The Little School-Mothers

Robina said nothing, and the headmistress went away.

There were three special parlours in the school. They were called by the old-fashioned name of parlour, but they were in reality ordinary sitting-rooms. One was devoted to the sixth form girls, and this was a large and truly elegant apartment, furnished well, with a grand piano, and easels, and beautiful pictures on the walls. The sixth form girls had all sorts of comfortable chairs and everything to conduce to that feeling of being grown-up which is so much liked by girls of from sixteen to eighteen years of age.

The little ones had also a parlour which was more like a play-room than anything else; and the third form parlour, in which Robina now found herself, was a large, square room with a round table in the middle, a book-shelf full of story-books, another book-shelf full of histories and works of travel, a pair of globes, and several bird-cages. A bird-cage hung down before each of the four windows, and in the cages were canaries, bullfinches, and other tame birds. There was also a parrot in a large cage in one corner of the room.

Robina, whose eyes had been quite dull, and who had felt an indescribable and most painful weight at her heart, quite brightened up when she saw the birds. She amused herself taking her chair from one window to another and examining the feathered creatures, who had now curled themselves up into round fluffy balls, and were sound asleep. Not for the world would she awaken them; but a new, tender sort of light came into her eyes as she watched them.

“Pretty darlings!” she said softly, under her breath. Her whole queer little face became happier in expression after she had examined the pet birds of the third form. She then crossed the room to look at the parrot. The parrot was an old grey bird with a solemn, wise face. He was not asleep: no one ever seemed to catch him nodding. He turned his head to one side and looked full at the new-comer.

“Mind what you’re about!” he said sharply, and then he turned his back to her as though she were not of the slightest consequence.

Robina burst out laughing. The parrot laughed too, but still kept his back to her.

“Mind what you’re about yourself,” said Robina. Whereupon the parrot answered, “Ha, ha!” and the next minute began to “miaow” in the most distracted manner, as though he were an angry cat.

Robina, now in fits of mirth, stood and regarded him. She was so employed when all the girls of the third form burst into the room. They came in in great excitement, each pair of eyes fixed upon Robina, and all the seven pairs of lips eager to say something to the girl who had so strongly excited their curiosity.

“I am so glad to see you. How do you do?” said Frederica, who was slightly the oldest girl in the form, and therefore the one to take the lead. “You are Robina, are you not?”

“Yes,” said Robina. She spoke with extreme calm. “You must be very tired.”

“I am not a bit tired,” said Robina.

“Well, I am glad you are not. I am sorry we were not at home to welcome you. We have had a lovely picnic!”

“Bother picnics!” said Robina.

This was a little disconcerting. Harriet Lane began to laugh. The parrot said instantly “Mind what you’re about! Ha, ha!” and everyone laughed now. The ice was broken: it was impossible to be formal after Polly had declared himself. Robina found that she was surrounded by a lot of eager, good-looking, pleasant girls. Each seemed more eager than the other to give her a hearty welcome. The soreness round her heart was soothed for the time being. She sank down on a chair and looked them all over.

“You’re not a bad lot for school-girls,” she said; “but I don’t know one from the other. Who is each? Please don’t speak so fast – one at a time. You are Frederica? What a queer name! Now, who are you? And who are you? I will tell you very soon which of you I mean to be friends with. I always do what I like everywhere.”

“Mind what you’re about! Ha, ha!” said the parrot.

Book One – Chapter Three

Developments

In a very few days Robina Starling was settled at school. She was as completely settled there as though she had lived at Abbeyfield all her life. She was the sort of girl who quickly fitted herself into a new niche. She wasted no time in selecting her friends. She was not a scrap afraid. She looked calmly, not only at the girls in the third form, but at those superior beings – the sixth form girls. What she thought she always said. Those girls who admired her said that Robina was very straightforward, that it would be impossible for her to tell a lie, and that they admired her for this trait in her character extremely. The girls who did not admire her, on the contrary, said that she was rude and ill-bred; but that fact – for she knew quite well that they said it – seemed rather to please Robina than otherwise.

She was quick, too, about her lessons. Although she knew nothing in the school way of knowing things, she had in reality a mass of varied information in her little head. She had a startling way of announcing her knowledge in and out of school. Miss Sparke used to find herself sometimes put quite in the wrong by this extraordinary pupil.

“No, Miss Sparke,” Robina said very calmly one morning during class, when she had been a week in the school, “that was the old-fashioned view, but if you look in the latest volumes on the subject, you will see for yourself that things are changed now. Shall I look for you, Miss Sparke, or will you do it yourself? It is a pity that you should teach the wrong thing, isn’t it?”

Miss Sparke said, “Hold your tongue, Robina; you are not to correct me in school.”

But she had coloured high when her naughty pupil spoke; and Robina, who did not colour at all, nor show the slightest triumph, but who sat down again in her seat with the utmost calm, made a deep impression on her school-fellows. She, with several of the girls, examined the latest authorities that afternoon, and as Robina was proved absolutely correct, and Miss Sparke wrong, the poor teacher took a lower place in her pupils’ estimation from that moment.

“You see,” said Robina, “although I am young in years, I have always read grown-up sort of things. Father’s frightfully clever, and so is Mother, and as there are no other children at home, I just read what I like. Besides that, I hear Father talking with other learned men. Father’s a great scientist, and he knows. Poor Sparkie is very well, but she is no scientist, and she doesn’t know.”

“What is a scientist?” asked Frederica.

“Oh, Frederica!” said Harriet; “why surely you know that. A scientist is – ” but then she coloured, for Robina had fixed her bright eyes on her face.

“Well,” said Robina calmly, “you will explain to Frederica what a scientist is, won’t you, Harriet?”

“A person who knows science, I suppose,” answered Harriet, blurting out the words, and then dashing out of the room in a fury.

A laugh followed her to the door. She felt that she hated Robina. She had never really liked her from the very first; and now, with a choking sensation in her throat, she went out into the playground.

The first person she saw was Jane. Now Jane in her heart of hearts greatly admired the new pupil. The fact that she was really naughty at home had, it is sad to relate, but added to Jane’s liking for her. Harriet, it is true, was Jane’s own special friend, but Harriet was not nearly so amusing or so daring as the new pupil. Harriet now called her companion to her in an imperious voice.

“Come here, this minute, you silly!” she said. “Why do you stand there with your mouth gaping and your legs far apart? You look for all the world like one of those foolish sheep on the back lawn.”

“I am not a sheep; you needn’t say it,” answered Jane.

She had reached Harriet’s side by this time.

“Well, come for a walk with me in the paddock,” said Harriet. “I don’t want to be cross to you, Jane, but really that new girl, Robina – she is past bearing.”

“Oh, I like her so much,” said Jane.

“You do?” answered Harriet. “You mean to tell me, you horrid thing, that you would give me up for her?”

“Oh! no, no, Harry, of course not. I like you best, of course. You are my real, oldest friend. But I suppose a girl may have two friends, and I do like her. The thing that makes me so sad is this: she won’t be my friend; she snubs me like anything.”

“There’s one comfort,” said Harriet; “she’ll soon snub herself out of the school if she isn’t careful. Think of her correcting Sparkie this morning! I never heard of such cheek in the whole course of my life.”

Jane began to laugh. “It was very clever of her,” she said.

“It was very impertinent of her,” said Harriet.

“But she was right,” said Jane, “and Sparkie was wrong.”

“I have no doubt she was wrong herself,” said Harriet, “although,” she added, “she did prove her point in that horrid encyclopaedia.”

The little girls had now reached the paddock. Here was delicious shade and green grass, and the heat of the July sun was tempered by a lovely breeze. Harriet, whose cheeks were hot with annoyance, began to cool down. Jane watched her with eager eyes.

“Harriet,” said Jane; “you don’t think for a minute that I love anyone as much as you?”

“I hope you don’t, Janie,” said Harriet; “it would be awfully unkind of you. But now listen to me. We must do something to stop this.”

“To stop what?” asked Jane.

“That young ’un taking the lead in everything. It is too ridiculous. She hasn’t been more than a week in the school, and yet everything yields to her. She struts about with her head in the air and even talks to the girls of the sixth form, and isn’t a bit afraid of Sparkie or even of Devigny. The next thing we’ll find if this goes on is that Mrs Burton herself is corrected by her. I wish, I do wish, I wish beyond anything, I could get her proved in the wrong herself.”

“Oh, Harriet!” exclaimed Jane.

“Yes, I do,” said Harriet; “I don’t pretend otherwise; she has taken everything from me.”

“Oh, what do you mean?” said Jane.

“I had not much,” continued Harriet; “but yet I had one thing. I was at the head of my form; I was certain of the best prizes; I was considered the clever one. I was not vain of it, but I was glad. Now, I am the clever one no longer. She is at the head of the form. Although she has been such a short time in the school, she will get a prize at break-up; I know she will. It isn’t that she has ever been taught in the school way, but she knows such a lot. Oh, I do hate her, Janie! I wish – I wish she had not come!”

“Poor Harriet!” said Jane.

She felt immensely pleased herself at this confidence reposed in her. Hitherto Harriet, with her pale face, her lank hair, her tall young figure, had been very condescending to black-eyed, roly-poly Jane. She had kept Jane under, and had only condescended to listen to her now and then. It was delicious to be confided in; to have Harriet explain to Jane what she felt about things. After a time, Jane said softly: “Until Robina came, we were the only naughty girls in the school.”

“Oh, we were not a bit naughty in reality,” said Harriet. “It pleased you to think it, Janie. When I told you that we were the naughty ones, you used to be as proud as Punch; but we were not really naughty as she could be naughty. I declare since she came I feel that I could do anything.”

“Let us make her naughty,” said Jane, in a low tone.

“Let us what?” asked Harriet, turning and facing her little companion.

“I know!” said Jane after a pause. “I heard what they said when I was hiding under the holly bush. They said that she was sent to school because she was so noisy and wouldn’t obey anyone. Up to the present she has only been a little naughty; she has done the sort of things that people forgive. Let us make her do something that people don’t forgive: let’s make her awfully disobedient.”

“I declare, Janie,” said Harriet, “you’re a much cleverer girl than I gave you credit for. That isn’t at all a bad idea. Of course it’s naughty of us to wish anything of the sort; but then she is too aggravating, and – and – if she takes my character for cleverness away, and keeps the head of the form, and wins my prize – I cannot stand it. Oh, she put me to shame just now before the others – I won’t tell you how, for it isn’t worth while; but she – she laughed as I went out of the room, and – the others laughed, too. I hate her! I don’t mind what I do to get her into trouble!”

“We mustn’t do too much, we must be careful,” said Jane. “But if she is really very disobedient at home, why should she not be disobedient just once at school? You are clever enough to manage that, aren’t you, Harriet?”

“And you are clever enough to help me,” answered Harriet. “Well, let’s say no more now; mum’s the word. They’re going to have tea on the lawn, and we may as well join the others. I shall not feel nearly so bad now, Janie, since you are my friend, and we are making up a little plot together. Let’s think very hard. Let’s put on our considering caps, and let’s meet again here this hour to-morrow.”

“Oh, Harriet!” said Jane. “I am glad and I’m sorry. I’m a bit frightened, and yet my heart goes pit-a-pat with excitement. I do love you, Harriet. Oh dear, oh dear! I wonder if this is desperately wicked!”

“I’ll give you a kiss if you will faithfully promise not to say one word of our conversation to another soul,” said Harriet.

Her kisses were considered great favours by the hungry Jane, who now received solemnly a peck on her forehead from Harriet.

“We’d best not be seen too much together,” said Harriet. “I will go round by the fish-pond to the lawn, and you can run into the house and come out that way.”

There is no doubt whatever that these two girls felt a very extra spice of naughtiness in their hearts on that afternoon.

Meanwhile, Robina was enjoying herself; she was the centre of a large circle of girls. She was very nicely dressed, to begin with; and she looked, if not pretty, yet exceedingly interesting; her face was so full of intelligence and her expression was so varying, that it was quite a delight to watch her when she talked. She had the merriest laugh, too, like a peal of bells, and she had a very good-natured way of drawing a neglected girl to her side, and putting her arm about her and making friends with her for the time being. In particular, she was fond of little children, and the small girls of the school clung round her, pressing up to her side, and begging to be allowed to sit on her knee and fondle her, as tiny girls will.

The first form in the school at present only consisted of four little girls. There were Patty and Cissy Price – two wee sisters of seven and six years of age; and there was Curly Pate – as they called her – the youngest girl of all, who was not yet quite six; and there was little Annie, who was older than the others, but very small in stature and very delicate.

Curly Pate was the baby of the school, and was somewhat spoiled in consequence. She was a perfect roly-poly creature, with fat arms and creasy, fat neck and little fat legs. Her face was perfectly round – as round as a ball, and she had blue eyes and a soft complexion, and fluffy, curly, baby hair all over her little head. Her hair was short and thick, and of that fine, fine quality which only very tiny children and babies possess.

From the eldest to the next youngest girl in the school Curly Pate was the darling. Anyone would be proud to walk with her, to caress her, to submit to her whims; and Curly Pate, like all young queens, was exacting. She had her preferences. She liked Constance Amberley better than any of her own small companions. When Constance walked about the grounds with Curly Pate on her back – that young person pretending that she was riding her pony and desiring her “Gee-gee” to go faster, and pounding her on the head and shoulders in no inconsiderable degree – Constance, far from being pitied, was envied by everyone else in the school. But lo, and behold! when Robina appeared, that fickle young person – the school baby – changed her tactics. She walked straight up to Robina on the first day of her appearance in the playground and said:

“I ’ike oo – new dirl!” and established herself on the spot, Robina’s ruler.

Robina was elected to be the baby’s slave, and the others laughed and joked at Constance, and watched the baby with delight. The other little girls followed suit, as very small girls will.

On this special afternoon Robina had the four small children in a circle round her. Curly Pate, it is true, occupied the place of honour on the young lady’s lap, but Patty and Cissie Price, and grave, pale little Annie were also close to the popular favourite.

“Tell us a story, Robina,” asked Cissie Price.

“Not now,” said Robina; “and you are not to pull me, babies, for it makes me too hot. Curly, sit still, you little imp! I’ll put you off my knee if you don’t behave.”

Now none of the other girls in the third form would have dared to speak to Curly in that tone. They would have received a slap in the face for their pains, but Curly took it quite meekly from Robina.

“I – is – dood. I is – vedy dood. I ’ove oo,” she said.

She nestled up close to Robina, pulling that young person’s hand round her waist, and patting the said hand with her own two fat little ones and saying, over and over again: “I ’ove oo, Wobbin – I ’ove oo!”

It was on this scene that Harriet and Jane appeared. Since Robina had come, Harriet had rather avoided her. She had been jealous, poor child, from the first moment; but now she altered her tactics, and forcing her way through the group, sat down close to the new favourite.

“There’s no room here,” said Robina. “Go a little further off, please, Harriet; you are pushing little Annie and making her cry.”

“I don’t care twopence for little Annie!” cried Harriet, rudely. “I have as good a right to sit here as anybody else. Don’t press me, Annie; if I am in the way, you’re the person to make room, not me. Go back to your nursery, won’t you?”

Annie, who was a very timid child, began to cry. Robina immediately rose, lifted Curly Pate on to her shoulder, and said to the three other little ones:

“I have changed my mind. I will tell you a story now, but no one else shall listen; it’s a lovely, true, true fairy tale. We’ll just sit under that tree, and you shall all hear it.”

They followed her, clinging to her skirt and one of them trying to grasp her hand. Harriet’s face grew black. Frederica said:

“Well, Harriet, you don’t look too well pleased; but for my part, I think Robina was quite right; you ought not to have taken poor little Annie’s place.”

“Do you mind telling me,” answered Harriet, “what right those children have to interfere with us? They belong to the first form; let them stay in their nursery.”

“Oh, as to that,” said Rose Amberley, “they have as good a right to the lawn as we have. They are always allowed to play here every afternoon; and Robina invited them to tea; she bought a lot of sweeties, chocolates and cakes for them. They are Robina’s guests; they just worship her.”

“Worship her, indeed!” said Harriet. “Well —I don’t worship her.”

“Anyone can see that, Harriet, and it is a great pity,” said Rose Amberley. “Robina is a very nice girl, and as good as gold.”

“Oh, is she!” said Harriet. “Jane, what do you think?”

“I know what I know,” said Jane, nodding her little head with great firmness.

Frederica looked very hard at Jane; then she glanced at her own sister.

“Look here,” she said suddenly; “we have all been very happy at school, haven’t we?”

“Who says we haven’t?” answered Harriet. She felt crosser than ever, for there were such peals of laughter coming from under the shelter of that tree, where Robina was telling the babies her fairy tale. “Who says we haven’t?” she repeated.

“The reason we have been happy,” continued Frederica, “is simply this: we have been – or at least we have tried to be – good. It would indeed,” continued the young girl, “be very difficult to be anything but good here – here, where things are so sweet and everyone is so kind, and even lessons, even lessons are made such a pleasure. Why shouldn’t we all keep on being good? why should we be jealous?”

“Who says anyone is jealous?” said Harriet.

“Oh, Harriet!” said Frederica; “you know you are, just a little bit.”

“I don’t wonder she’s jealous!” suddenly burst from Jane. “Robina has taken her place in class. Harriet is our clever one; she doesn’t want to – to – ”

“Oh, I am sure she is not small-minded enough for that,” said Frederica at once. “If a cleverer girl comes to the school – ”

“She is not cleverer!” burst from Harriet.

“Well, Harriet, you’ve got to prove it. If you are clever, work still harder, and resume your place in the class, and I’m sure we’ll all be delighted: fair play is fair play, and it’s very mean of you to be angry about nothing. Ah! here comes tea, and I am so thirsty. Let’s help to lay it out, girls!”

Immediately every girl had started to her feet: a white table-cloth was spread on the lawn, cups and saucers followed suit; tea, cake, bread and butter, dishes of fruit were soon being eagerly discussed. The small children gave a whoop of excitement, and Robina returned, still carrying Curly Pate, with the others in her train.

During tea, one of the little ones suggested that they should turn Robina into a queen. No sooner had the thought been uttered than it was put into execution. She was seated on a special chair and crowned with flowers, which the children had been gathering for her. A wreath of flowers surrounded her laughing face, and a garland of flowers was placed round her neck. Curly Pate looked on just for a minute, then said eagerly: “Me too! me too!”

“Why should there not be two queens?” said Robina. “Gather some white flowers for the baby, somebody.”

“Somebody” meant everybody – that is, except Harriet, for even Jane was drawn into the whirlpool of excitement. Nothing could be prettier than the happy faces of the children; and especially of the queen with her flowers – her cheeks slightly flushed, her queer, half-wild, half-pathetic eyes brighter and darker than usual, one arm encircling Curly Pate’s dear little fat body, and of Curly Pate herself, shrieking with delight while a crown of white daisies encircled her little head.

It was on this scene that Mrs Burton, accompanied by a gentleman whom the girls had never seen before, suddenly appeared.

Book One – Chapter Four

An Unusual Prize

The gentleman was holding by the hand a small boy. The boy could not have been more than seven or eight years of age. He was rather a little boy for that, so that some of the girls put him down as younger. He was a very beautiful boy. He had a little dark face, with that nut-brown skin at once clear and yet full of colour which is in itself a great loveliness. His eyes were large and brown like the softest velvet. He had very thick brown hair with a sort of bronze tone in it, and this hair hung in ringlets round his head. The boy was dressed in a peculiar way. He wore a suit of brown velvet, which fitted his agile little figure rather tightly. He had brown silk stockings and little breeches, and shoes with steel buckles. Round his neck he wore a large lace collar made in a sort of Vandyke fashion. Altogether, this little boy looked exactly as though he had stepped out of a picture.

He was not at all shy. His eyes travelled over the scene, and they fixed themselves on Curly Pate, while Curly Pate’s eyes gazed on him.

There was dead silence for a minute, all the girls in the school looking neither at Mrs Burton nor at the gentleman, but at the queer, new, little, beautiful boy. Then Curly Pate broke the stillness.

“I is kene,” (queen), she said, “and – him is king!” and she pointed with rapture at the boy.

“Oh, you’re king, are you, Ralph?” said the gentleman. Then he said again: “Come over to me, little queen, and let me introduce you to the king.”

Never was anyone less shy than the school baby, and never, perhaps, was anyone more fickle. She scrambled immediately off Robina’s knee and, pushing aside her companions, went up to the boy and took his hand.

“Tiss I – king; won’t oo?” she said, and she raised her little cherubic mouth to the small boy.