The Little School-Mothers

“Good morning, Mrs Burton,” he said.

“Good morning, Ralph, my dear,” she replied. “Will you come and stand with me, Ralph, up here?”

“Oh, thank you so very much,” said Ralph.

He mounted on to the little dais, and Mrs Burton, taking his hand, led him forward.

“You see all these girls, Ralph,” she said. “They are all your great friends, are they not?”

“Oh, yes!” said Ralph. He looked eagerly from one face to the other. To begin with, there was Robina. He had not seen her for a week. She was standing very erect; her face was quite calm and strong and kind. She looked full at Ralph, but with no special pleading in her eyes. She would have liked to be his school-mother, and she wanted the pony very much; but not for worlds would she condescend to plead with him. A great deal can be conveyed by the glance of an eye, and Robina’s eyes were of the sort that could convey any number of messages to the sensitive, warm heart of a little child. But at the present moment they were dumb. Ralph looked past her.

“Here are all your kind friends,” said Mrs Burton. “You know Robina Starling. This is Robina. You remember how very kind she was to you and Curly Pate on the day you arrived. She helped you during that hard time when your father went away.”

“And I didn’t cry not one tear,” said Ralph, giving an eager glance at Mrs Burton, and then looking back at Robina. Oh, if only her eyes had said then: “Come to me,” he would have chosen her above all the others. But the proud eyes were dumb.

“Yes,” continued Mrs Burton, “this is Robina Starling, your great friend. And here comes Frederica. You had, I know, a very pleasant day with her.”

“Very pleasant,” said Ralph. “Good morning, Frederica,” he added, saying the words in a clear, sweet little voice.

“And this is Patience, Frederica’s sister.” Patience smiled at him quite broadly, and he smiled back at her just as though they held a secret between them, and the secret was very good fun.

“And this is Rose. You cannot forget how happy you were with Rose.”

“Oh, yes, of course, I was,” said Ralph. “Good morning, Rose.”

“Good morning, dear,” said Rose.

“And this is,” said Mrs Burton, slightly altering her voice, as though it were scarcely worth while to speak of Harriet, “this is Harriet. You spent Saturday with Harriet.”

Ralph coloured. All the girls noticed how a flame of red swept over his little face. His eyes grew dark. He looked full at Harriet, as though she fascinated him.

“And this is Jane Bush. And now we come to Cecil Amberley. I am sure Cecil would be kind to any little boy.”

“Yes, oh, yes,” said Ralph.

“And last but not least, here is Vivian. You were with Vivian yesterday, don’t you remember?”

“I remember,” said Ralph.

“Then, my dear little boy, you are acquainted with every girl in the third form. Now, listen to me. It is your dear father’s wish that one of these girls should take, as far as possible, the place of a mother to you during the remainder of the term. For three weeks, Ralph, until your father returns, you will be given over to the special care of one of these girls; and your father wishes you, as being, he considers, a very wise little boy, to choose your school-mother yourself. Having made a choice, you must abide by it, unless I personally interfere. That I shall not do except under extreme circumstances. Now, my boy, you have no cause to be afraid. Choose boldly the girl you like best, the girl with whom you will be happiest. Remember, Robina was your oldest friend, and Vivian your newest friend; the others came between. Look well at them all, and make your choice, as a wise little boy should.”

Again Ralph looked full at Robina, and again Robina knew that her eyes had but to say: “Come,” and not all the gipsies in all the world, nor all the picnic teas and breakfasts and boxes of matches in a little boy’s pocket, and possible knives – the temptation to possess which a little boy might succumb to – could have influenced Ralph in the very least. But alack and alas! for all that was to follow: those eyes still were dumb. So Ralph’s own brown eyes wandered past Robina and rested, without any special desire or longing in them, on Frederica’s face, and past Frederica to Patience, and then they lingered and seemed to dilate, and the whole little face trembled as the boy gazed at Harriet. But even now he was wise, and would not make his choice too hastily; for, past Harriet, his eyes travelled to Jane, who looked down, and turned white and pink, and from Jane he gazed at Cecil, who was all unconscious and looked full back at him, being quite certain in her heart of hearts that she would not be the one chosen; and then he looked at Vivian, who, as a matter of fact, counted nothing at all to him.

His heart beat. He thought of a hundred things, but most of all at that moment of not learning to read much, of not troubling himself with figures, of being the manly sort of boy who would play with fire and not be burnt, and have knives and not be cut, and, above all things, of a certain gipsy caravan which was called a house on wheels. Once again, his eyes sought those of Harriet; and now she looked boldly at him, and Ralph looked boldly back at her, and smiled, and, loosing his hold of Mrs Burton’s hand, he said in a loud voice:

“I choose Harriet for my school-mother, because I love her the best of all.”

Book One – Chapter Eight

Consequences

The astonishment which this announcement caused in the school may be better imagined than described. Even Mrs Burton was struck dumb for a minute. Then she said quietly:

“Harriet, you are the favoured one. Will you please take Ralph to Miss Ford, and get her to set him his lessons, and then will you take him into the third form room, and give him a seat by yourself and attend to his work in the intervals when you can spare some moments from your own? I will arrange later on that you have plenty of time to do this. Now, my dear, attend to your duties. You have been elected in a fair field, and I don’t think any favour has been shown, and I congratulate you, and hope you will be the proud possessor of the prize pony on the day when you leave school.”

The rest of the girls in the form congratulated Harriet also, and she walked out of Mrs Burton’s parlour with her head in the air, holding Ralph by the hand. Never had such a moment of intoxicating triumph been given her before. She was trembling from head to foot.

“Now we’ll have fun, won’t we?” whispered Ralph. “Yes, of course,” said Harriet back. “But come along at once, Ralph. We must get your lessons. You will be a very good little boy, won’t you, and not too troublesome?” She longed to add: “I can’t stand troublesome children,” but refrained for the time being.

Miss Ford gave Ralph some easy lessons, telling Harriet where his weak points lay, and how often he ought to repeat them over to her.

“You must be very particular indeed with regard to his sums,” she said. “These sums in addition and this little one in subtraction must be done perfectly. I think that is all for to-day.”

Harriet, still holding Ralph’s hand, but holding it rather loosely, marched now in the direction of the third form class-room. As they were going there, Ralph spoke:

“I thought – I thought – that – if you were my school-mother, there would not be sums and things.”

“Oh, nonsense!” replied Harriet, rather tartly. “There must be sums and things, as you call them. How are you to be wise if you don’t learn?” she continued. Then, seeing that the colour swept over his face, she added hastily, “I won’t be hard on you, no fear, and when lessons are over, we’ll have great fun.”

“Yes, great fun,” repeated Ralph. “The gipsies, perhaps?” he added, pleadingly.

But Harriet, who had not the least idea in her heart of hearts of bothering herself with regard to gipsies, was silent. They entered the school-room, where all eyes followed them to their seats. Ralph’s choice was considered too wonderful for words, and more than one girl felt that the thing had been managed by foul play. What had occurred they could not tell, but they were positively certain that Ralph of his own accord would never have chosen Harriet.

Meanwhile, lessons went on, and Ralph struggled over tasks which Robina or any other girl in the form would have rendered easy and pleasant for him, but which Harriet did not trouble herself to think about.

“Don’t bother!” she whispered once quite crossly, when he pulled her sleeve.

Towards the end of the morning it was with great difficulty that the little boy could keep back his tears. Of course, he had made a splendid choice, and Harriet was delightful; but, still – but, still – how he did wish he knew how to take nine from seven! Nine would not go from seven because seven wasn’t as much as nine. Oh, how was it done? Then there was six from five. He came to the conclusion at last that sums were not meant for little boys; it was beyond the power of the human brain to manage sums; not even his own father could take six from five. He began in his restlessness to tear up paper, making five little pieces, and then six little pieces, and wondering how he could ever take the greater out of the less.

“Harriet,” he whispered at last, tugging at her arm, “it can’t be done; see for yourself.”

“Don’t bother,” whispered Harriet again. But then she saw Robina’s eyes fixed on her face, and, suddenly recovering herself, bent down over Ralph.

“What is the matter, you little troublesome thing?” she said.

“I can’t take six from five,” answered the boy.

“Oh, you goose!” said Harriet; “borrow ten. Now, then, peg away.”

What Harriet meant was Greek to Ralph. “Borrow ten?” he murmured to himself, “borrow ten?”

It was a very hot day, and Ralph, try as he would, could not borrow ten. There was no one to borrow it from. The windows were open at the opposite side of the great room, and a bee came in and sailed lazily round. The bee, in his velvety brown coat, was watched by a pair of eyes as soft, as brown as his own velvet coat. The bee never borrowed ten, that was certain; no more could he. Oh, he was sleepy, and lessons were horrid, and sums were the worst of all. And why, why, why did not his school-mother really help him?

He was just dropping off to sleep when a brisk voice said in his ear:

“What is the matter, Ralph?” He looked round, and there was Robina.

“I am sleepy,” said Ralph. “It’s because I can’t borrow ten. Will you lend it to me?”

Robina bent down over the slate, where poor little Ralph was making a muddle of his sums.

“This is the way you do it,” she said.

She explained so simply; the child understood. His eyes brightened.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” he answered. “Why, it’s quite nice now, quite nice.”

“Well, you won’t forget another time,” said Robina. She had to go back to her own seat. She took care in doing so not to glance at Harriet.

At last school time was over, and the young people went into the gardens. Ralph now felt happy once more. His idea was that Harriet – dear, kind, fascinating Harriet, who had made him so intensely happy on the day when she had been his trial school-mother – would now take him all away by himself. She would sit somewhere under a tree, and get him to sit by her side, and tell him her plans. These plans must surely include a picnic tea and a visit to the gipsies. Ralph felt now that every desire in his life was centred round the gipsies.

“Come, Harriet,” he said, tugging at her sleeve, “come away, please.”

“What’s the matter?” asked Harriet.

“Why – we want to be all by our lones,” said Ralph. “We have such lots to talk about!”

Harriet looked down at him. She looked down at a little boy, with flushed cheeks and lovely eyes and a tremulous, rosy mouth, and a little face all full of love and soul and feeling. But it was not given to Harriet, even for a minute, to see this little boy as he really was. She only saw through him a pony – a flesh and blood pony, with its side-saddle; and she saw a girl with a perfectly-fitting habit who owned the pony, and this girl was herself.

“Well,” she said a little crossly, for she had a great deal to do that afternoon, and meant to have a right good time at a great picnic where all the girls were going, and where, of course, she would be, in honour of her triumph that morning, the principal personage. “Well,” she repeated, “what is it?”

“I have such a lot to say,” whispered Ralph.

“Come along here, then, Ralph, and say it. What do you want?”

“Why, Harriet, I thought – I thought – ”

“Now, I tell you what,” said Harriet. “You and I must understand each other. You’re a very good little boy, and I like you enormously, and I’ll be ever so kind to you. You don’t know what luck you’re in to have chosen me for your school-mother. I don’t know what would have come to you if you had chosen any of the others. But you mustn’t be selfish, you know.”

“No,” said Ralph, winking back a tear, “’course not.”

“And there’s another thing. You must never again allow that horrid girl, Robina, to help you with your sums. Now, do you hear? You did look silly over that sum in subtraction; and, of course, Robina, who hates me, was watching her opportunity.”

“I don’t know what opportunity is,” said Ralph.

“Oh, well – I can’t tell you – you’re a baby. Anyhow, don’t do it again, do you hear?”

“Very well, Harriet,” said Ralph.

It was just at that moment, and before a single word could be said with regard to the afternoon of that half-holiday, and the gipsies and all the great, great fun which Ralph so looked forward to, that Miss Ford came up to Harriet, and drew her a little aside.

“Mrs Burton wishes me to say, Harriet, that she will not expect you to join the picnic to-day on account of Ralph Durrant.”

“And why not, pray?” asked Harriet, turning very red.

“Because they are going too far away, and he would not be back in time for bed, so you are to stay at home to look after him.”

“Well, I like that,” said Harriet. “I won’t do anything of the kind.”

“Oh, you needn’t stay, really, Harriet,” interrupted Ralph, who gave up all thought of the gipsies on the spot. “Do please go, Harriet. I don’t mind being left.”

Harriet looked eagerly at him.

“Don’t you?” she said. “Oh, I am sure you don’t; you are a very good little boy.”

“But, I am afraid,” said Miss Ford, “that is not the question. Ralph’s school-mother accepts certain duties, which she must perform, and you can’t go to the picnic, Harriet, for Mrs Burton forbids it. She says you are to stay at home and look after Ralph, and make him as happy as possible.”

Harriet, who never denied herself, was suddenly forced to do so, and in the most disagreeable, unexpected way. She almost hated Ralph at that moment. His brown eyes did not in the least appeal to her, and when he snuggled to her side, and tried to take her hand, she pushed him almost roughly away.

“I hate being pawed!” said Harriet. “You must understand that, Ralph, if you are to be with me always. Very well, Miss Ford,” she continued, turning to the teacher. “I must do what is right, of course.”

“Of course, you must,” said Miss Ford, and she marched away, saying to herself that she pitied Ralph, and wondering – as, indeed, everyone else was wondering – why Harriet had been chosen as his school-mother.

Book One – Chapter Nine

A Visit to the Fair

Almost immediately after early dinner, two waggonettes came up to the door, and the girls of the sixth form and the girls of the third form, with their governesses and Mrs Burton herself, started off for a long and happy day in some distant woods. They were to visit the ruins of Chudleigh Castle and go up to the top of Peter’s Tower – a celebrated place in the neighbourhood – and afterwards they were to have tea on the grass; and, best of all, they need not return home until the moon came up.

The moonlight drive home would be the most fascinating part of the whole expedition. For days and days this picnic to Chudleigh Castle had been talked about; and Harriet, with the others, had enjoyed it in anticipation. Now, she had to stand by, gloomily holding Ralph’s hand, while the carriages were packed with radiant, happy girls, and, what was still harder, she had to listen to their gay shouts, and, in particular, to their badinage at her expense.

“I hope you’ll enjoy yourself, Harriet,” said Rose Amberley.

“I hope you and Ralph will have fun, my dear,” said Agnes Winter, one of the sixth form girls, whom it was a great honour to know, and whom Harriet secretly adored. Even her own special chum, Jane, was looking flushed and pleased – disgustingly flushed and pleased, thought Harriet. And there was that little weak Vivian giggling in the silly way she always did, and casting covert glances at her, and, of course, laughing at her in her sleeve. And there was that odious Robina, not looking at her at all, but calmly taking her seat, and making others laugh whenever she spoke to them. Oh, it was all distracting, and for the time being so angry was Harriet that even the prospective pony lost its charm.

At last the waggonettes started on their journey. The sound of their wheels ceased to be heard. Stillness followed commotion; gay laughter was succeeded by – in Harriet’s opinion – a sort of void. Again Ralph tugged her arm.

“Now,” he said, “now it’s gipsies, isn’t it?”

“It’s nothing of the kind, you horrid, little troublesome thing,” said Harriet. “I am not going to take you to see the gipsies to-day – no, nor any day, for the present. Oh, stop that blubbering, or I’ll smack you.”

“You did once before,” said Ralph steadily, and he looked her full in the face, tears arrested in his eyes, and his own colour coming and going.

Harriet immediately saw that she had gone too far. She altered her tone.

“Please forgive me, Ralph,” she said. “I know I am cross; I wanted so very much to go to that picnic, and I can’t because of you.”

“I don’t understand,” said Ralph. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Yes,” said Harriet crossly; “that’s not the question. You are considered a baby, and you must be treated as one.”

“I aren’t a baby!” said Ralph, in great indignation. “Father said I am a real manly boy.”

“Well, prove yourself one,” said Harriet. “Don’t cry when I speak a little sharply, and don’t worry me about the gipsies. I will take you to see them when I can, because I promised to take you; but you’re not to remind me of them, for if you do I’ll be very angry.”

“I won’t ever, ever speak of them again,” said Ralph, gulping down a sob.

“Well, that’s all right,” said Harriet. She moved restlessly across the lawn. Curly Pate and the other small children were tumbling about on the grass. Ralph looked longingly at Curly Pate. Curly Pate clapped her pretty hands, and ran to meet him.

“I keen – oo king!” she said.

Harriet stood by restlessly. How contemptible it all was! Those silly little children, that tiresome Miss Ford, the empty house, the empty gardens, and the pleasure party far away – the pleasure party with some of its members laughing in their sleeves at her! Yes, she knew that fact quite well. That detestable little Jane was laughing. She saw the laughter hidden behind her smug face. And that horrid Vivian, she was all one giggle, and last, but not least, there was the detestable Robina – on this day of all days to laugh at Harriet seemed the final straw! She had had her great moment of victory; she had proved to Robina that she was the favourite – was the chosen one, was the beloved of the little boy about whom the school chose to make such a fuss. But oh, dear! there was reaction after triumph, and this reaction took place when Harriet found what were the duties imposed upon her by motherhood. She must take care of her little boy while the others went out a-pleasuring.

By this time, however, Ralph had forgotten all about her. He and Curly Pate had gone away to a little distance. Curly Pate was on her knees picking daisies, and Ralph was standing over her, after the fashion of kings when they choose to govern their queens and give directions.

“Longer stems, Curly; bigger flowers, Curly. Oh, you silly! not that one – that one with the red all round, it’s broader. Now, then —I’ll show you how to pick them.”

“Peese, king! peese!” replied the impatient queen.

Harriet was not interested in the small children, and just at that moment something occurred.

A girl from the neighbourhood, of the name of Pattie Pyke, was seen walking down the avenue. She was the doctor’s daughter, and was the only girl who was ever allowed to come to the school to take lessons. She joined the third form twice a week for German lessons, but was never with them during recreation. In consequence, she was scarcely counted at all in the school life. Harriet and she, however, had managed to take up a sort of acquaintanceship which never until this moment had developed into friendship. Pattie was a plain girl, large for her age, stoutly built, and with a face covered with freckles. She had small blue eyes and a snub nose. Her hair was somewhat inclined to be carroty, and she had white eyelashes and eyebrows. Notwithstanding this, she was a pleasant girl enough, and had plenty of ability.

“Hallo!” she said now, when she saw Harriet. “Why, I thought, of course, you’d be off to the picnic!”

“Well, I’m not, you see,” answered Harriet ungraciously; “I am here.”

Pattie drew nigh. The real desire of her life was to make friends with one of the school-girls. She was always imploring her father to send her to the school as a boarder, but hitherto he had been deaf to her entreaties.

“I was coming to the school with a note,” said Pattie; “Father told me to leave it. I did not think I’d meet one of you. I am surprised to see you.”

“Well, you need not be. You were not at school this morning, or you would know why I am here.”

“No, I had a cold, and Father thought I had best not go. He is so awfully particular, for fear of my giving anything to the rest of the girls. I am better now, but I must not be out long; my throat is rather sore.”

“You look quite well,” said Harriet.

“It’s only my throat that’s a little bad. Please, do tell me about this morning.”

“And the great triumph for me,” said Harriet. “Ralph, don’t go out of sight!”

She shrieked these words to Ralph, who immediately paused, turned, and looked at her, then came in her direction, holding Curly Pate’s hand.

“Do you see that child?” said Harriet.

“Yes – the little darling!” cried Pattie. “Little Ralph Durrant. Father raves about him; he says that he will be the richest man in England some day.”

“Oh, well,” said Harriet; “he is a very troublesome little boy now. But, nevertheless, I am pleased. His father has made a most ridiculous proposal. He said that Ralph was to choose one of us to be his school-mother – I can tell you it was thought a great honour – and he chose me.”

“You?” cried Pattie.

“Yes; are you surprised?”

“Oh, no!” answered Pattie; but she was, nevertheless.

“Well, I am the chosen one, and I can tell you I had my triumph. Those other girls, especially that new girl, Robina Starling, was sure that one of them would be cock-o’-the-walk; but not a bit of it – my little boy chose me.”

“That was nice for you,” said Pattie; “only I should not have thought you would have cared to be bothered by a child.”

“It’s not that,” said Harriet, lowering her voice; for, really, under the circumstances, any sympathiser was better than none. “A good deal depends on it. I will explain to you another time. Of course, there are drawbacks. I have the charge of that small person, and in consequence can’t enjoy myself at the picnic to-day.”

“Oh, what a pity!” said Pattie.

“It is, isn’t it?”

“And you are all alone this lovely, lovely day?”

“It is true,” said Harriet. “Well, I suppose I must take the rough with the smooth.”

“I tell you what,” cried Pattie, in some excitement. “Couldn’t you come home and have tea with me? It would be such fun! You might bring Ralph with you, you know. Of course, you would be allowed to come, and it is only a stone’s throw away.”

“I wish I could; I’d like it very much,” said Harriet.

“Do come,” said Pattie. “We’ll manage afterwards to go out and see the fair in the village.”