The Little School-Mothers

When she had reached this stage of discomfort and depression, there came a tap at her room door, and one of the maids tried to turn the handle. Harriet then remembered that she had locked the door. She went and opened it. The girl asked with a smiling face if she could arrange the young lady’s room.

“Certainly,” said Harriet. “I am going out.”

She took a big straw hat from a peg on the door and put it on her head.

“I made sure, miss, that you were away to the shore with the others.”

“I did not go with them,” said Harriet.

“I hope, miss,” said the girl, glancing at Harriet, and observing the red rims round her eyes, “I hope that you ain’t ill, miss.”

“No, I am quite well, thank you; but the fact is, I don’t care for donkey rides. I am going out now, so you can arrange my room as soon as you like.”

“Thank you, miss,” replied the girl.

Harriet ran downstairs. The hall door stood wide open: a little gentle breeze came in and fluttered the leaves of some books on the hall table. The air was sun-laden, and Harriet was glad to get out-of-doors. The little place seemed still and undisturbed; but by and by she came to a gardener’s boy, and then to the gardener himself. They both touched their hats to her. She wandered on and on. Presently, she reached the round pond. Here the water-lilies grew in profusion – great yellow cups, and still larger white ones. Harriet felt that desire which comes to almost every child to possess herself of some of the great waxen blossoms. She bent forward and tried to pick one. She could not manage it, however, for the flowers with their thick stems were hard to gather, and she knew that were she to try any harder she might fall into the pond. This she had no wish to do, and contented herself with standing by the bank.

As she was thus standing, wondering what she should do next, she heard a clear little voice say:

“Hallo there!” and Ralph bounded out of a thick undergrowth close by.

“Ralph?” said Harriet. She felt herself colouring. Shame absolutely filled her eyes. She did not want to look at the boy, and yet, in spite of every effort, her heart bounded with delight at seeing him.

“Did you want some of those?” said Ralph, eagerly.

“I will pick them for you. I know quite well how I can manage. See,” he added eagerly, “do you notice that willow tree growing right over the pond? I will climb along that branch, just where it dips so near the water, and I’ll put my hand out, and cut off some of the beautiful blossoms for you. Aren’t they just lovely?”

“Yes,” said Harriet, “but I don’t want them. Don’t endanger your precious life for me, Ralph, it isn’t worth while.”

As Harriet spoke, she turned away, marching with her head in the air in the opposite direction. She heard a cry, or fancied she heard one; and a minute afterwards, eager steps followed her.

“Harriet,” said Ralph’s little voice. He slipped his hand inside her arm. “What has I done? Why do you hate me, Harriet? What has I done?”

Harriet looked round. Then for a minute she stood quite still. Then, all of a sudden, her eyes fell; they fell until they reached the brown beseeching eyes of Ralph. Over her whole heart there rushed such a sensation of love for the boy that she could not restrain herself another moment.

“Oh, Ralph!” she said, with a sob. “I am about the nastiest girl in all the world. But I do, I do love you! Oh Ralph, Ralph!”

She flung her arms around him, dropping on her knees to come nearer to him. Just for a minute, she gave him a fierce kiss; then she let him go.

“It is Robina I hate,” she said; “it is not you.” Ralph gave a sigh.

“I am glad you don’t hate me,” he said, “’cause you see I love you.”

“And why aren’t you with the others?” said Harriet, suddenly.

“Couldn’t,” said Ralph, shaking his head. “Stayed a-hint ’cause of you; wanted to be with you – couldn’t go.”

“Then you do really love me?”

“I has said so,” answered Ralph.

A warm glow such as a fire might make entered Harriet’s heart. She sank down on the mossy turf and drew Ralph to sit near her.

“You are very nice,” she said. “I am very, very glad you stayed. But what did your father – what did he do?”

“Father?” said Ralph, in a surprised tone. “Nothing, in course.”

“But he wanted you to go, surely?”

“I said to father I must stay home this morning ’cause of one of my school-mothers.”

“And then?” said Harriet.

“Father – he said, ‘Send Bluefeather back to the stables.’”

“Then, Ralph? – and was that all?” asked Harriet.

“’Course,” said Ralph. “Father don’t question ’less at something very naughty.”

“Oh,” answered Harriet. After a pause, she said: “He didn’t ask you which of your school-mothers?”

“No,” said Ralph. “Think he guessed, though.”

“Did your father go with the others to the sea-shore?”

“Oh, yes: he went in the governess cart. He drove the donkey that drew the governess cart his own self.”

“You must have been very sorry to give up your fun,” said Harriet.

“’Course,” said Ralph.

“But you did it for me?”

“’Course,” said Ralph again. He concealed nothing, denied nothing. He looked full now into Harriet’s face.

“What is the matter?” she asked.

“You said you hated Robina and me; then you said afterwards that you did not hate me – you loved me, but you hated Robina. I want you to love us both. By the time Robina comes back, I want you to be a-loving of her as hard as you’re a-loving of me.”

“Well, I can’t do that,” said Harriet, “so there is no use wishing it.”

Ralph sighed. “She is very, very good,” he said. “Ralph,” said Harriet, suddenly; “there are some things I cannot bear.”

“What?” asked the little boy.

“I love you, and I can’t bear you to be fondest of Robina.”

“Very sorry,” said Ralph, shaking his curly head.

“Don’t you think,” said Harriet, drawing him close to her and fondling his chubby hand, “that you could manage to love me best? I want your love more than Robina does.”

“Sorry,” said Ralph again.

“Then you do love her best?”

“’Course,” said Ralph, “much best.”

Harriet pushed him away.

“Then I don’t want to sit with you,” she said, “nor talk to you. Go to Robina altogether. I – I suppose I am jealous; it is a horrid thing to be, but I suppose I am. You needn’t have stayed at home for me this morning. I don’t hate you; I was in a passion when I said I did; I love you very much but – I can’t stand a love like yours, the greater part of which is given to Robina.”

“Shall I tell you why I love her?” said Ralph. “’Cause she is strong and good and brave, and she teaches I lots of things; and she lets I look into her face; and she tells stories – wonderful stories!”

“Yes,” said Harriet. She was gazing intently at the child.

“Now you doesn’t,” said Ralph. “You did one day when I was with you, one day when you gave me picnic breakfast and we went to town and bought things for a picnic tea. But Robina does it every day; and I feel that she is strong, and – and – I can’t help it – I have to love her best.”

“I will tell you what I am,” said Harriet; “you had best know me for what I really am. I don’t like Robina just for the simple reason that she is stronger than me, and she can tell better stories, and she has got Bo-peep and I have not; and she is cleverer than me and has taken my place in the form. I was happy enough before she came to school, but I am not happy now.”

“I am so sorry,” said Ralph. “It seems an awfu’ pity, ’cause she can’t help being clever. My father’s clever: he can’t help it. Does you hate him ’cause of his big, big brains?”

“Oh, no, no – it’s quite different. You don’t understand what friendship means, Ralph.”

“Yes, I do: Robina tells me. When your friend isn’t happy, you’re not happy; that’s one thing ’bout friendship. And you would do anything for your friend – anything: that’s another. I heard father once speak of that. He did a wonderful big thing for a friend of his. I am always wanting to do a big thing for Robina, and a big thing for you. I know it isn’t much, but I did stay home for you this morning.”

“So you did; and you are a dear little boy; and I wish I wasn’t such a horror myself,” said Harriet suddenly. “Leave me, now. Ralph: after all, there is nothing you can do for me. I am cross, I suppose, but I’ll be better by-and-by.”

Ralph went away very sadly. He could not understand Harriet. His beautiful morning was wasted. Suddenly, he found himself back again by the round pond. The lilies were looking more lovely than ever in the sun. A dragon fly had just got out of his chrysalis, and Ralph watched him for a moment as he poised for flight.

All of a sudden, the wish to pick some water-lilies for Harriet returned to him. He would show her by this means how truly he loved her. She did want the lilies, he knew it, for he had seen her tugging so hard at one. “And she just lost her balance,” he said to himself. “Poor, poor Harriet: It would have been horrid if she had falled into the pond!”

The thought of getting some lilies for Harriet restored the little boy’s sense of happiness. He was his father’s own son, and knew no fear. Harriet was one of his school-mothers – the school-mother he loved second best. He made up his mind quickly to pluck three yellow lilies for her, and four white ones. That would be seven in all. Someone had told him that seven made a perfect number. He could easily reach the lilies if he climbed the willow tree, and gently pushed himself along that branch which bent over the pond.

No sooner did the thought come than he proceeded to put it into action. The supple bough, however, bent very low beneath his weight. Ralph was but a little boy, however, and the bough would undoubtedly hold him if he did not go too far along its slender stem. He had plucked one lily, and his little hand had grasped a second, when all of a sudden there was an ominous crack at the further end of the bough. It bent so low into the water now that Ralph’s balance was upset, and he found himself struggling in the deep pond. Ralph was not a minute in the water before Harriet, who was really not far off, rushed to the spot. Into the pond she plunged, seized the boy by his collar and dragged him with some slight difficulty to the shore. They were both very wet, but neither of them in the least hurt. Harriet stood by, dripping from head to foot.

“Oh, Ralph, Ralph!” she cried. “Did you do that to show that you loved me?”

“Yes; oh yes;” said Ralph. “Why, I nearly died for you, and you nearly died for me!”

“We must be the best and greatest of friends now,” said Harriet, quick to seize the opportunity. “But come into the house at once; you must get all your things off, or you will catch cold. Oh, and Ralph; promise me one thing – this shall be a secret between you and me. You will never tell anybody that you risked your life to get me the flowers, and I will never tell a soul that I risked mine to save you.”

“Oh – but you are splendid!” said Ralph. “Why, I should be dead now but for you, Harriet.”

“Of course you would, Ralph,” she answered; but she took care not to tell him that she was an excellent swimmer and had not risked her life in the very least when she sprang into the pond to save the little boy.

Book Two – Chapter Seven

Mr Durrant’s New Plan

Harriet took Ralph to her own room. There she changed all his things and made him get into her bed until she could fetch some fresh ones for him. He was cold, and shivering a great deal, but Harriet, quite unacquainted with the illnesses of young children, was not in the least alarmed. She ransacked Ralph’s wardrobe for another little drill suit, and he was dressed in new, dry clothes, and all trace of his ducking in the pond was removed before the party returned from their picnic.

Harriet herself had remained much longer than Ralph in her wet things, but she also was in fresh garments when they stood holding each other’s hands ready to welcome the others on their return.

Somehow, that ducking in the pond had quite managed to restore Harriet’s good humour. She and Ralph now held a secret between them, and she was firmly convinced that his friendship for Robina must be seriously weakened thereby.

“Why, Ralph, my little man,” said his father, “you do look well.”

He was pleased to see how bright his little son’s eyes were and what a high colour he had in his cheeks, and never guessed that the brightness of the eyes was caused by slight fever, and that the pretty cheeks were flushed for the same reason. At dinner time. Ralph, of his own accord elected to sit near Harriet, and at intervals during the meal he whispered in her ear:

“None of them knew ’cept you and me I risked my life for you, and you risked your life for me.”

“Yes, yes,” whispered Harriet back; “but none of the others must know. Don’t say those words so loud, Ralph, or they will hear us.”

Ralph snuggled close to Harriet, now in an ecstasy at the thought which the great secret they held between them caused. The rest of the day’s programme was carried out in all its entirety. But towards evening, Ralph’s feverish symptoms had increased. During the picnic tea he was unable to eat anything, and Harriet when questioned had to confess that her throat was sore.

The next day both Harriet and Ralph were ill, but Harriet was much worse than Ralph. To be in bed, to be unable to get up and enjoy the fresh air and the sunshine was a trial very hard for so small a boy as Ralph to bear; but when he was told that Harriet was worse than he, and that the doctor had to be sent for, he submitted to his own illness with a good grace. It was Robina who brought him the tidings.

“Harriet is really ill,” she said; “but Dr Fergusson says that you will very soon be all right again; you have only caught a little cold: I wonder how you managed it.”

“Oh, I know quite well all about it,” said Ralph.

“Do you, dear? then you ought to tell us,” said Robina.

Ralph’s soft brown eyes flashed with anger.

“Does you think I’d be so mean?” he said.

Robina looked at him in surprise. After a long time he made the following remark:

“Harriet is quite the most noble girl in the world. If it was not for Harriet, there’d be no me at all.”

Robina burst into a merry laugh.

“Oh, Ralph; you funny little boy!” she said; “what are you talking about?”

“You don’t understand Harriet,” was Ralph’s next speech, and he looked at Robina without the favour he used to bestow upon her. She was his school-mother and, of course, the one he loved best; but still she had never saved his life.

“I wish I could see my darling Harriet,” he said, after a pause. “I wish I could see her all by my lone self. I want to talk to her. We has a great secret atween us.”

The doctor, however, had forbidden Ralph to leave his bed that day, and certainly Harriet could not leave hers. In consequence, the children did not meet for a few days, and then it was rather a pale little boy who rushed into the arms of a thin, pale girl who, weak from the somewhat severe attack she had gone through, was seated in an easy chair not far from an open window.

“Now go ’way, all of you,” said Ralph, “I want to talk to my ownest school-mother. I has a great secret to talk over with her.”

The others obeyed without any protest. Robina, when she left the room, turned to Jane.

“I am sure of one thing,” she said: “something must have happened that day when Ralph and Harriet were left alone together. They were both quite well even although Harriet was cross when we started on our expedition to the beach; but they both got ill that very night, and since then, Ralph has altered: he is devoted to Harriet.”

“Perhaps he has learned to love Harriet best,” said Jane.

In spite of herself, there was a tone of triumph in her voice, for was not Harriet her friend, and did not every one else adore Robina?

“Would you mind?” she asked, fixing her round black eyes now on Robina’s face.

“Mind?” replied Robina. “Yes,” she said, after a little pause, “I don’t like to own to such a horrid feeling, but I am proud of Ralph’s love.”

She turned away as she spoke. She was going to her own room. In order to reach it, she had to pass the tiny chamber where Ralph slept. She found one of the maid-servants coming out. The woman had in her hand a little white drill suit all soaked through and much stained with the green weed which grows on ponds.

“I have just found this, miss,” she said, “in the cupboard in Master Ralph’s room. I wonder how it came there. Surely, little Master Ralph has not had a ducking in the pond.”

Robina felt the colour rushing into her face. For a minute, a sense of triumph filled her. Then she said, gently:

“Send that suit to the wash, please, Maria; and,” she added, “do not say anything about it.”

“There are stockings too, miss, all sopping, and shoes.”

“You can have the shoes dried, can’t you?” said Robina.

“Oh, yes, miss, certainly.”

“Well, send all the other things to the wash.”

“Yes, miss,” said the girl. “Perhaps,” she added, after a pause, “these things account for little Master Ralph not being well for the last few days.”

“They may or may not, Maria: anyhow, we won’t talk about that,” said Robina.

She went downstairs. Her heart was beating fast. The fierce desire to drag the truth from Harriet at any cost, which had overpowered her for a minute, had passed away. Her face was pale. She sat down on the nearest chair.

“Are you tired, my dear?” said Mr Durrant, approaching her at this minute, and sitting down by her side.

“No; not really tired,” she answered.

“I am glad to find you all by yourself, Robina; there are many things I want to say to you.” Robina waited expectantly. “You and Ralph are capital friends, aren’t you?”

“I hope so, indeed – indeed I love him dearly,” said Robina.

“And so does he love you. I cannot tell you, Robina, how thankful I am that he has made a girl of your sort one of his greatest friends; he might so very easily have chosen otherwise. There is Harriet Lane, for instance. Poor Harriet, I don’t want to speak against her, but she is not your sort, my dear. Now I like an open mind, generous – if you will have it, a manly sort of girl, one with no nonsense in her: one, in short, who will help Ralph to be the sort of man I desire him to be by and by. You, my dear, as far as I can tell, are that sort of girl. You have no fear in you. You have, I think, an open mind and a generous disposition. Compared to Ralph, you are old, although of course in yourself you are very young. I shall have to leave my little boy immediately after the summer holidays. My wish was to send him to school – to Mrs Burton’s school – where he could have had a little discipline, school life, and the companionship of many young people. But I have received a letter from Mrs Burton which obliges me to alter my plans.”

“Oh,” said Robina, speaking quickly, “I am very, very sorry – ”

“So am I, dear, more sorry than I can express. I am terribly upset about this letter, and I do not think it wrong to confide my trouble to you.” Here Mr Durrant drew his chair close to Robina’s side.

“You see, my dear child, I treat you as though you were grown-up.”

“Please do, Mr Durrant,” said Robina, “for there is nothing I would not do for you.”

“Well, this is the position,” said Mr Durrant. “Mrs Burton won’t be able to conduct her own school for the next term. She has induced a lady, a great friend of hers, to take the school over, and her hope is that she may be able to return to it herself after Christmas. Even this, however, is doubtful. Mrs Burton’s friend, Miss Stackpole, has had much experience of schools, but she is a maiden lady; and, in short, will not admit dear little Ralph as one of her pupils. Mrs Burton is obliged to spend the next term with her only sister, who is dangerously ill, and must undergo a serious operation. My plans, therefore, for Ralph are completely knocked on the head. I cannot possibly take him with me to South Africa. I have undertaken an expedition to that country which is full of adventure and danger. No young child could accompany me. I cannot bear to send Ralph to the ordinary boys’ school; and, in fact, my dear Robina, it has occurred to me that if I could possibly get a lady, trustworthy, kind, sensible, to keep on this house, I might induce you to stay with her as Ralph’s companion. Were this the case, I would myself undertake all your future education. You should have the best masters, the best mistresses that money could secure, and eventually, if you wish it, you should go to Newnham or Girton. I would see your father, my dear Robina, on the subject, and arrange the matter with him. You would have a right good time, for the lady I have in my mind’s eye is a certain Miss Temple, a cousin of my own, a very gentle and sweet woman, who would do all she could for your comfort and happiness, and would not unduly coerce you. Being Ralph’s school-mother, and the girl he has chosen above all others as his special friend, I doubt not that he would love the arrangement. As to your fees at Mrs Burton’s school, those can, of course, be managed. What do you say, Robina? Are you willing to continue at Sunshine Lodge as my dear little boy’s greatest friend – in fact, as his little school-mother?”

“Oh, I should like it!” said Robina. “But does it not depend on Ralph?” she continued.

Mr Durrant moved rather impatiently. “I have never coerced Ralph in the least,” he answered. “My endeavour has been from his birth to allow my dear little boy to choose for himself. I believe in the young, clear judgment of extreme youth. I think that little children can penetrate far. Of all your school-fellows he chose you, Robina; and who, my dear child, could have been more worthy?”

“But I am full of faults,” said Robina, tears springing to her eyes; “you don’t really know me. At home I am often blamed. My Aunt Felicia doesn’t think highly of me. You ought to go to my home and ask my own people what they really think with regard to me.”

“It is my intention to do so. I must talk to your father and mother about this plan; but somehow, I do not think they will disappoint me, and as a matter of fact I do not believe any little girl could better help my little son than you can.”

“Only suppose – suppose,” said Robina, “that he prefers Harriet.”

“Harriet?” cried Mr Durrant; “but there is surely no chance of that?”

“I don’t know, I am not sure. He likes Harriet certainly next best after me; he may even like her better.”

“I think not: you are without doubt the favoured one. Robina, we are all alone now. Harriet Lane is your schoolfellow. Tell me honestly what you think about her.”

Robina sprang to her feet.

“As her schoolfellow,” she said, hastily, “I cannot tell you anything about her; please don’t ask me. This, Mr Durrant, is a very serious matter, and I – I would rather not say.”

“You have answered me, my child,” said Mr Durrant, “and as I thought you would. Now, we will talk no more on the matter.”

Robina left him, and went into the grounds. The happy summer days were slipping by. Why is it that summer days will rush past one so quickly on such swift wings, that almost before we know it, they have all gone – never, never to return?

The eight little school-mothers at Sunshine Lodge wanted no one good thing that could add to the joys of life. From morning till night, their cup of bliss seemed to overflow. In addition to all the pleasures provided for them, they had perfect weather, for that summer was long to be remembered in England – that summer when day by day the sun shone in the midst of a cloudless sky, and the warm, mellow air was a delight even to breathe.

While on this occasion Mr Durrant was having a long talk with Robina and giving her to understand what he really wished with regard to the future of his little son, that same little son was pouring out his heart to Harriet.

“You is better, isn’t you?” he said.

“Yes,” replied Harriet, who had resolved to make the very most of things. “But I was ill, very ill indeed: I don’t think the doctor expected me to live.”

“And you’d have died – you’d have become deaded for me?” said Ralph.

“Yes,” answered Harriet, patting the little brown hand. “But I am all right now,” she added; “I am only weak.”

“I love you like anything,” said Ralph.

“Of course you do, Ralph,” answered Harriet.