Some day he’ll put these papers together and make a book on Yorkshire out of them, and then he’ll simply burst with pride. He’s rather ill, and it gives him something to think about. Mother and I would do anything to help him with his baby! - I could have posted that note,” she changed the subject abruptly and plunged eagerly into another. “But I wanted to see you. I wanted to ask you to do a little tiny wee job for me. Will you?”

Mary’s face lit up. “I’d love to! Have you been writing articles, too? And is it a secret?”

“Not yet,” Jen twinkled. “Perhaps some day! I shouldn’t wonder. But I haven’t done it yet. No, this is nothing so thrilling as that. It’s too little a job to take to an office, but I thought somebody who had a typewriter might be willing to do it in an odd moment.”

“I’ve a typewriter here,” Mary said eagerly. “It was my father’s. It’s an old one , but does quite good work. I would be glad to do it for you.”

“I was sure you would, the moment I saw you this afternoon, but I hadn’t got the thing with me. I want about two dozen programmes for a show I’m giving with a few friends. I’m rather thrilled about it! Shall I tell you?”

Her laughing, eager eyes were irresistible. Mary sat down on her stool by the fire again to listen. It was long since any outside interest had gripped her as did this girl’s vivid personality. “Please do! I’d love to hear. What kind of show?”

“Oh, folk dancing! There isn’t anything else I care about; nothing else worth while! It’s this way! We’ve taken a flat close by, right in town here, for six months, so that Daddy can have treatment from a specialist. I used to teach my boys and girls in our village, but that has had to stop for the time. Of course, we went to church here and made friends; I had friends in town, school friends, but Mother hadn’t, and she likes to make them through our church. The people there have a girls’ club, and the leader, who taught them gym and drill and singing, has had to go away for some months with an aunt who is ill and has to live in the country. So the club is stranded; and the committee people have found out that I’m a little bit mad on the subject of folk dancing; that’s how it looks to Mother! I say I’m just awfully keen on it, both for myself and to pass it on to others. Anyway, they asked me to carry on till the other person comes back, and gave me leave to teach all the dancing I like, so long as it’s folk. They don’t want ordinary dancing; lots of church clubs don’t. Some won’t even let their girls have country dancing; but this is an enlightened kind of church, and they say their girls may dance, so long as it’s folk dances. As the other kind bores me stiff, that’s all right, and I can help them.”

“But what is the difference?” Mary managed to get in a word with difficulty. “What is folk dancing? I’m afraid I’m very ignorant!”

“Oh, not more than lots of people!” Jen laughed. “You really only know the difference when you’ve seen country dancing. Folk dancing is country, morris, or sword; old dances that have come down to us for hundreds of years, with the most beautiful old music that haunts one for days. It’s “folk” because it grew among the common people and was kept alive by them; it was never made, any more than a folk song is made. It’s for everybody, not just for a few trained and beautiful dancers; any one can do a country dance. These girls - shop girls and clerks, I believe - will love it as much as we used to do at school. My village kiddies loved it; and so do the most musical and artistic people you can find; for I know some of them! But the girls won’t know what it’s like, so I’ve asked a few friends to come along the first evening and give them a little show, just by way of a start and to introduce the new subject.”

“To introduce the new teacher, I should say,” Mary glanced at her eager face. “Lucky girls! How they’ll enjoy it!”

“I hope they’ll love the dances! But really I’m feeling frightfully nervous about the job. I’m only eighteen! There may be lots of them older than I am. I’ve only taught children or village girls. Some of those were nearly my age, but they weren’t like London girls. These have had a real gym teacher; I’m terrified of them. Unless they’re keen, they may not get on with me at all. That’s the reason for my show; I want to make them frightfully keen as a start.”

“I don’t think you need be nervous,” Mary said quietly. “They’ll fall in love with you and do anything for you.”

“I don’t know!” Jen said doubtfully. “I shall try to make them love the dances. Well, I thought I ought to have a few programmes for the friends who are helping me, and for one or two outsiders who may come to look on. I believe a few of the church people are curious and want to see what folk dancing is; and one or two know what it is and want to see what we’ll do, and how we’ll do it!”

“I’ll do them for you gladly. Who is going to give the show? Shall you dance yourself?” - there was an unconscious hungry note in Mary’s voice.

“Oh, rather! There will be eight or a dozen of us. I know lots of folk dance people now, and I’ve begged a few to come. They’re awfully decent, and they promised right away. It’s going to be rather a joke,” and Jen’s eyes danced with delight. “You’ll hardly see the point, but we’re going to pretend we’re the real thing, the people who go to demonstrate the dances all over the country. We know one of them, and she’s a tremendous sport, besides an absolutely heavenly dancer! She said at once she’d come herself, and give me a good start, and she’d wear her blue frock, and she’s borrowed others for us from her friends, so that we’ll be all alike. So we’re going to dress up as Staff people, real demonstrators, the other girls and I; and we’ll feel bigger than we’ve ever felt in our lives before. It’s been the dream of my life to wear a blue frock! - I mean, a real demonstration frock; I shall grow at least six feet more than I am now when I put it on. It will be the hugest joke - to all of us, anyway. And we’ll probably all lose our heads with excitement, and disgrace Madam and the frocks. I’ve told Jack if she dares to mess up things, I’ll get a divorce! Jack’s my chum; we used to be married when we were at boarding school together, and she’s still my husband. But I mustn’t go babbling on like this. You should cough, or yawn, or tread on my toe, or pretend to go to sleep. My friends have to stop me sometimes, if they want an innings themselves. I’ll have bored you to tears!”

“I’m not weeping,” Mary assured her swiftly. “I’ve felt no desire to yawn. I’m very much interested. I hope you’ll have a very jolly evening. May I see your programme?”

“Yes, you’d better look through it; it’s in my fearful scrawl again. I ought to have printed it. Some of the names are unusual,” and Jen handed her a sheet of paper.

Mary read the names aloud. ““The Helston Furry;” is that Helston in Cornwall? But how interesting! “The Mary and Dorothy;” is that really a dance?” She looked up, a touch of colour in her face, and laughed. “I hope it’s pretty! Those are my names. I never knew I was called after a dance!”

“Oh, it’s a dear! It was my first dance. You ought to learn it. We put that in for me. Then “Gathering Peascods”; those are all country dances; and “Newcastle,” to finish that group, because we all love it so. Then Madam’s going to dance a morris jig for us, to let us get our breath - “The Old Woman tossed up in a Blanket;” and if there’s an encore - and there will be! We’ll see to that! Her dancing’s a dream - it will be “Lumps of Plum Pudding.” Later on she’ll do us “Princess Royal” and “Ladies’ Pleasure.” She’s awfully sporting, and always kind and willing to help.”

“The names are delightful,” and Mary read others here and there. “Laudnum Bunches” - “Bobbing Joe” - “Shepherds’ Hey” - “Rigs o’ Marlow” -”

“Those are all morris dances. She taught them to us, so they ought not to be too bad. We’ll do our best!”

““Lady in the Dark” - “Maid in the Moon” - “Old Noll’s Jig” - “Childgrove” - “Parson’s Farewell” - “Oranges and Lemons” - “Scotch Cap” - “Sweet Kate” - “Sellenger’s Round.” How quaint some of the names are! What do they mean?”

“Nobody knows. They were most likely songs, and had dances put to the tunes. All those country dances were known and danced in the seventeenth century, and may have been old then. Wouldn’t you like to come and see my show?”

“Oh!” Mary looked up at her, her face flushing in excitement. “Did you see how much I wanted to be asked? I tried not to show it. I’d like it above all things! But it’s too kind! I’ve never seen anything of the sort.”

“You must come, then, and bring your sister. I’ll send you tickets. I hope it will be good, but you must remember we’re only learning ourselves. We aren’t very good. The girls won’t know that, but I hope other people won’t be too critical.”

“Biddy and I won’t know either. I’m sure it will be delightful. But won’t you be nervous?”

“Of the audience, do you mean? Gracious, no! They simply won’t exist, once the music starts. We shall just enjoy ourselves,” Jen laughed. “We’ll pretend it’s a party, but with more room than usual. A country dance party is generally a fearful crush. Oh, I shall never think of the audience once I hear the tune! Nothing but the dance matters then. That’s why it’s such a splendid rest for business people; everything goes away, and you think only of the movements, and the pattern you’re making, and of keeping right with the music. No, it’s the teaching afterwards I’m nervous of! Now I simply must go. I’ve a great friend coming for a day or two, and she’ll be there waiting for me by this time. - I say, Miss Devine! You will let me pay you for doing the programmes? You’ll tell me honestly how much they ought to be? I haven’t the foggiest notion.”

“It really isn’t worth while. I’ll be delighted to do them. It’s so very little,” Mary said quickly.

“Oh, but please -!” Jen pleaded. “I’d hate to take your work for nothing. It isn’t fair to take a working person’s spare time; I’d feel a perfect beast, and be sorry I had asked you. I only dared to ask you because I felt so sure you would understand and be nice about it. I’d feel far happier, really.”

Mary hesitated. Then she said quietly, “I don’t want anything for doing them. If you’ll let me and Biddy see your show, you’ll be giving us a big treat. But I would far rather take a little for doing the work than have you feel uncomfortable in any way. I wouldn’t like to think you were sorry you had asked me.”

“That’s nice of you,” Jen said warmly. “I’d feel very bad if you didn’t let me treat you fairly. See how long the work takes, and tell me honestly how much I ought to give you. You must know what your time’s worth by the hour! I’ll be far happier that way, and I think you’re a sport to understand.”

“Thank you so much for the flowers!” said Mary, with a little smile, as she opened the door. “And you will let us see your show? I haven’t been to anything of the kind for ages. You’ve no idea what a treat it will be.”

“I’ll let you have all the particulars. Biddy must come, too. Goodnight! Mother will be thinking you have kidnapped me, after all.”

As she closed the door, Mary glanced at the clock, then went to uncover her typewriter. “I’ve a clear hour before Biddy’s likely to come in. I’ll get the programmes done at once. And I’d better count the minutes, and work out the bill to a fraction of a farthing! It will amuse her, anyway. - These pretty old names! I’ll enjoy copying them. “Heartsease!” Fancy that being a dance! - oh, it’s for four people! She’s put the number of dancers against each! How interesting! “Heartsease” is a “square for four.” So is “Rufty Tufty;” and “Parson’s Farewell” is another. “The Boatman” is “longways for six”; what does that mean? “Scotch Cap” is the same. Then here are “squares for eight”; will that be like a quadrille? And “rounds” for six or eight; what are they? “Longways for as many as will;” that’s quaint, too,” and she calculated distances, arranged the setting of her page, and set to work with real enjoyment.

Chapter 6 - The Return of the President

“Now, Miss Devine, you’ll have to tuck into a corner and watch!” Jen explained. “For we shall be far too busy to talk. Once the music starts, we’ll forget all about you. You mustn’t mind that. But there’ll be plenty to see. For one thing, you’ll very likely see Joy and me pulled up for mistakes. It’s ages since I went regularly to classes; since last August, in fact! I had an illness, and wasn’t allowed to dance for some months. And I’ve only had occasional chances since.”

“You don’t look as if you’d ever been ill in your life.” Mary glanced at the happy, healthy face admiringly.

“Oh, I’m as well as I ever was! But that’s why I cut my hair,” Jen said lightly. “I wouldn’t let it grow again, because it was so jolly for dancing.”

“I smashed her up in a side car accident,” Joy said abruptly. “Don’t you wonder she’s willing to drive with me again?”

Mary glanced at her face, and found it changed, set and strained, as if at painful memories. She had been admiring the strong grip of the wheel and the skilful guidance through the traffic. “I’m sure it wasn’t your fault,” she ventured.

“Oh, yes, it was!” -

“Joy, you are an idiot!” Jen said irritably. “I do wish you’d forget! You know I hate to hear you speak of it. - Miss Devine, don’t take any notice of her. Listen to me instead! We don’t know who will be teaching tonight. If you hear one of us shriek “Madam!” very joyfully, you’ll know it’s the one I told you of, who’s going to dance at my show. Here we are! Now will you come up while we change, or slip into the hall at once?”

“I’ll come with you, if I may. Will they mind me looking on?”

“Not a scrap. My husband - I call her Jacky boy - won’t be here, because it’s morris and she’s still only an elementary at morris! This is an advanced class; though I don’t claim to be an advanced student! But I’ve got my elementary certificate, so I want to go on to new work.”

She peeped through the swing doors while Joy was attending to the car, and met her with radiant face. “It is Madam! Aren’t we in luck? Come on and get ready!” and they raced up the stone stairs.

By this time Mary Devine knew Joy Shirley’s face almost as well as she knew Jen’s. To her bewilderment, the first person they saw in the dressing room was another Joy - another slim straight girl in a blue tunic and green girdle, with the same bronze red hair and light brown eyes, as like Joy as if she had been her twin. Such, indeed, it seemed she must be; and Mary gazed from one to the other in unbelieving amazement, and then looked at Joy to see what she would have to say to her double.

Joy seemed in no way surprised to meet herself in the flesh. “Hello, old thing! You’ve got here first. Have you spoken to Madam?”

“No, is she here? She wasn’t when I arrived. Topping! I’d better go and ask if she’ll have me.”

“Oh, wait for us! We won’t be a sec.!” Jen pleaded. “Where’s your old man, Joan? Isn’t he coming?”

“He’s downstairs. Jenny Wren, you wouldn’t expect to find him in here?” Joan teased. “It’s a ladies’ dressing room!”

“Oh, well, I suppose not. I say, Joy, you might explain Joan to Miss Devine. She thinks she’s had too much tea and is seeing double. They are frightfully alike, aren’t they, Miss Devine?”

“My cousin, Mrs. Raymond,” Joy explained. “Everybody thinks we’re twins, but we’re not.”

“You can tell them apart by Joan’s ring, now she’s gone and got married.” Jen was sitting on the floor, changing to low black slippers with no heels. “When they first went to school, Joy wore a silver medal, because she was the May Queen; as Joan had no medal, the girls didn’t get them mixed. But the next year, if the school didn’t go and choose Joan for the Queen! So she had a medal, too, and then there was no difference at all. Joan’s just had a honeymoon; that’s why she’s so brown. She’s only just got home from abroad. I’m ready! Shall we go down?”

As they entered the big hall, Mary Devine shrank back shyly, and found a seat in a corner; but watched everything with keenly interested eyes. These girls, happy, wealthy, full of joy in life, and music, and laughter, and friendship, were a new type to her; in her narrow life she had never come in touch with anything quite so young and radiant. It was for something like this she had been starving; something, some one to lift her out of her rut and fill her with new interests. They fascinated her; she watched each one of them without a trace of envy, unconsciously absorbing the atmosphere of happy life which radiated from them all, - Jen, the youngest, full of eager enthusiasms, but with a deeply understanding nature full of kindness; Joan, obviously newly married and very happy - the look she gave her tall husband as he met her at the foot of the stairs was evidence of that; - Joy? She was not so sure of Joy yet. Joy was less easy to read; it would take a little while to get to know her.

Captain Raymond, wearing flannels, had joined the three girls in their blue tunics and green girdles, and all entered the hall together; and Mary, keeping in the background, found herself forgotten, as Jen had foretold. She much preferred it to be so, and found her corner and looked on undisturbed, with much satisfaction.

Joy and Jen, reinforced by a black haired, blue eyed girl whom they hailed as “Avice,” caught hands and surrounded Joan and her husband, and swept them towards the platform. “Will you have us in your class? The whole lot of us? Do you think you can stand us?” cried Jen.

“One of us is an old married lady, pretending she’s a schoolgirl again,” Joy added.

The teacher of the class had been talking to the pianist; she, too, was in a blue tunic. She turned to the group, and greeted them in pretended dismay.

“What, all of you? Must I? Oh, that’s a bit too much! - Why - hello? Joan? Where have you come from?”

“Italy, and only three days ago, so we couldn’t give in our names. But we hoped you’d have us,” Joan went forward eagerly.

“Well, if you’ll all be very good, I’ll take you on trial. I suppose I’ve got to call you Mrs. Raymond? I shall never remember, you know!”

“Call me any old thing you like; whatever comes first! It took us a long time to call you anything different,” Joan retorted, laughing.

“You look jolly well on it, anyway. Have you had a good time? Glad to see you again, Captain Raymond! I shall expect very good behaviour and very beautiful dancing from you all, you know.”

“O-o-oh!” Jen pretended to tremble at the knees. “I’m not up to this grade, please, Ma’am! Don’t turn me down! I wanted to come with the rest of the crowd, but I don’t know all the dances! I’m simply terrified!”

“You’ll have to try very hard, or I shall turn you out,” but Madam’s voice and eyes were less terrifying than her words. “You’re expected to know everything in this grade! Perhaps if you’re very good Miss Everett will take care of you.”

“Be nice and kind to me, Avvie!” Jen took the black haired girl by the arm. “You know tons more than I do! I am so glad you’ve come home from school!”

“Make up sets and let me see “Step Back”,” Madam commanded. “If you five are going to dance together, you’d better find some lonely person to make up your number.”

A “set,” Mary saw, was six; the crowd of students began slowly to separate into groups. People hesitated, ran from one set to another, changing their minds continually and leaving other sets broken up. The five friends, with Joan and her husband as middle couple, watched the confusion with placid superiority; Madam looked on with the calm of despair, but of one long accustomed to this.

“You’re wasting a lot of time,” she remarked presently. “I’m not going to make up your sets for you. Can’t you count six? I never saw such slow people in my life.”

The wavering ones came to hasty decisions and skipped into the nearest uncompleted sets. Jen, realising suddenly that she and Avice Everett were first couple, made a dash to get behind Joan and Captain Raymond; and Joy, turned out of her place, awoke to the fact that she would have to be Number One or Two and was without a partner.

“You bounder!” she said indignantly to Jen. “Don’t imagine she won’t see you there! You tower quite two feet above Joan!”

“Oh, what a lie!” Jen murmured. “Hook somebody quickly! Madam’s got her eye on us. Oh, here’s that Writing Person; she’ll do! She knows her dances, anyway.”

“Does them horribly, though,” Avice grumbled. “She’s no good!” - as Jen made eager signs to someone who had just come in.

“Oh, but it’s useful to have somebody who gets there somehow, no matter how she does it! You’ll probably see me wandering about outside the set and have to haul me in again. I always get lost in Field Town heys.”

Avice laughed. “Remember the side step, and the “show”.”

“Goodness! I’d forgotten all about feet!”

Avice collapsed at this, then pulled herself together under Madam’s astonished eye.

“Is everybody ready at last? Then start - “Once to Yourself”.”

“And for goodness’ sake, remember it’s morris, Jen Robins! You’ve got to think about feet! Mind your Foot Up!”

Jen gave her an agonised glance of entreaty. But the introductory strain of music was over, and Avice, with four business like backward stamps, was into the dance.

Madam was watching keenly, an anticipatory twitch about her lips, as if she knew just what would happen in another moment. The class did not disappoint her; Avice was one of the very few who started with the correct foot.

“Stop! That’s all wrong - hopeless! Now think! What have you to remember in the Foot Up of “Step Back”?”

The class gazed back at her blankly. They had had four weeks’ holiday, and had completely forgotten subtle exceptions to general rules.

“Oh!” said Joan Raymond, in a tone of amazed discovery. “Inside foot each time!”

“Well, I should have thought so. And what about the end of the first half?”

“Quarter galley inwards and downwards,” Joy said limply, utterly crushed; she had done what she thought a very beautiful whole galley outwards.

“That’s better! Now start again. And suppose you think this time.”

The second attempt was more successful. Avice kindly kept Jen right throughout the dance, and, at Joan’s fervent: “Thanks awfully! Just saved us, Avvie!” made her directions loud enough to be heard by the whole set. The Writer of Books, who knew “Step Back,” and also knew Madam, waited hopefully for her comments at the end; very little escaped Madam’s eagle eye, she knew.

“Half Rounds!” said Avice. “Inside foot, idiot!” to Jen.

“Oh! But why?” gasped Jen, quite breathless, after so much “side step in position” and so many heys. “Oh, what a brute of a thing! How did you get there?” and she scuffled back into her place, hopelessly lost.

“Outward turn to go back; left!” jerked Avice, “and four capers to end.”

“End? Gracious! Does it stop there? But nothing else does! It’s - it’s not done!” gasped Jen, who had expected still more figures and heys.

Avice laughed; she and the Writing Person were the only two in that set who had remembered to finish their dance; the other four had all been taken by surprise. “My dear child, this thing’s all exceptions. Haven’t you grasped that yet?”

“Fancy beginning with it!” Joy groaned.

“Suppose you do your Rounds again. And this set might think for themselves this time, and not let Miss Everett do all the work for them.”

The Writing Person laughed. “Trust her to see! She never misses a thing.”

“I’m not going to tell you once this time, children,” Avice announced. “You can jolly well get in all the muddles you like.”

“I don’t know why it is, but Half Rounds is always too much for you all,” Madam remarked scathingly at the end. “Get sticks and do “Bobby and Joan”; and be careful this time.”

“It’s all the same; well, just a bit different, but it’s Field Town,” Avice condescended to warn Jen. “Galley in the Foot Up - whole galley this time! Hop backs everywhere else; inside foot for Rounds, and ends on sticks and half hey.”

“Thanks a billion times, old thing! That’s what I call being a real pal!” Jen murmured gratefully. “I’ve only grasped a quarter of all that, but I’ll keep one eye on you!”

“You tap me, remember. Evens tap sticks first. Yes, I know it’s backwards, but it’s right.”

“I expect the old chap who taught it to the Director was drunk!” Jen said indignantly.

“I’ve always said the Sherborne one must have been,” and then Avice stood ready, stick in hand, waiting for the “Once to Yourself.”

“Well, it’s not very brilliant, I must say. I think you’d better stay where you are and do “Rigs o’ Marlow”,” Madam said unkindly at the end. “Take a rest, and think it over.”

“The lady on the platform doesn’t love us!” Joy murmured, squatting on the floor where she had been standing. “But the rest are all just as bad. Avvie, you’re quite a shining light!”

“Holidays don’t agree with you,” Madam had heard, and responded unexpectedly. “And marriage certainly doesn’t agree with Joan!”

“I haven’t exactly been thinking about morris traditions for the last three months,” Joan told her laughing. “There are such lots of other things!”

“I know. Isn’t it awful?” Madam, newly married herself, agreed with laughing eyes. “Now get up and do “Rigs.” I’m not going to tell you anything about it.”

“Avvie! Come here, Avvie! What tradition is it?” Jen implored, in frantic tones.

“Jenny Wren, Madam will turn you out in a minute!” Joy said severely. “It will be awfully chilly out on the stairs!”

“But I have forgotten it! I’m not ragging!” Jen said indignantly.

“My dear little child, think back to your own old back kitchen in Yorkshire, and the mummers, and me! And burglars! It will all come back if you’ll only keep cool and ponder it calmly,” Avice said maternally. “You get so fitty!”

“Oh - that! Right-o! This thing!” Jen’s arm and stick flashed wildly up and down.

Avice nodded, her eyes dancing, for the class was waiting and Madam’s amused eyes were on them.

“You’ve got it, Miss Robins. Now suppose you take your place and we’ll start. We’re all waiting for you.”

Jan sprang to her place, scarlet with amused embarrassment; then did a lightning change with Avice to get the easier position.

“Coward! Funk!” said Avice scornfully, and Madam laughed and nodded to the pianist.

From her corner, Mary Devine was watching in keen interest and delight. This evening was in every way a new experience to her. Some of the morris movements were rather terrifying in their apparent difficulty, notably the galleys; but she remembered Jen had said this was an advanced class. To her unaccustomed eyes the dances looked very complicated; when the whole room broke into winding “heys” she thought they were lost and was amazed when they found their places again. Occasionally some one did not find her place, or made a wrong pass time after time; and once Madam, after repeatedly giving the same direction without getting the result she wanted, ejaculated, “Bad woman!” and springing from the platform went to push the puzzled girl into her place, with an energetic, “There! Now do you see?”

But the thing Mary felt and enjoyed most keenly was the atmosphere of whole hearted jollity and friendliness, which Madam created and nearly every girl in the class seemed to share. The jokes were endless; though the work was strenuous and every one was in earnest - more or less - yet there was laughter and enjoyment all the time. The music was fascinating; Mary knew bits of it would haunt her at night. She had completely forgotten Biddy and the troubles of the evening.

There were stories lying behind all these girls, too. The accident to Jen, at which Joy had hinted, holding herself responsible; - the appearance of the bride and bridegroom, he evidently a soldier, both plainly old friends of Joy and Jen, and of Madam also; - the black haired, blue eyed girl’s references to something in the past, something with burglars in it! Mary found herself wishing she knew about all these things.

And then something else happened. The first stick tapping of “Rigs” was in progress, and Jen’s curls were flying wildly up and down as she hopped and held her stick up for Avice to strike, when she missed her step and her turn to tap, - Joan gasped out an astounded exclamation, - Joy, staring wildly across the room, hit the Writing Person a sharp blow on the little finger; and the whole set went to pieces. Avice smothered a laugh, and struck on valiantly at Jen’s wobbling stick; the Writer and Captain Raymond gazed in astonished dismay at their disorganised opposites, whose sticks were anywhere but at “chin level.”

Madam was preparing some stormy comments for the end of the dance, and frowning as the three even numbers of the side lost their places completely in their hey, when from the doorway came another girl who had just arrived, and stepped up on the platform to speak to her; another girl in blue tunic and green girdle which matched Jen’s and Joy’s and Joan’s; a big sturdy masterful girl with dark brown curly hair and sunburnt face, looking, as most of them did, several years younger than her age.

“Please Ma’am, will you have me? May I join your class? I see you’ve got the rest of our crowd.”

“Why, President!” Madam turned to her swiftly. “I didn’t know you were home again! They never told me.”

“I’m not; I mean, I wasn’t,” Cicely said placidly. “I’ve only just arrived. But we shall be in London or at Broadway End for some time, and I’m dying for some dancing. I got the list of classes from Avvie, and thought I’d come along. Dick will be here presently; he had to see a man on the way. I’m so glad it’s your class! Avvie couldn’t tell me who’d be teaching.”

“You’ve come straight from Ceylon?” Madam was leaving her class to go its own way.

“For May Day, of course. I promised to be home. Isn’t it ripping to have Joan back, too? How well she looks! It does feel homelike to see all that crowd again!”

“It feels like Cheltenham -”

Then the dance came to an end. As the music stopped and everybody faced up, Madam said grimly: “Yes! Well, I didn’t think much of that, you know. You’d better do it again, - and I’d better watch them this time,” she added, for Cicely’s benefit. “But I saw a good lot of it, and it wasn’t good.”

Cicely Everett laughed, and stood beside her, gazing calmly back at the infuriated faces of her friends. Dying to speak to her, they were yet helpless even to discuss her sudden appearance, for the music had started again and Madam’s eyes were on them very critically.

“Stop a moment!” she said to the pianist. “Change sides, everybody. That’s better. Now, think what you’re doing this time. “Once to Yourself”,” and she turned to Cicely to make some remark.

“Think!” hissed Joy. “And we’ve not seen the President since January! Is it likely?”

“Madam’s not playing the game!” Jen raged. “She’s keeping Cicely all to herself, and she belongs to us! Avvie, did you know she was home? Oh, you rotter! And you lay low and said nothing? Is she stopping with you? Where’s Dick?”

“Didn’t you know she was home, really?” The Writing Person looked at Joy. “And you haven’t seen her since she was married? Oh, that’s hard lines! She ought to come in here! Could I clear out and make room for her?”

“Not now. We’ll have to see this through. We’ll mob her at the end. Madam will have to let us rest.”

“You can wait three minutes, surely!” Avice teased.

But that was about the limit of their endurance. As the dance ended, the crowd descended on Cicely, and Madam watched the excited greetings in amused astonishment.

“Didn’t you know she was coming tonight?” she asked, when she could get anyone to listen to her.

“Didn’t know she was in England! She never gave us any date. And you made us do “Rigs” twice through, and kept her all to yourself!” Joy cried accusing.

“We nearly hurled our sticks at you! Didn’t you see we were all on the point of exploding?” Jen demanded, in righteous wrath.

“You must have seen what happened to our dancing, anyway!” Joan laughed.

“I saw you go to pieces. But I thought perhaps that was how you always did “Rigs.” I just put it down to your bad dancing,” Madam explained ruthlessly. “I say, I’m awfully sorry! I had no idea you were all in such agony! You hadn’t seen her for three months, and I kept her away from you for quite three minutes! How frightful of me! But she never explained that you didn’t know.”

“I was enjoying their suffering,” the President laughed. “Jen’s face was priceless, and Joy’s was one better still.”

“When you’ve quite got over it, we’ll have “Laudnum Bunches”,” Madam suggested. “You’d better go in as Number One, Miss Hobart; - oh, I am sorry! Mrs. Everett, I mean!”

“Call me any old thing you like,” Cicely said easily. “But they were made up. I can’t turn somebody else out.”

“Oh, she said you must come in! She knows it’s your place,” Joy said eagerly. “She said she’d clear out.”

“But it’s not fair. Isn’t there room for me somewhere else?”

The Writing Person, watching the excitement with interest and enjoyment, had gone to sit near Mary. Cicely went towards her. “I don’t want to take your place -”

“Oh, but I’m not dancing this! Twice of “Rigs” just about kills me. I couldn’t possibly do any more Headington till I’ve had a rest. Besides, if you don’t dance with them, they’ll all be doing it backwards in the effort to keep their eyes on you. Please go in in your own place! I was only making up their set.”

“I say, don’t you mind, really? Thanks awfully!”

“My “Laudnum Bunches” needs all the practice it can get,” the Writing Person assured her. “But not on top of two turns of “Rigs” straight off. I love Headington, but it just about kills me.”

“It’s awfully decent of you to say so! I don’t believe it, of course. But I’ll go in with them, to ease their minds. Thanks hugely!” and Cicely went to take her place beside Joy.

Chapter 7 - “Old Married Ladies”

Mary Devine watched the corner crossing movements of “Laudnum Bunches” with fascinated eyes, her feet moving unconsciously to the rhythm of the tune.

The Writing Person moved up three chairs and took the one next to her. Her tunic was brown, and she had wrapped a brown knitted coat round her shoulders. “Isn’t it a gorgeous tune? Don’t you dance?”

“I?” Mary gave her a startled look. “Oh, I never could! It’s the first time I’ve even seen anything of the kind. Miss Robins and Miss Shirley invited me to come and watch.”

“What do you think of it? But I can see you’re enjoying it. Why don’t you join a class?”

“I never could,” Mary said again, but her voice had a wistful note. “I’ve never done anything of the kind. But I’m hoping my little sister will. I think she’ll love it.”

“I’d never done anything of the kind, either, till all this got hold of me, about three years ago. Not a thing; not gym, nor tennis, nor even cycling. I went long country walks; that was all. It was all new to me. I don’t see why you shouldn’t.”

She did not add, “I’m older than you are. If I can do it, you can,” but she implied it.

Mary looked back at her with startled eyes, then gazed at the “capers” in progress and shook her head.

“Oh, you don’t begin with that! Do you teach, as most of them do?”

“Oh, no! I’m a shorthand typist.”

“You’d find it a jolly change from that. I type a lot myself,” the Writing Person explained. “When I start, it’s a stunt of seventy or eighty thousand words; some job! This is a great relief after typing all day. I believe you’d love it. You could begin with country dancing; it’s far simpler and less strenuous. There’s no need to do morris unless you want certificates so that you can teach; or unless you simply can’t help it. I suppose you saw what happened just now when Miss Hobart walked in. It was mean of her! They were all simply writhing under Madam’s eye.”

“I didn’t understand. I don’t know any of them but Miss Robins and Miss Shirley; and not very much of them yet. They all seem great friends.”

“I saw them at the Summer School last August, but didn’t get to know them. There were plenty of themselves, and they made heaps of friends, and the two men appeared and got engaged to two of the girls. I never spoke to any of them, but I used to watch them all. Then last term I made friends with Jen Robins at these classes. They were a dancing club at school, years ago, and Miss Hobart was the president and taught the dances to the rest. The two Shirley girls, Joan and Joy, are cousins, though they look like twins. Joan owns a beautiful old ruined Abbey down in Oxfordshire, left to her by Joy’s grandfather, who left his huge house, the Hall, to Joy. If you hear Joan - she’s Mrs. Raymond now - called Abbey Girl, that’s the reason; she’s lived in the Abbey for years, or near it. She met Captain Raymond at the dancing school, and Cicely Hobart met Mr. Everett, and they were all married this spring. The Everetts have been abroad ever since; none of the rest had seen her since her wedding day. So you can imagine the consternation when she walked in, in her tunic, in the middle of “Rigs!” And you’ll understand why I thought it best to clear out and say I really must have a rest! They’ll go on talking all the evening.”

The dance was over, and Madam’s comments had been listened to politely, though she doubted if they had made any very deep impression on one of her sets of morris dancers, at least. Now the Abbey crowd were gathered round Cicely again, each girl trying to make herself heard above the others, Jen particularly insisting on telling the others all about her “show” and enlisting the President’s help as a dancer.

“How does the dark girl belong?” Mary asked with interest. “Her tunic is different. Was she at school with them, too?”

“Miss Everett. No, she’s Cicely Hobart’s little sister in law. I’ve no doubt she knew the President’s plan for tonight, but of course she never said a word about it. She’s a chum of Jen Robins’s. They have some joke about burglars, but I can’t tell you what it is. I only know that whenever they meet one of them says “burglars” and the other laughs.” The Writing Person slipped her arms into her brown coat and pulled it straight, and went up on to the platform to speak to Madam, who was watching the reunion with amused sympathetic eyes.

“Great excitement! Don’t those two look well? Marriage seems to suit them. But Joan doesn’t exactly look like an old married lady, does she? That’s what Joy calls her.”

“It’s very difficult to think of her as anything but Joan Shirley. And to change Miss Hobart for “Mrs. Everett” is harder still.”

“I shall call the register. Perhaps if I write them down I shall remember. - Answer to your names!” - Madam raised her voice, and was instantly heard above the chatter that filled the hall.

At “Mrs. Raymond” and “Mrs. Everett,” Jen saw fit to giggle, and Joan eyed her coldly, while Cicely said aloud: “Baby! Infant!”

Madam laughed. ““Princess Royal”!” she said, and the class sprang joyfully to their feet.

This, it appeared, was a solo dance, so there was no difficulty about places. Mary watched the movements with wondering eyes, delighted, amazed, but rather frightened.

“Isn’t that gorgeous?” Jen came panting to sit beside her. “That’s the end of the morris. Now we’ll do country, and you’ll see the difference. How do you like it?”

“It’s wonderful, but very - very surprising!” Mary confessed. “It must be glorious to be able to do it.”

“It is, rather. The music simply makes you.”

“That last tune will haunt me, I think. But they all will.”

“That’s why I got my little pipe. I simply had to play them when I felt like it, and you can’t take a piano about with you. - You’ve been making friends! I saw you had some one to speak to, so I knew you were all right. Did she tell you she writes books for girls, Miss Devine? Your sister may know them.”

Mary turned to her in surprise. “She told me she did typewriting!”

Jen laughed. “She writes the books first, though. Joy Shirley’s children have several of them. Oh, didn’t you know Miss Shirley had twins, about a month ago? They’re great big girls already, fifteen or thereabouts. She keeps them down in the country, at Joan’s Abbey. Adopted, of course,” Jen added seriously. “One of them is to be the new May Queen at our old school. We’re all going down to help crown her. Cicely and Joan and Joy are all Queens; I’m Joan’s Maid of Honour. Joy’s being awfully good to those two kiddies, and they have a ripping time. One of them’s an heiress, too, so she knows what it’s like. Now I’m going to ask the Writing Lady to dance with me. Dick Everett has arrived, so as Cicely and Joan have husbands, if Joy takes Avvie Everett and I get in an outsider, we’ll be eight, and we can have a set of our own. Perhaps Madam will be an angel and give us Running Set.”

Whether Madam was an angel or not, Mary did not know till afterwards; but she saw that the eight friends managed to dance together for the greater part of the next hour, and all looked supremely happy and pleased with life. The varied figures bewildered her, until she grasped the fact that each couple in turn was doing the same thing all the way round the set, with a lot of running round in couples with crossed hands in between each section; she saw the difference in the figure, when the “Wild Goose Chase” began, and laughed in spite of herself at the exuberance of the dancers. Jen’s delight and Joy’s excitement were so obvious; Avice was laughing most of them time; the other two couples were occasionally hazy and had to be prompted, but recovered and found their places again very quickly. “Wind up the Ball Yarn” was another surprise; then with a final promenade round the set the dancers fell exhausted into chairs, panting and breathless; and Madam said grimly to the pianist: “I thought twenty minutes of that would do them all in. Even Joy Shirley and the President are silent at last. - I suppose you haven’t danced that since we danced with you that night in the barn in January?” she asked of Cicely.

Cicely shook her head and eyed her helplessly. “But I’ve dreamed of it a lot!” she informed her presently. “Twenty minutes without a stop! Gorgeous! But do you want to kill us all?”

“It was frightfully bad. I shan’t let you go on another time. But you looked so happy that it seemed brutal to worry you by telling you your do-sis were all over the place, wilder and wilder every time. Next week we’ll have it done properly,” Madam said cuttingly. “Now you can be thinking out “Chelsea Reach” and “The Fine Companion.”

“It makes me long to get my class started,” Jen sighed to Mary Devine. “It’s queer; the more I enjoy the classes here, the more I want to go away and try to teach somebody else. It’s the feeling of sharing, I suppose; you can’t keep it to yourself. You, for instance!” she said daringly. “I’d have loved to come and drag you in. What would you have said?”

Mary coloured. “I don’t think you’d want me there long. You’d soon be quite as anxious to get rid of me. I shouldn’t be any good. But I’m more and more sure Biddy will love it. I wish she could have seen all this.”

“But Biddy ought not to have all the jolly things! You ought sometimes to take something for yourself,” Jen argued. “If you go on like that, thinking of everything as only for Biddy, you’ll settle down and grow old, and that’s merely silly, when you don’t have to. Besides, it’s awfully hard on Biddy! If she’s only got you, and you won’t do things, it means she must do everything alone; don’t you see? Or she’ll find outside friends; and you can’t choose them for her. I should go into this with her, if I were you.”

Mary was looking bewildered, for the truth of Jen’s forceful arguments could not be denied.

“I’d like to go to listen to the music,” she said doubtfully. “But I could never be any good at dancing. The very idea would make Biddy laugh.”

“Oh, as to that -!” Jen was equally emphatic on this point. “You’ve got to forget Biddy and everything else, and just enjoy yourself. If you once stop to think how you look, and what people think about you, you’re done for. You can’t think of both yourself and the music, and the music has to come first. I’m sure I look fearfully funny doing morris; with legs the length of mine, I must look like a spider, or a giraffe, or something; and I’m always getting lost and making an ass of myself. I’ve seen Madam hurting herself dozens of times, and I know it was at me. We tried “Haste to the Wedding” once, and I did counter circles all the way through - backwards, you know. She let out a perfect shriek at me, and then just rolled about. But do you suppose I cared? I was just loving the tune; and I got hold of the movement in time. Listening to the music’s all very well, Miss Devine, but it’s a long way second best. You should come to the club with Biddy, and have a shot at it. There’ll only be me there, and you wouldn’t mind me. I believe you’d soon forget all about yourself and have as good a time as the rest of us. Now watch this! It will be a real country dance this time. If it’s either of those she told us to think about, I shall get lost unless somebody saves my life. I haven’t exactly been thinking about the figures, have I?”

“Are you trying to convert your friend?” the Writing Person asked, as they formed the square for “Chelsea Reach.” “No hands, Miss Robins!”

“Oh, sorry!” Jen had tried to make a ring, but had found the other seven unresponsive and even reproachful. “I always forget. And tonight I shall be worse than ever, for I’m thinking about her. Do please take care of me! I’ve forgotten all I ever knew. Yes, I want to make her dance. I don’t know why, but I feel it would be good for her. She needs shaking up. She’s too scared at present. I think she thinks she’s too old, and that’s silly.”

“I hope you manage to bring her in.” And then the urgency of the crisis forced them to concentration. “Gipsy, Miss Robins!” the Writer insisted, as Jen set out for the middle of the set. “To your own side, you know!”

“Oh, thanks awfully!” and Jen, very nearly lost, scrambled into her ring, and laughed as she caught Madam’s amused eye.

As the goodbyes were being said, Mary heard plans being made for the morrow.

“Are you old married ladies doing anything tomorrow night?” Jen cried, across the dressing room. “For Joy and I are going to spend the evening with the Pixie. She’s got some new idea, and she’s going to tell us all about it. Couldn’t you all come, too, and descend on her in a large and noisy crowd? She’d love it!”

“It will be large and noisy if Jenny Wren’s there,” and Cicely looked at Avice. “I’m afraid we can’t, if those people are coming to dinner, Avvie?”

“I’ll have to ask Jack,” Joan said doubtfully. “I’d love it, of course. If he can come, or if he has anything else to do and doesn’t need me, I’ll come like a shot.”

“Must be a fag always having to consult a man,” Joy remarked, sitting on the floor to change her shoes. “You’ll not find me ever taking a man in tow!”

The married girls and the rest of the class laughed. “Oh, it’s not so bad!” Joan said placidly. “There are compensations, “Travellers’ Joy.” You get lots of things done for you! Men are useful at times.”

“Your turn will come, “Wild Cat.” You won’t always be content to walk by your wild lone,” said the President maternally.

“Never! It doesn’t appeal to me one scrap.”

“What’s that? Marriage?” Madam had just come in.

“Yes. Do you really think it’s worth while?” Joy asked solemnly. “I say it must be such a nuisance having a man round all the time.”

“Oh, there are things to be said for it! Are you thinking of trying it?”

“Not I! Joan and Cicely have bagged the only nice men. Two in the crowd’s quite enough,” and the independent one flung on her coat. “Goodnight, you two! Meet us tomorrow if your old man will let you, Joan! Come on, Jenny Wren! This much married atmosphere doesn’t suit me!”

“Dear, dear!” Madam laughed. “If you meet my husband downstairs, tell him I’m just coming!”

Joy snorted, and stalked away, and said no more till she had tucked Jen and Mary Devine into the car.

“I suppose there is something in it!” she admitted then, as she sprang into her seat. “They all look tremendously happy, and all that. But it is funny; especially for Madam and the President! Joan always was more the kind.”

“Miss Devine, what will you be doing tomorrow evening?” Jen asked suddenly.

“Biddy will be going to the pictures. Miss Devine will be darning Biddy’s silk stockings, which will be in holes after this evening’s party,” said Joy solemnly.

Mary flushed. “I haven’t any plans. Biddy often does go out,” she confessed.

“If I came round in our car, about four, would Biddy and you come out with me for the evening, without knowing where you were going? It would be to something really very nice,” Jen coaxed. “Would you trust me not to kidnap you?”

Mary turned to her with startled eyes. “Of course I’d go. You’re more than kind!”

“Well, you be ready; and Biddy must put on her partyest frock; and you, too, of course. That’s all I’m going to tell you. I want to whisk you both away to a party. If Biddy asks where the party is, tell her in fairyland, and we’re invited by a pixie. Oh, I don’t mean myself! I’m the giantess who’s going to take you there in her chariot. The M.C. of the party is the fairy person. Honestly, without joking, you’ll be interested, and Biddy will love it. Now this is your door. Goodnight! So glad you could come!”

“Thank you so very, very much!” Mary called after the retreating car.

From Chapter 9: 'A Large and Noisy Crowd'

“Right-o! If you’re going to join my club I’ll want to be jolly and friendly. Biddy!” She poked the front passenger in the back. “Would you like to know where you and Mary Dorothy are going?”

Biddy turned to stare at her with dazed eyes. “Wh-what?”

“Where you and Mary Dorothy are going?” Jen repeated composedly.

Biddy’s eyes met Mary’s in dumb consternation. Mary laughed as she said placidly, “It’s a very pretty name, Biddy. You never thought of it!”

“Goodness gracious me!” and Biddy stared at Jen again.

“Go on!” Jen said encouragingly. ““You are funny! Positively weird!” That’s what you want to say, isn’t it? I don’t mind; but you’ll have to get used to me. Only children are invited, so please grow downwards as quickly as you can. I’m about seven myself. Mary Dorothy, you shall be very old; I’ll allow you to be eleven. Biddy, what are you?”

“Five!” Biddy said promptly. “What are we going to do? Play “Mulberry Bush” and “Looby Light”?”

“You’ve been well brought up!” Jen said approvingly. “It’s going to be a big party. There will be a hundred and fifty children without us.”

Mary and Biddy looked their astonishment. “Help! Where is it to be?” Biddy cried. “In the Albert Hall?”

“In the East End, in Plaistow. The children have been asked through their school teachers, and the teachers have been going all winter to country dance classes taught by a friend of mine. She thought of this party and planned the whole thing; she’s great at running parties! The children - which includes us, I hope - are going to dance, in a big, beautiful hall; it’s a swimming pool really, but there’s a dancing floor put down for winter. We’re going to have tea with the M.C. first; we call her the Pixie! She’s this high! But she manages everybody; you should see her bully a class! We were all in her class last summer, and we loved her. Joy’s coming, of course. She couldn’t resist it when she heard about the party, so she wired home that she’d stop another night. But she’s gone round in her own car to pick up Joan and Cicely. Joan’s husband says he’ll spare her, for once; and Cicely’s friends couldn’t come to dinner, after all, so the President immediately rang me up to say she’d come too. If the men come they’ll have to look on; it’s no use pretending either of them is a little elementary schoolgirl! But I guess we can all pretend well enough, if it means some dancing. You’ll enjoy it, Miss - oh, sorry! I mean Mary Dorothy! It ought to be a pretty sight.”

“Can’t I dance?” Biddy asked hungrily. “Which dances are they doing? I know a few.”

Jen handed her a programme. “I’m sure the Pixie will let you join in. Which do you know?”

““Gathering Peascods” - “Rufty Tufty” - “Goddesses” - “Butterfly” - I know all those,” Biddy cried eagerly.

“Splendid! And “We won’t go Home” is very easy; and “Galopede”. Nobody needs to learn those.”

“Oh, cheers! I shall love it!” Biddy jumped in her seat with joyful anticipation.

Mary said nothing, but her eyes were eager. Jen’s were determined, but she said nothing either. She had made up her mind, however, that Biddy was not the only outsider who would dance that night.

As they raced eastwards, Jen told a little about the Pixie, and her work among the troops in the war; and Mary listened enthralled, while Biddy hung over the back of her seat lest she should miss a word. “She says it now feels as if it had been in another life. She also says it’s forgotten, with all the rest of the war. But I don’t believe that. It’s no more forgotten than the war is, though we don’t talk about it. But work like that isn’t forgotten.”

“Will she mind our coming?” Mary asked nervously. “She hadn’t asked us. You’re all old friends; it’s different.”

“I rang her up this morning to make sure. Not that I had any doubt of it; she’s kindness itself; I knew she’d be pleased. But I thought you’d rather I asked her first.”

“It was kind of you to think of it. I’m very glad you did,” Mary said, in evident relief.

“She said, “Of course! Bring them along! The more the merrier!” But she didn’t know there was a chance of Joan and Cicely and their old men, as Joy always calls them, turning up too. That’s to be a surprise,” Jen said laughing.

“We’re early. The others were to meet us here at five,” she said, as the car drew up before a huge white palace of a building, after what seemed an endless journey through busy streets. “But we won’t wait for them. Look!” She pointed to a marble tablet as they went up the steps. “It’s a war memorial. Isn’t it a jolly one? - Oh, there’s Eirene!” at indignant hooting from outside. “Eirene is Joy’s car, though she’s anything but peaceful! They’ve found us out; that’s why she’s coughing so angrily. Then we’d better wait.”

“The “large and noisy crowd” came hurrying up the steps to remonstrate, Joy wrathfully accusing Jen of racing her on purpose. Avice Everett, Cicely and Joan were with her, but without the husbands. “We left them to console one another,” Joan explained with a laugh.

“You look much more married than you did last night in your gymmy,” Jen informed her.

“Come on! We must break it to the Pixie what she’s got to put up with,” Joy said ungrammatically, and led the way into a big restaurant. “She was in here last time.”

“Here you are!” and a tiny person in emerald green broke off an animated conversation with several waitresses, and came running to meet them. “Why, Joan? President? Where have you come from? I say, isn’t this nice?” her voice rose in eager, delighted welcome. “But I didn’t know you were home? When did you come? Have you had a good time? I say, don’t you both look well! Do you like being married?” and she smiled up at tall Joan in a motherly way.

“I like it heaps and heaps!” Joan assured her, laughing.

“It’s not half bad,” Cicely declared. “Will you let us dance at your party, Pixie? We only heard about it last night. We simply couldn’t keep away.”

“Of course you couldn’t! It’s going to be great fun. But it’s only for children; you’ll have to sit on the platform. - Oh, well! We’ll see!” relenting at sight of their faces. “Don’t you think you could bear it?”

“I should die, if I had to look on at a country dance party!” Cicely said solemnly.

“I’m so glad to see you that I suppose I shall give in,” the Pixie confessed. “But it’s supposed to be only for the children. We’ll let you dance! to Biddy, who was keeping close to Mary, but watching everybody eagerly, overjoyed to see all those she had heard about the night before. “You’re the one Jen calls the burglar-girl, aren’t you?” to Avice. “Then you must be the one called after a dance!” to Mary.

Mary laughed and coloured, as Cicely and Joan and Avice all looked at her curiously. “I’m Mary Dorothy Devine,” she said. “But I doubt if the dance had much to do with it. I always understood it was my two grandmothers I was called for.”

“Oh, I think you’re called after the dance! Come along and have tea, everybody! Isn’t it jolly to have such a big party? I love a crowd!” and she bustled ahead of them to secure two tables, and to call for “Tea for eight, and lots and lots of cakes,” to one of the friendly waiting girls in brown.

“Now tell me all about it!” she demanded, when all had found seats.

“All about what?” Joan asked innocently.

“Why, being married! What is it like? Is it a great success? What kind of honeymoons have you had? Are you going to settle down at home now? What fun! And what have you done with your husbands? Got tired of them?” and her eyes twinkled at the happy brides, who so obviously enjoyed being teased.

But though the whole lively meal was a brisk interchange of questions, chaff, and laughter, with endless references to happenings in the past, the tiny hostess did not forget the strangers in the corner. She did not, indeed, insist on drawing them into the conversation, for that would have been impossible and would only have made everybody uncomfortable; but she kept Biddy supplied with cakes and Mary with tea, and threw a laughing remark to them continually without waiting for an answer, just to make them feel they were part of the party.

“Just like Joy, wasn’t it?” she would cry across the table to Mary; or “What a joke! Don’t you wish you had been there?”

And Mary would laugh and nod and agree whole heartedly. It did not occur to her that the Pixie was watching her and summing her up all the time, while she chattered and laughed with the older friends; or asked Joy earnestly how her children at home were getting on.

“What’s the new stunt, Pixie?” Jen demanded. “You said you had something to tell us.”

The Pixie’s eyes began to dance; she knew the consternation her words would cause.

“I’m working in a shop,” she announced gleefully.

“A-a what?” gasped Jen.

“You’re not!” cried Joy indignantly.

“Pixie, you’re being untruthful! What exactly do you mean?” the President demanded.

“It’s true. I love it. It’s in the West End. You must all come and see me. I’ll love to show you round. We have beautiful things,” the Pixie said proudly.

“But why? How? What for? Where? What kind of a shop? What are you doing it for, anyway?” A perfect storm of questions showered upon her.

“To earn my living,” she explained calmly.

“But - but - but you teach dancing!” Jen gasped.

“Only at night. It isn’t good enough. People have only time for dancing at night. I can’t afford to do nothing all day. Shall I tell you all about it?”

“Yes, please, do!” an indignant chorus answered her.

“We make lovely handwoven materials, for frocks and curtains and things; you’d better come to us if you’re going to furnish!” to the newly married ones. “Such beautiful colourings! It’s a joy to work among them. I don’t know very much about blending colours yet, but I’m learning, and I’m happy all day long with such gorgeous things all round me.”

“Oh, but you’d be happy anywhere!” Jen interpolated.

“Oh, no, I shouldn’t! Not if there were things that jarred on me. But these lovely soft colours are restful and satisfy me; they’re what I’ve been wanting.”

“Do you make the things?” Joan asked with interest.

“Oh, no! The girls do the weaving. I’ve never learned that. No, I make up frocks for customers. I’m happy all day long, designing beautiful things - for they are beautiful! - and working with such lovely materials. I’d love to design a frock for you!” to Joan. “I believe we have the very thing to set off your hair and eyes. Oh, I would like to make a frock for you!” and she eyed Joan hungrily.

“Joan will consult her husband!” Joy said solemnly. “I’ll have a frock, Pixie. What would do for Joan will do for me.”

“Good! If she doesn’t snap it up, you shall have it! We have other things, besides the handwoven goods; rugs and carpets straight from the desert! The shop is full of sand when we’ve been unpacking. You must all come and see me, and see the looms, and the weavers at work. But we’re forgetting the party. What’s the time? Gracious! They’ll all be waiting for us! It’s going to be great fun, you know. We shall get in fearful muddles and lose our sets, and the floor’s slippery and we shall all fall down. But never mind. It’s going to be tremendous fun! Come up to my room and change your shoes,” and she hustled them all away.

Chapter 10 - The Pixie’s Party

“How did you settle the frock difficulty?” Jen asked in an undertone of Mary Dorothy, as Biddy, at the other side of the room, took off her big coat. “That’s the one she borrowed, I suppose? It’s very pretty! But I didn’t think you’d let her wear it again.”

Mary laughed. “Poor kid! She spilt coffee on it, Miss Robins; or somebody spilt it on her! So she had to ask her friend if she might buy it from her; Vivien is wearing mourning for her father, so was rather glad to get rid of the pink frock. We’ve washed the stain, and it isn’t so very bad. Biddy’s forgotten all about it. Of course,” she added quickly, “it means no other summer frock for her. You mustn’t think we can really afford to do that kind of thing. But there was no choice. She’d spoiled the other girl’s frock.”

“Poor kiddy! How upset she would be! Did she enjoy the party?”

“No,” Mary said quietly. “She came home early, very unhappy. I can’t say I was sorry. But I was sorry for her, and very glad I had your invitation to cheer her up. She danced for joy! And she seemed glad we were to come together. I think her party had been a bit rough, and she had felt uneasy and out of it.”

“She’d wanted you,” Jen commented. “It’s what I said last night; you ought to go about with her. You couldn’t while she was with that crowd; I quite see that. But if she’s coming to my class and taking up folk dancing, I do hope you’ll come, too.”

“You’ll be making the mistake of your life if you don’t,” she added mentally, but did not like to say it aloud.

Biddy went up to their little hostess, with a touch of shyness. “I know some of the dances, and Mary says you all wear flat shoes, so I brought an old pair of plimsolls. Will you, will you let me join in, Miss Pixie?”

“Why, of course you must dance! I’ll find you partners! I’m afraid there won’t be any boys here, though,” and the Pixie’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “You shall come to a members’ party next time, and I’ll find you lots of boys to dance with, such dears! But there won’t be any here tonight; you’ll have to dance with one another,” and she hurried away to speak to a girl who had come to look for her.

Biddy looked at Mary guiltily; she knew Mary’s opinion of her boy friends at the college. At the moment she had had enough of them; they had seemed “different somehow” at the party the night before.

But there was no more time to spare. The Pixie, with a hurried word to the girl, “Are they here?” turned to her guests. “Come along! We must go down. We’ve been arriving since five, and we’ll be all over the place. We’re fearfully excited over our party, you know, and if we aren’t kept busy, we shall get rushing about and losing our heads. Come on down! It’s going to be a frightful muddle!”

“I love the way she’s turned us all into children for the occasion,” Mary said to Jen, as they followed down the long stone staircase. “It’s always “we”! She’s thinking even of herself from the children’s point of view.”

“Now you’re going to see me being really official,” the hostess announced impressively. “I shall be all over the place, too. You’d better keep out of the way, and you must dance together. We all know our places, and just where we’re to dance. If there are any gaps, we’ll put some of you in; if not, you can make a set in a corner, and I’ll send the odds and ends to you to make up. There are sure to be some of us without partners.”

“Oh, this is gorgeous!” Jen cried softly. “Where can we go to see?”

“Platform! Come on!” said Joy, and they made a dash for the piano on the platform.

The big swimming bath was transformed into a dancing hall. Parents and friends hung over the balcony railing; and Jen was reminded of her first sight of country dancing, six years ago, when she, a very new girl, had hung over the railing to watch Joan crowned as May Queen by Joy, when Joy had abdicated after her year’s reign.

Small girls in frocks of every rainbow colour filled the hall. Where the frocks, and big hair ribbons, and white stockings, and coloured shoes, had come from it was difficult to imagine, for the children were from poor schools in East Ham and Canning Town and Barking. Already they were fairly jumping with excitement, racing about wildly to find friends or call greetings to mothers up aloft; new groups kept arriving to swell the crowd. The Pixie, a vivid green spot, seemed in every corner at once, like a very active fairy in a world of brilliant butterflies.

The pianist played the air of “Galopede,” and with a wild rush from every corner of the hall, every child was on the spot assigned to her, thrilled to the limit, desperately determined that not one moment should be lost.

“Eight times through!” announced the Pixie, appearing suddenly on the platform, and piano and violin struck up the tune.

“How do you do it?” Cicely asked teasingly. “I believe you’re wafted about by wireless! You were away over there a second ago!”

“She leaps up into the air and floats. Thistledown does, you know,” Jen said dreamily, gazing enthralled as the long lines of children fell back and crossed, swung their partners, and broke into excited clapping to cheer the top couple down the middle to the bottom of the set.

“Oh, isn’t it fun?” the Pixie’s thoughts were all for her party. “Aren’t they darlings? Did you ever see anything so pretty? Good dancing, too; good style! And see how happy they are, the dears! Don’t you want to dance?” with a lightning turn to Biddy Devine.

“I’m simply dying to! But I don’t know this.”

“We’ll put you into “Rufty Tufty”. You can make a set in this corner. Joy - some of you - dance with her, won’t you?”

“Right-o! I’d love to,” Joy said warmly.

“Won’t you come too?” Joan turned to Mary. “Perhaps we could make two sets.”

Mary looked startled. “I? Oh, thank you very much, but I don’t dance. I wouldn’t know what to do. I’d only be in your way.”

“You go with Cicely, Joan,” said Jen. “We’ll look on. Pixie, I don’t want to dance. It’s too wonderful. I couldn’t see it down there. I just want to go on looking for ever. All the colours - and those happy kiddies; it’s the night of their lives! I love their faces; they’re just one beam of joy! Don’t you feel the same, Mary Dorothy?”

Mary sat down beside her; Jen, enthralled, had sunk into a chair and was gazing in rapt enjoyment at the radiant faces of the children.

“They dance all over, not just with their feet,” Mary ventured.

“You’re supposed to. But it’s true. They’re full of life. They dance harder than we do at classes, Pixie!”

“Your real East Ender dances harder - and almost better - than any one else. It’s curious, but it’s true. It’s in them. They dance beautifully.”

“This is better fun than dancing!” Jen murmured, as the children honoured their partners and all, with one accord, turned to the platform for orders from the little lady in green.

“We don’t want to rest,” she chuckled. “We lose no time at our parties! Play the first phrase!” to the pianist. “Now! Do we all know it?” and she addressed the eager children. “Very well! Make your squares for four. Now! All those facing me run away to that wall! All with their backs to me run this way. Got it? You ready down there?” to the visitors in the corner. “We’ll have it twice through. Now go!”

“How pretty that is!” Mary whispered, as the whole hall bobbed up and down in the “set and turn single.” “I love watching this dancing!”

“You’d love watching much more if you’d done a little, though. It would mean much more to you,” Jen roused herself from her rapt contemplation of the children’s enjoyment. “I say, your Biddy isn’t at all bad! She’s got some of the usual school faults; she’s on her toes, and that’s not allowed. But she’ll dance well when she forgets a little; there’s a lot of bad teaching in schools, the Pixie says.”

“Did you ever see anything happier than this hall full of children?” Joan came up after the dance to sit with them, while the children dropped on the floor to rest, or made for the seats at the side.

“Yes, one thing,” said Jen. “And that’s the person who planned it. I really think she’s the happiest of the lot. She keeps bursting into little chuckles of joy, just at the faces of the kiddies. Oh, it’s all right, Mary Dorothy! She’s at the other end of the hall.”

“She was here a second ago,” Mary said helplessly.

At the first notes of “Gathering Peascods,” there came that swift yet ordered rush of children again. The tiny figures fairly swooped down on the floor from every corner, each to her appointed place, and stood in palpitating eagerness ready to start.

“It’s like a flight of coloured pigeons, or seagulls!” Jen turned rapturously to the Pixie, who had appeared again in their midst, as mysteriously as usual.

“It’s wonderful! We expected such a muddle. And there’s nothing to do. They’re M.C.ing themselves. They know where to go, and nobody gets lost, and there’s no fuss or trouble. It’s beautiful. I’ve been so worried - oh, look at that! Isn’t it pretty?” as the throng broke up into circling rings of ten or twelve. “Now watch! Look out!” to Mary. “There! Isn’t it wonderful?” as all the little arms went up. “And we clap right on the beat; it’s very good. How they love it!”

“This is the prettiest yet,” Mary ventured.

“Of course, we do get lost now and then!” the Pixie chuckled, as a small girl right under her nose found herself left out of a ring and ran round wildly, trying to force her way into her place. “No! We won’t let her in now; it can’t be done. We should all fall over if we let go now. But we’re very little! Some of us are only infants! I think we all dance beautifully!”

“We’re having the time of our lives, anyway,” Jen said, laughing.

“I’m going to dance, too. They don’t need any looking after. I’ll find some one who doesn’t know the next one, and haul her through it.”

“The music’s quite enough. It gives the signal and they all know what to do,” Mary said, marvelling.

At the notes of “Butterfly,” the children made their lines again, and stood, hot and panting, but eager to begin.

Jen sprang up; the rest had already gone, Biddy hand in hand with Joy, Joan and Cicely together, to find places in the line.

“Now, Mary Dorothy, you’re going to dance this! Oh, yes, you’ve simply got to come. I want to dance; I can’t stand it any longer. You’re coming in with me. I’ll tell you what to do; it’s perfectly easy. Come on - run! Or we’ll be left out.”

“But I can’t. I’ve never danced,” Mary gasped. “And” - wildly - “Miss Everett wants you to dance with her!”

“Oh, Avice can pick up a teacher! There are lots of them about. I’m going to have you. I want you to try it, anyway. No one will take any notice of you; they’re all far too busy enjoying themselves!” At Mary’s startled incredulous look Jen almost laughed, but managed to keep it in. “Come on, Mary Dorothy! The next one’s far more difficult! I’ll tease you into that if you don’t come into this one. There! We’re Twos,” which conveyed nothing at all to Mary, who had found herself somehow at the end of a long line, dragged there by the sheer force of Jen’s strong right hand.

Smothering a laugh again at the dazed face opposite her, Jen gave hasty directions, which Mary did not begin to grasp. “We’re Twos; we’re going to work up the line towards the platform, and then down again as Ones. Give your right hand across in a star, with the next couple; that’s right! Now we run eight steps, and turn and come back left hands. What could be easier than that? Then the arches; I’ll take care of you, and you’ll know it by the second time. Then we swing; hang on to me, and I’ll guide you; I’m the man, by the way - you’re a woman! Run these arches; four steps up and four down, and all over again. Now skip! Skip hard! And lean well back and pull against me; straight arms!”

Gasping with amazement, Mary found herself dancing, found herself instinctively keeping time to the music; found herself enjoying this new thing as she had enjoyed nothing for years. The movements, simple as they were, demanded all her thought; she was desperately determined not to spoil Jen’s dance by being clumsy and forgetful; awkward and stiff she felt, indeed, but fortunately without the faintest idea how awkward she seemed to her partner.

At the moment she could think only of what she must do next; of running or skipping; right hand or left. For a wild agonised second she did not know how to skip; then it came to her suddenly. She was not sure if she had ever skipped in her life before, but she had watched children, and she found her feet discovering what to do. Any thought at all beyond her feet and hands was given to the astounding incredible fact that she, Mary Devine, was dancing; had danced “up the line,” and was beginning to go down again. Then, to her horror, she discovered that nearly everything she had learned with such difficulty must be reversed; over first instead of under, and the swing in the opposite direction. Jen laughed at her dismay, and gently kept her right.

In the face of such crises as these, Mary had no time to think of herself, of how she looked, of what other people thought. Certainly nobody seemed to mind her mistakes, or to be thinking of her at all. And other things which were new to her passed unnoticed at the time, so far as her conscious mind was concerned; but came back to her afterwards; the very tune to which they had danced, though she had listened and responded to every note; the gentleness and ease of tall Jen’s every movement, with never a jerk or jar. Mary remembered and marvelled at it afterwards, though she did not know she had noticed it at the time.

She did not understand the gratified twinkle in the Pixie’s eyes, as they met her in a star and did arches together; she only saw kindly encouragement and no hint of amusement.

“How nice of you to dance at my party, Miss Devine! Jenny Wren, it’s not fair of you to be so big! How can you expect us to make an arch over you?” and the small girl who was her proud partner giggled and ran down the line outside Jen instead of making the arch.

“It’s easier that way, certainly!” Jen laughed. “It’s a lovely party, Pixie! We’re all so glad we came!”

Nor did Mary see Biddy’s astounded face or hear her incredulous cry, “Mary! She’s dancing! Oh, hold me up! I’m going to faint!”

“Swing and change!” Joy said ruthlessly. “And look here, Miss Biddy Devine! There’s no reason on earth why your Mary shouldn’t dance, and it will do her all the good in the world. She’ll get younger every day. You’ve allowed her to think she’s old, because she’s older than you, and it’s rather beastly of you. Goodness me! She’s only a year or two older than I am!” - which was understating the case, but Biddy was not in a position to argue it, though she frankly did not believe it. “D’you want to be allowed to join Jen Robins’s club, and learn piles of new dances, and perhaps morris and sword too?” Joy asked severely.

“I’m dying to. Will she have me? And will they let me in?”

“Probably, if she insists on it. But she wants your sister, too; and she’s to take part, not just to look on. So if you want to go, play up properly and encourage Mary Dorothy all you can. Tell her she’s got to dance. Jen’s set her heart on it. So don’t you forget!”

Biddy said no more, but her eyes followed Mary in stunned amazement. “She likes it!” she said at last.

“She’d be funny if she didn’t like it. And for a beginner she’s not so bad; might be a lot worse, anyway!”

“There! How do you like it?” Jen put her partner gently into a chair. “Now don’t ever again say you’ve never danced! Quite good fun, isn’t it?”

“I liked it!” Mary panted, in a tone of incredulous amazement. “But how do you remember? And you aren’t out of breath!”

“Oh, that’s practice! You shall watch “Winifred’s Knot” and “The Black Nag.” They’re very easy, but they have introductions and things, and you have to set and side. But you can do “We Won’t go Home till Morning;” it’s no harder than “Butterfly.” You’ll learn the others at my class!”

And Mary, watching as little rings of six formed themselves all over the hall, wondered if perhaps she would, after all.

It was after the next dance that some small person, sitting on the shiny floor to rest, discovered that by lifting up her feet and giving herself a push with her hands, she could spin round and round like a top. The fashion spread like measles, and in every corner little rings of small girls sat twirling happily, ignoring agitated parents, who could not forget the certain results to white underclothes.

“Oh, look! Look at them!” the Pixie was almost helpless with laughter. “And Mother’s up in the gallery telling them not to! They won’t listen, of course! Look, they’re all doing it! It’s as good as the dancing! Oh, aren’t they simply priceless?”

And the visitors on the platform laughed loud and long at the sight.

“I vote we try it, too!” Jen giggled.

“You! You’d look like Alice in the long drawn out stage! You’d sweep the floor!” Joy said cruelly.

“In private, if you like, Jenny Wren!” the President laughed. “And what about tunics?”

“We’d better have another dance. It isn’t fair; Mother will be coming down to interfere in a moment! She’s thinking of the washing!” the Pixie chuckled. “Play “We won’t go Home!” There! See them leap into their places! They know their spots and stick to them!”

“Come on, Mary Dorothy!” said Jen. “You’ll be stiff tomorrow, anyway, so you may as well be a little stiffer! It’s worth it. I want to lead you down the middle and skip you up again!”

“You shall watch “Sellenger’s Round”!” Jen said, at the end, “because I want to watch, too. It’s very special!”

“What I want is to see the Pixie arrange the rings!” said Joy, and made for the platform again to see the fun.

The inner ring of four couples of infants in white, and the second ring outside them, were easily formed; but the next was more difficult, and when it came to the last two, Cicely said sympathetically, “I wonder if we could help! She’s so tiny for the job! It’s too bad to leave it all to a scrap like her!”

“Oh, but what a scrap, President!” Joan laughed. “She’s tiny, but she’s all energy! Talk about specks of radium!”

“She’ll do it,” Joy said confidently, “and then she’ll be ever so pleased with herself. We’d better not go butting in. She knows how she’s going to manage it.”

“Yes, but she’s such a dot!” Jen murmured. “She can’t see to the other end of her line! I think I’ll go and offer to let her run up on to my shoulders!”

The Pixie, an animated vivid green spot, was running round outside her ring, leading a string of thirty small girls hand in hand.

“Who’s the other end of us?” she asked wildly, again and again, as she tried to get the line joined up. Then, meeting another stray section of a ring, - “Are you a line, too? Where’s the other end of you? Oh, goodness! Here, join up quickly!” and she hooked the lines together and darted away to find the other loose ends.

“She’s done it! Cheers for the Little One!” cried Joy. “And jolly quickly, too!”

“I believe she ran about under their feet!” Jen announced seriously. “She’s going in herself. She ought to be the Maypole in the middle; but no one would be able to see her except the infants in the first ring! There! Mary Dorothy, don’t you love that?” as all the rings swung round and back, and then, dropping hands, surged to the centre and out again.

“Oh, it’s beautiful! Wonderful! And such a wonderful tune!” Mary cried softly.

“I’ll tell you what it all means on the way home. Watch all the bare little arms go up! Isn’t that a fine sight? I hope they’ll do it again!”

“Pixie, that was great!” the President said fervently, when three cheers had been given, and the hall was a mass of tired, excited children getting into coats and shoes.

“Why didn’t you come to watch “Sellenger?” It was lovely!” Jen assured her warmly. “Mary Dorothy was quite stunned!”

“Was it all right? Was there any shape in it?” the Pixie asked anxiously. “Oh, “Sellenger” is worth it every time! Oh, hasn’t it been a nice party?” she sighed happily. “I have enjoyed myself! Have you enjoyed yourself?” turning swiftly to Mary. “But I know you have; I saw your face. I am so glad you came!”

From Chapter 12: 'Dancing for Jenny-Wren'

In a corner of the girls’ clubroom, Mary sat watching Jen’s “show” with wide eyes, rapt enjoyment in her face.

Biddy was busy, in the intervals of the dances, making friends with girls in the audience. She was always popular and made friends easily; these girls and she had a common interest in their delight in the demonstration; she made the most of the chance, and was on friendly terms with several before the evening was over, and was assured of a welcome to the club.

Mary, in the grip of a new experience, did not want to talk. From the first moment she felt the thrill of enjoyment and anticipation, not only in the audience of girls and friends, but among the dancers themselves. A glance at their faces showed that they meant to enjoy the evening as much as any one. She knew most of them, though not all; and was grateful for the previous meetings, which made Joan and Joy and Cicely and Jen and Avice seem like old friends. There were three or four others with them, companions from the classes; and one slim girl with black bobbed hair, a head shorter than Jen, whom she nevertheless greeted joyfully as “my hubby” and introduced as “Jacky boy, my first chum at school.”

They were all radiant with eagerness, and all, as Jen explained, much elated to find themselves wearing the blue frocks they had gazed at longingly so often in demonstrations by folk dance specialists.

“Madam borrowed them for us. Just for tonight,” Jen added. “It’s so much jollier to dress alike; but we couldn’t have special frocks just for one evening. So we’re swanking fearfully, and pretending we’re real Staff people! She had to hunt for a while to get one long enough for me! Joy says she’s tickled to death to see herself in a blue frock at last: and the President says she’ll never get over the honour of it. It does look jolly, doesn’t it?”

It certainly did, with glimpses of vivid blue here and there in every corner of the hall. And when presently the blue procession came dancing in, hand in hand, Mary caught her breath in a smothered cry of delight, and watched the dances with eager joyful eyes.

She was grateful, too, for the experience of those two dances at the Pixie’s party. Slight though it had been, she understood more than if she had never danced at all. It would be worth learning the dances just for that reason, if every new step she took would mean fuller understanding and enjoyment next time she looked on.

But the biggest revelation was when Madam, after a few words of introduction and explanation of the first dances, stood up to dance a morris jig. She wore a blue frock, too, just like those of the girls, but there was something indefinable that marked her out among them all. Mary watched the smooth perfection of her movement spellbound, wondering how she did it, and where the difference lay. At last, she realised, she was seeing the real thing, which even Jen and Joan and the rest were only trying to copy.

“She’s as much beyond them as they are beyond me! I’m a lump beside them; as heavy as a - as a cow! - and as stiff as a rusty machine. But she has something not one of them has got. Their dancing is pretty; but this is beautiful,” and she sat, chin on hand, gazing with rapt, wondering eyes.

There was no doubt about the desire for an encore; the blue frocked girls clamoured for it more noisily that the more ignorant audience. Madam laughed, and went out to dance again; and Mary settled down to another two minutes of intense concentrated joy.

“How does she do it?” she said, under her breath, as Madam retired, and six of the girls took sticks and went out to dance a morris dance.

“She’ll sing presently; she’s promised. You’ll love that too,” Jen sat down beside her. “I’m glad you’ve seen her. She’s rather perfect, isn’t she?”

“Are there any others who do it quite like that?”

“Oh, yes, quite a lot! But everybody’s dancing is different. Some think there’s no one quite like Madam, and we’re among them! But other people prefer other people’s - if you can understand that! It isn’t really possible to compare them. You ought to see a Staff demonstration, and judge for yourself.”

“Why aren’t you dancing in this?”

“Because it’s only for six; and they want Joy and me to dance a jig together presently. Of course, it will be awful, just after Madam, but she won’t let us off, and we’re fearfully meek and obedient; at least, we do what she wants! If you can’t bear it, you can shut your eyes. It will be all right about joining the club, Mary Dorothy. I’ve arranged it. So I hope you’ll come with Biddy. You will, won’t you?”

“I don’t think I could bear to stay away,” Mary confessed, flushing a little. “I’ll come, if it’s only to hear the music! It haunts me night and day. Biddy’s got a whistle, and we try to find out the tunes, but we only get bits of them.”

“I know. Isn’t it maddening? I had to buy it all before I could be happy. But, of course, I’d learnt a lot of it at school. I could lend you some of it; I wouldn’t like you to go crazy! Now I must go and do my best. It’s “Jockie.” Later on Avvie will dance “Old Mother Oxford.” She’s very good, you know. And Madam’s going to do “Princess Royal.” I’m afraid the girls will want to start with morris jigs; and it can’t be done!”

It was towards the end of the show, when Mary was realising how tired out she was with merely watching, that she recognised at the back of the hall the Writer of Books, whom she had met at the classes and who had advised her to dance herself. When the dancing was over, and the blue girls had gathered in an eager group round Madam, thanking her and asking for her criticism, Mary made her way to this other friend, with an eagerness that would not be denied.

“May I speak to you, please? Do you remember at the classes telling me I ought to try to dance, not just look on?”

“Looking on is much more interesting if you’ve done some yourself. Have you had a chance to find that out yet?”

“Oh! Do you find that, too?” Mary cried eagerly. “I’ve only tried two dances, at a party last Saturday, but it did make a difference tonight, even that little bit.”

“Every bit you do helps you to understand more. Each dance you learn, and certainly each new morris tradition, is a sort of key, and unlocks another door. That’s partly why I’ve learned all those advanced morris dances; so that I’d understand them when I saw them done. You enjoy them far more. But it was partly that I couldn’t help it,” she admitted. “I know I can never do them as they should be done; but I can enjoy them tremendously, all the same. And I do love to feel I understand them. Besides, there’s the music; one wants to know the dance that belongs to each tune. They’ve grown together; you only get half if you don’t know the movements.”

“This was what I wanted to ask you!” Mary pleaded eagerly. “Miss Robins has asked me to come with my sister to her class. I’ve been thinking I couldn’t resist it. But could I try the morris? I’ve never done anything of the kind; never! And - and you said you’d been the same. But you do it, even those difficult movements. I thought perhaps you’d advise me. Do you mind my asking?”

“I do them frightfully badly! No one knows it better than I do!” the Writing Person laughed. “But I get heaps out of it, all the same. I should try everything, if I were you. If it’s too much you can always drop it. If you’ve even learned the step, you’ll find it will be something; it will help you to understand. You’ll get frightfully stiff at first, but that doesn’t do any harm. Oh, I should try! I’d never done anything at all, as I told you; my work’s all with books and pencils and typewriters! I was stunned when I found myself using morris sticks and swords; I nearly died when I found we were to learn a morris jig! But it was with joy as much as with fright. You may never be able to get the certificates, Miss Devine; I know nothing about that. I’ve never even tried for any of them myself. That’s funking, isn’t it? Or perhaps it’s merely common sense. But I do think you need to be very fit and strong, and trained in gym. work, to get them. But you can have quite as much fun out of it as the certificate people. I sometimes think I get more. To so many of them it’s just an extra teaching stunt, and an extra certificate that will be valuable; and people like Madam - and others I could name! - are merely useful because they can help them to pass the exams. I get heaps more out of the classes than that! Bother certificates! The dancing’s beautiful, and the music’s wonderful, and the people who teach and dance to us are thrillingly interesting personalities, some of them. I love them, and I love the dances, and I love the music; and isn’t that enough? But I’m one of the worst dancers they have; and how they put up with me I don’t know. I often wonder! They’re all very nice about it. It’s a tremendous help to one’s work, too, you know,” she added. “If you do any work that needs imagination, all this helps intensely.”

“Oh, please tell me!” Mary asked swiftly. “I’ve been feeling all stirred up; and I did after that party on Saturday. Do you feel it, too?”

“Every single time. I always want to go home and plunge into work. I’m too tired out at the time, but about two days afterwards I always have an outburst of energy, and all kinds of new ideas! Really, I consider folk dancing responsible for most of the work I’ve done in the last two years,” she said laughing. “It’s a most valuable stimulant! And such a healthy one! I’m better in every way. But I must go and thank Miss Robins for letting me come to watch; I’m afraid I begged for an invitation! I’d go anywhere to see Madam dance and to hear those songs. And I wanted to watch all that crowd dance, too; I love the whole lot of them!”

From Chapter 13: 'Mary-Dorothy's Gym Tunic'

All through the following Tuesday, Mary worked with the feeling at the back of her mind that the evening’s experience might be something of an ordeal, though it would certainly be a great joy. She was longing to dance again, and to see Jen teach; but was very distrustful of herself, sure she would do badly and keep all the rest back; and she quite expected to feel very uncomfortable in her tunic for the first time or two.

Biddy, though looking forward to the evening intensely, had her own fears for herself.

“They didn’t teach us properly at school,” she said resentfully. “Jen Robins came to me before that show last week, and told me to watch particularly how none of them, and most of all Madam herself, ever danced on their toes. She said she’d watched me at the party, and I was on my toes all the time, and I’d got to get out of it if I wanted to do folk dancing well. So she told me to watch and see for myself, and it was true; they weren’t on their toes, and they never pointed them once, as we were taught to do. And there were other things we always did that they never did at all. I’m sure I’ll never remember! She’ll be mad with me!”

“But one, at least, of Mary’s fears proved unnecessary, simply because, when the moment came, she had no time to think about herself or how she felt. It was very important that she and Biddy should be in time, for they had to take back the borrowed music; Jen had been very insistent that they must not on any account be late. Starting in plenty of time, they were delayed by traffic, which held up their bus; and arrived, hot and annoyed, at five minutes past eight. A girl directed them to a small dressing room off the big hall, and they hurried across, handing the music to another girl as they went, and getting an impression of many girls in blue tunics standing in a big ring, while Jen, on the platform, addressed them.

“Leave the door open! We’ll hear what she’s saying,” Biddy whispered agitatedly. “And do be quick, Mary, there’s a dear! I shan’t wait for you if you’re long!”

“I expect some of you will always have to be a little late,” Jen was saying tactfully. “So we won’t begin country dancing till half past eight. The keen ones who come early will get half an hour’s morris. We’ll learn the step tonight, and begin using the sticks next time. You saw a stick dance last week. There’s one thing I want to say before we begin. I know most of you can’t get here till eight; but I’m told a few could manage at half past seven. I’d like to teach a sword dance to a few. If we ever want to give a show to your friends, it would be useful to have a sword dance team. We can do it with six or eight, or we could have two sets. Will any who think they could come regularly give me their names during the evening, please. But you must be regular. You can’t just drift into a sword dance when you feel like it. Now we’ll make a start with the morris step. All do this! Stand with your weight on one foot. Now change your weight to the other. Let the free leg hang loose.”

“We mustn’t miss this. We shall never get it right if we don’t begin with the rest!” Biddy groaned, changing her shoes in frantic haste. “It’s that weird step they do in the jolly stick and hanky dances! I’m sure we didn’t do it properly at school! Oh, buck up, Mary dear!”

Mary fully appreciated the importance of the moment. There was no time to think. She dropped her skirt and coat, tied her plimsolls, and ran after Biddy to find a place in the ring, forgetting everything but the urgent need for haste. When she remembered presently, it was with deep thankfulness that she was wearing a tunic, since every one else in the hall was doing the same. And by the time it was possible to go and explain their late arrival to Jen, Mary had forgotten that she had expected to feel strange. She had done half an hour’s morris step on the spot, and then going round the hall in a big circle; she had felt how it fitted the rhythm of two new and very fascinating tunes; and her only feeling about a skirt was that it would have been very much in the way, hampering the free movements she had been enjoying so much.

She stood looking up at Jen, who was sitting on a small table on the platform, swinging her long legs and knitting her brows over her register.

“You look like a tall, slim, curly headed sprite, Miss Robins.”

“A sprite!” Jen laughed down at her, recognising with delight the new glow of enjoyment in Mary’s face. “That’s very nice of you, Mary Dorothy, but a very bad comparison. I’m sure sprites never have legs as long as mine! Now if you’d said an O’Cedar Mop on the end of a pole! If it weren’t for my hair, you’d be calling me a stork, I suppose; but I never saw a stork with a head like mine!”

“You might say a very curly chrysanthemum on a long stem,” Mary smiled.

“That’s rather nice, too. Do you write poetry?”

Mary shook her head and flushed. Jen remarked:

“You ought to. You have pretty ideas. Well, and how do you like morris?”

“It’s more than liking. I love it! It’s what Biddy would call a simply gorgeous feeling.”

“That’s how we all feel. You’ll come to my extra sword class, won’t you, Mary Dorothy? I’m counting on you and Biddy. I know you can get off; so many of them can’t.”

“May we? We’d like to try it; if you think I’d be good enough! But wouldn’t you rather have one of the girls?”

“You shouldn’t be so distrustful of yourself,” Jen said severely. “You can do it quite as well as the girls. No, I want you. I want you to try it. Where did you get that nice tunic? Don’t you find it very comfortable?”

“Very! I made it. Is it all right?” Mary asked doubtfully. “I copied Biddy’s. I thought I’d better have one.”

“Oh, it’s far more comfortable for morris! I was so glad to see you had risen to the occasion,” Jen said warmly. “I didn’t like to tell you you ought to have one, but I was sure you’d be happier in it.”

“I expected to feel very queer in it at first. But you’d begun teaching the morris, and I had no time to think,” Mary said.

“You needn’t feel queer. Some people might, but you needn’t. You’re so neat,” Jen explained carefully, but with twinkling eyes demurely downcast. “And you’ve got such very pretty ankles; you needn’t mind showing them off. Some girls have such fat legs! But yours are so neat!”

“Biddy’s mourning over hers.” Mary had coloured at the compliment. “She was saying tonight she wished she was thinner.”

“She’s very sturdy. She ought to do morris well; you want some weight! But she must come down off her toes, or she’ll never be any good. I shall keep on shouting at her till the idea soaks in.”

“Toes, Biddy Devine! You must get off your toes! And don’t do those fancy steps! Look! This is what you’re doing!” and she leapt from the platform and came flying across the room. “This is how you ought to set! Don’t you see the difference? Keep straight arms, Mary Dorothy, when you turn to your partner! You must not tuck them into your sides! And don’t get all twisted round. Keep facing her - What’s wrong over here?” and she whirled away to another corner where heated discussion was going on.

“She takes their breath away. They’re all a bit stunned,” Biddy said laughing. “But they like her, you know.”

“Oh, yes, they’re going to love her!” and Mary often thought of that remark afterwards, for it had included herself.

She was surprised and amused to find how often Jen, and her dances, and their music, came into her mind during the next week. Everything she did, and all her ordinary life, had received a new background. Without the slightest effort on her own part, she found herself dreaming less, because she simply had no time for it. When she had time for thought, in bed, or while busy with dressmaking preparations for the following week, she was always trying to fit movements to tunes, to remember the difference between introductions and figures, which still seemed much alike to her, to disentangle the sequence of events in “Rufty,” “Peascods,” and “Sellenger’s Round.” After two or three lessons, all this became so clear that she wondered she had ever been puzzled; but by that time new problems had arisen to claim her attention.

It was the same with Biddy; and unconsciously both the sisters were happier for their common interest, which was such a new thing. Biddy went to the pictures with Doris and found the show utterly unsatisfying; and came home to make another new blouse and to practise steps and movements with Mary, who rejoiced, but was wiser than to say so.

“It was stale! Simply futile!” Biddy said scornfully. “I can’t be bothered watching pictures! I want to do things myself! It’s heaps more fun!”

The following Tuesday they stood, with six other girls who had come early, with long wooden swords in their left hands and eyes fixed expectantly on Jen. Mary’s eyes were a trifle apprehensive also; she was inclined to be nervous of this new attempt. Biddy was frankly eager to know what she was to do with her sword, and was amazed to hear she was expected to dance left handed. The making of the lock thrilled them to the limit; Mary was stunned to find how easily it had been done; but there was a triumphant delight in her bewilderment, at which Jen laughed in sympathy.

“And how do you like swords?” she asked, smiling down into Mary’s eager face as the morris class assembled.

“Oh, it’s great fun! That clashing is quite thrilling. But I never skipped so hard in my life before.”

“You’ll find every bit just as thrilling,” Jen promised. “It is fun, isn’t it? Now I want to see how your morris is getting on! Big ring, everybody! Biddy Devine, what have you got to remember?”

“Toes!” said Biddy solemnly, and balanced herself on the ball of her foot.

From Chapter 18: 'The Hamlet Club'

The evening with the Hamlet Club was another of the joyful memories of that radiant holiday to Mary and Biddy. The meeting was held at Darley’s Bottom, at the home of one of the original members of the club. Dorothy Darley welcomed her friends and all the newer members, most of whom she hardly knew, and sent them out to the lawn in the garden of the big farmhouse. This, on a fine evening, was a great improvement on indoors, and here the girls, schoolgirls and old members, danced country and morris dances for nearly two hours, till darkness and dew drove them to the barn, the original home of the club. The big lanterns were swinging from the rafters, the ground was hard and smooth; and the dancing went on merrily for an hour longer, to the music of Margia Lane’s magic fiddle.

Many of the dances were simple well known ones, and Mary and Biddy joined in “Peascods” and “Rufty” and “The Old Mole” and many an easy longways set. But when “Newcastle” or any morris came along, they climbed on the chairs to watch, and found the changing moving mass of colour very enthralling.

“It’s as if some one stirred up a pool full of floating jewels!” Biddy murmured sentimentally.

“But there’s such beautiful order in it! See those rings! And then the lines, and stars! I love the patterns and the music put together,” Mary said, her face alight with happiness.

The girls had all appeared in what Joy called “dancing frocks” - not ordinary evening dresses, but loose cool frocks of cotton or muslin or linen, in bright rich colours, each girl in the one she loved best.

Cicely Everett, very much “The President” and the presiding genius, and very warmly cheered on her arrival, wore rich dark red; Joy was in apple green; Jen in deep blue; Miriam and Marguerite, two married but very early dancers, in lilac, and in strawberry pink. Rosamund wore golden brown, which set off her yellow plaits well; Maidlin’s black hair hung over a frock of bright yellow; Dorothy Darley was in violet. Most of the frocks were finished off with white collars of linen or lace, and cuffs on the short sleeves; all were full skirted and short, and easy to dance in. The scene altogether was made up of brilliant colour and keen enjoyment, and made a picture Mary would never forget.

“I am so glad to have seen that!” she said warmly, as Joy packed them all into the car. “I shall often dream of your barn! How you all enjoy it!”

From Chapter 23: 'Holding the rope'

“Here you are!” and the Pixie came running out of the back of the little West End shop to greet them. “I am so glad to see you! Come along and see everything! Are you going to have a frock?” to Joy. “I’ll love to make one for you! This is the shop!” and she turned proudly to do the honours.

On the little counter, on the shelves behind, and on the ledges against the opposite wall, were piles of beautiful handwoven materials, in vivid, or delicate, or soft shades of colour. In one corner, in an open cupboard, were heaped spools of thread and wool and silk ready for use on the looms. The Pixie pulled out piece after piece of the finished goods and spread them on the counter to tempt Joy.

“Dear Pixie, stop!” Joy implored. “I’ll have every single one! If you go on, I shall have to cut down my beech avenue to pay for them! I simply can’t resist such gorgeous things!”

“The colours are so topping!” Jen sighed. “I want a frock, too! I’ll have to make love to Daddy! May I bring him to see them, Pixie? It might have a good effect!”

“Do bring him! We’ll love to see him. Come and see the looms and the girls at work.”

“The colours are weird, though,” Jen exclaimed, as one after another original design caught her eye. “I’d never have dreamed of putting some of them together. They’re right, of course; you feel that as soon as you see them. But some of them are mixtures I’d never have dared to think of! How do you know they’ll turn out right?”

The Pixie turned over the materials with eager, loving hands, and explained which thread was the warp and what material it was - a silken warp woven with wool, or mixtures of wool and thread. “I don’t know; I’m only learning about colours. It’s fascinating; I’ve always loved them, and loved certain colours together; now I’m learning why. I’m happy all day long, working among such beautiful things. And it’s quiet; it’s such a change after racing about the country. Of course I go away now and then; but I’m glad to be settling in town for a bit. I love London! I’ve a little workroom upstairs, where I sit and work and have time to think; and it’s a real rest. I enjoy making up these lovely things and designing them to suit people. And I have dancing at night, at Plaistow; or when I’m not teaching, at the town classes. I’m very happy! All the rich colours are very soothing.”

“I should have thought they’d be exciting!” Joy demurred.

“They’re stimulating, but they’re soothing, too, because they’re so satisfying.”

She led them into the back shop, to be greeted by a staid cat and a lively white dog, to be introduced to the weaving girls, and to see the looms. Some wide silk was being woven; every possible colour seemed to be there on a golden warp; and the effect was Eastern in its vivid brilliance. The soft spoken Russian girl at work at the moment loosened the loom and drew out the finished work to show the strip she had done and which had been woven by her friend; the difference in effect was noticeable at a careful look, and to the surprise of the visitors, the quiet colouring had been wrought by the Russian, while the earlier breadth, which was almost barbaric in its brilliance, had been designed and carried out by the English girl.

“I know,” said the Pixie, as they cried out in surprise and doubt. “You’d never have thought it, but it’s so. That gorgeous bit is Molly’s; the softer work is Anna’s. They’re both beautiful; but so different!”

“I put a forest in mine,” said Anna, in her pretty soft accent. “See! Can you see it? Here! It is a forest!”

“Of course it is!” Jen cried excitedly. “Green and gold! Sunshine through the trees! Your beech avenue in early spring, Joy!”

Downstairs were more and larger looms; upstairs they saw the Pixie’s workroom, and the dresses she was working on. In the shop were piles of carpets and rugs, of strange rich colours also, some “straight from the desert,” as the Pixie told them proudly, others from China and Japan.

“It’s a most fascinating spot!” Joy sighed. “I shall come to see you often here, Pixie. And I quite expect I shall order a frock every time! You’d better measure me and make notes; then you’ll be prepared! But to start with, I’ll have that lovely brown; your browns are too gorgeous for words! I simply can’t resist them! Perhaps next time I’ll ask you to have one woven on purpose for me; but I’m not clever enough to know how it would turn out, so at present I’ll have the piece that I can see finished. And now come out to lunch! You must tell us where to go. We’ve a big problem for you, and we’re dying to hear what you’ll say about it.”

“Oh?” the Pixie looked up in eager interest. “Is it your children again? Aren’t they happy together yet?”

“They’re inseparable; adore one another, and all that kind of thing. Oh, do you know, we had such a fright on Sunday!” and as they went out together they told of the accident and explained the presence of Mary and Biddy at the Hall.

The Pixie made no comment, but her eyes kindled as she glanced appreciatively at the two girls taking the seats opposite to her at the table she had chosen. Her favourite place for lunch was on the balcony of a big corner restaurant, where five wide busy streets met, and streams of buses came slowly down each, or taxis whirled round all the corners. The traffic and the endless crowds fascinated the girls, and they hung over the railing and forgot their lunch and their problems.

But at last, when the coffee stage was reached, the Pixie drew them back to the business of the moment; and Joy turned from the seething whirlpool below and plunged eagerly into the story Mary had told in the Abbey. As the Pixie did not interrupt, but only listened with a face of almost greedy interest, so deeply absorbed was she, Joy went on to add the “evidence” collected by herself and Jen, of the effect, as they supposed, of Mary’s dream life on her character.

“Well, what are you going to do?” came the eager question. “You’ve got to help her now; you’ve simply got to! You do see that, don’t you? You couldn’t let her go back. She’s like a drowning man to whom you’ve thrown a rope. You’re safe ashore yourselves; and she’s caught the rope and is hanging on for her life. She doesn’t know that, but that’s what it comes to. You’ll never leave her to sink again?”

“You do think it was serious, then?” Joy asked soberly. “Oh, we won’t let her down! Since it’s happened that we’ve got hold of her, it’s up to us to help her through. We quite see that. But we want you to tell us how to do it. Was it serious, Pixie? We’d never heard of anything like it in a grown person.”

“It ought not to be in a grown person. It’s abnormal and horribly dangerous. Children are different; they have to dream dreams and see visions! But for a grown woman to waste her life and energies so - no! It was very serious indeed. I can’t tell you how it would have ended, but it would have been in something very unpleasant. You’d get complete dissociation eventually, I suppose; - but that’s rather beyond us to discuss! But I’m certain your Mary couldn’t go on living unnaturally, exciting her imagination without giving it any outlet, without paying very heavily for it.”

“What do you think would have happened to her?” Jen asked anxiously.

“It doesn’t matter. The thing is for us to see that it doesn’t happen still. She’s by no means clear of it; you can’t say she’s safe from the habit of years in three or four weeks. Her nerves would have given way, probably; she’d have become a neurasthenic invalid in a few years more; or it might have been her brain. She was living two lives, and the unreal one was getting stronger every day. At last it would have conquered, since she was feeding it all the time; the real life would have slipped away, and she’d have lived only in her dreams; happy enough, perhaps, but ruined for life, with no mind left to use. All you describe in her as the results are the signs of it; of course she is inefficient, and doubtful of herself, and nervous, and unwilling to take responsibility. How could she be otherwise? She knows she’s unfit. She knows she has shirked real life for years. Of course she can’t trust herself now. You’ve saved her for the moment, from chronic invalidism and possibly worse; but the thing is there. It won’t be conquered all at once. It’s a well known thing, you know; there are plenty of cases of it; your Mary isn’t the only one.”

“But how can we help her now?” Jen burst out explosively. “We want to help her; we’re dying to! We wouldn’t let her go back for anything. But how can we do it best?”

“We don’t want her to know we’re doing it,” Joy added anxiously. “You wouldn’t say all that to her, as you’ve just done to us, would you?”

“It wouldn’t do any good. And she probably knows most of it already. Oh, it’s no good talking to her! She’s drugged her conscience and her mind; she’ll only make excuses and persuade herself they’re true. But I’m not blaming her, poor child! Don’t think that for a moment!” the Pixie said swiftly. “It’s easy to see how it happened. She’s got imagination, probably a vivid one; and it was checked by her father’s death, just when it was feeling its way into life. If she’d been able to go on writing, all this might never have happened. At least it would never have got such a hold on her. But with imagination, and no outlet for it, and a monotonous business life, she had excuse for finding romance within herself. Her imagination is her gift, and it demanded a vent; it had to be satisfied. Her life couldn’t supply what it wanted, so it created it for herself. She might have taken to novels, and become a chronic reader of trashy stuff. There must have been something in her that could not be satisfied with that. I don’t say she wasn’t to blame; she could have fought this, if she had known what was happening. But probably she never realised it. I can see plenty of excuse for her; but it’s quite certain that it mustn’t go on.”

“But what can we do? You don’t want us to warn her?”

“I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t say much about it to her, unless she seems to want to know what you think. If she begins asking, tell her any or all of what I’ve said; but I don’t think she will. How to help her? You know that for yourselves. You’ve stumbled on it by chance; but it wasn’t really chance. Jen started giving her the thing she’d enjoyed so much herself; that wasn’t chance! Go on as you’ve begun; you’re on the right lines. You gave her music and dancing; probably she was starving for both. Then you gave her new friendships and interests and change of scene; and you found you’d changed her too. You’d lifted her out of her unreal world into a new real one, full of life and interest and beauty and new ideas. And she found she hadn’t any more time for unreal things. There’s your answer. Give her more music; keep her dancing - the exercise is good for her. It will stir her blood and keep her healthy. Take her to watch classes now and then, but not too much. Don’t let her get into the way of looking on at things. It isn’t good for her. Make her do them. Looking on and enjoying will rouse her, but if she doesn’t work it off somehow she’ll be the worse for it, if anything. You see,” the Pixie was warming to her subject, and spoke with eager energy, “what Mary has been starving for, all along, is an outlet. Her nature’s been craving for it. As she couldn’t have the natural one she had a right to, she had to create an unnatural unhealthy one. Of course it was unconscious, but that’s what it comes to. When you came along and made her dance, you gave her the first chance she’d known for years to work off some of what she was feeling. You say she told you, rather as a joke, that after that time she danced first, at Plaistow, she went home and wrote long letters that she’d been shirking for months. It isn’t funny to me; it’s what I’d have expected. I’m glad she’s had the grit to do something; it doesn’t matter much what. Don’t you see? You’d wakened her mind; it had to work. If she’d had her father to guide her, she’d have written a story, since that’s evidently her natural mode of expression.”

“Oh, I wish she had! Why did he go and die?” Jen wailed. “I’m sure it would have been interesting!”

“You’ve wakened your Mary’s real life,” said the Pixie definitely. “You may also have saved her reason. But now, unless she’s to go back, to be worse than before, you’ve got to help her to express that life. She must find her outlet; something worth living for. She must do things; that’s what it comes to.”

“Dance, do you mean?” Jen asked doubtfully.

“That’s a step; a big first step, for her. It’s fine to hear she’s taking up morris and sword; they’ll all help her to forget herself. But she mustn’t stop with merely dancing; that’s not an end. It is expression, but it’s not enough. She must use that dancing for other people, - as you’re doing,” to Jen. “Make her teach. Find her a little class and make her start. At least she’ll know more than they do.”

“Pixie, you are unexpected!” gasped Joy. “Mary Dorothy teaching! I can’t quite see that!”

“She’d die at the thought,” said Jen.

“She’ll get used to it. Make any reason you like; say it’s to help you, and you’ll be so grateful. Make her take your class every now and then; or find her some very poor children and give them into her hands one evening a week. It would be the saving of her. And then you’ve got to make her begin writing again. That’s obvious.”

Joy looked at Jen and Jen at Joy.

“It didn’t seem very obvious!” Joy remarked. “I should have said it was impossible.”

“But we can’t advise her, Pixie,” Jen objected. “And she says her stories were no good.”

“We can find somebody to advise her. Why don’t you ask our Writing Friend? Jen can talk to her at classes. She’ll know.”

“Pixie, do you mind if I hug you in public?” Joy asked fervently.

“Of course you must ask her. Don’t say a word about phantasy; that’s the scientific name of the thing Mary Dorothy’s been indulging in. Just tell her you have a friend - but they’ve met, you say? All the better. Tell her all you can about Mary’s attempts at writing, and ask her advice.”

“We will!” Joy said, with energy. “And we’ll bully Mary Dorothy till she produces something we can show to the Writing Person, to give her something to go on. Pixie, you’ve helped us a lot, and we’ve taken up all your lunch time. But I’ve one more question. I’d been planning a way to help Mary Dorothy, and I want to know what you say about it. I don’t think it’s quite the thing for her, at least not yet. But in some way it would be tophole. I’ve been wondering if she could be the matron for my girls’ hostel. You know I’m still hunting for the right person.”

“Oh, Joy, that would be ripping! Then she’d live near you all the time,” Jen cried eagerly. “But would she do it?” and her face clouded. “She wouldn’t take it on; she’d be scared, Joy!”

Joy looked at the Pixie. Her face had lit up, but she was looking very thoughtful.

“Not yet,” she said, after a long moment of gazing down at the buses and taxis and crowds. “In time, yes! It would be ideal; you say she loves the country. But she ought to come back home and fight this thing out first. Don’t you see, if you keep her always in the country, those dreams will be behind her as part of her town life, and she’ll keep a fear that if she ever has to live in town again, they will all come back? I know I should. She must feel that they are gone for ever, because she’s so much stronger that she can keep them at bay; it mustn’t be the mere accident of living in the country and changing her work that has saved her. Let her come home; she’d have to come for her sister’s sake, anyway. Keep her busy; start her writing again; make her take the responsibility of teaching, even if it’s only occasionally or only a few children at a time; and of course keep in touch with her, and help her to make friends; widen her life in every way you can. In a year or two you’ll find she’ll be quite different, if all goes well. Then, if Biddy can get a post, you can transport Mary to the country and give her charge of your girls, and she’ll be happier than she’s ever been in her life, whether she’s making a success of the writing or not. I don’t say she’ll be successful, but I do say she must try. And always remember, she’s your responsibility. You threw the rope that saved her; now you’ve got to hold that rope and never let her sink again till she’s safely ashore.”

“We’ll hold on for all we’re worth!” Joy said fervently.

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Text © Ju Gosling aka ju90 2010