The Little School-Mothers

“And you beat me,” said Harriet.

Ralph’s eyes began to twinkle.

“So we’re quits,” said Harriet. “Let’s shake hands; let’s be pals.”

“It’s nice of you to forgive,” said Ralph.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” replied Harriet. “If you but knew me, you’d consider that I am quite the nicest girl in the school.”

“Are you really?”

“Yes; but what do you think, after all, of getting up? I have such a wonderful plan of spending our day together.”

“Have you?” said Ralph.

“A delicious plan; you can’t guess how you will enjoy yourself.”

“Can’t I, really?”

“Hadn’t you better get up. You can wash yourself, you know.”

“Oh, I never washed myself yet,” said Ralph.

“Well, you’ll have to begin some time. I’ll sit and stare out of the window, and you can pop into your tub, and have a good splash; I don’t care a bit if you wet the floor; manly boys can’t be always thinking of those sort of things. Now, then, up you get, and I’ll stare out of the window.”

Harriet suited the action to the word. Ralph saw a long, narrow back and very thin light hair only partly concealing it. He observed that the lanky little figure sat very still. He felt impressed, much more impressed than he had been when kind Frederica and unselfish Patience, and even pretty, pretty Rose Amberley had been his school-mothers. They had been commonplace – quite nice, of course, but nothing special. The lanky person was not commonplace.

He hopped up with a little shout, washed and dressed himself after a fashion, and then went up to Harriet.

“Well, pal,” she said, just glancing at him, “are you ready?”

“Quite,” said Ralph. “I like you to call me your pal. You’re a very big girl compared to me, aren’t you?”

“You’re not a girl at all,” said Harriet; “you’re a very manly boy, and you’re awfully pretty; don’t you know that you are very pretty?”

“No,” said Ralph, turning scarlet, “and boys ought not to be pretty; I hate that.”

“Well, then, you’re handsome. I’ll show you your face in the glass presently. But come down now. I am allowed to do just what I like with you to-day, and we’re going to have such a good time!”

The beginning of the good time consisted in having a real picnic breakfast out of doors. Ralph and Harriet collected twigs and boiled the kettle in one corner of the paddock. It didn’t matter to Harriet that the paddock was rather damp and cold at this hour, and it certainly did not matter to Ralph, who was wildly excited, and quite forgot everything else in the world while he was trying to light the dry wood. Really, Harriet was nice; she did not even mind his having matches.

“They never allowed me to have matches before I came here.”

“You can put them in your pocket, if you like,” said Harriet. “Manly boys like you should not be kept under. You wouldn’t burn yourself on purpose, would you?”

“Of course not.”

“Have you a knife of your own?”

“No; Father says I’m rather young.”

“But you’re not; I’ll give you a knife if you like. I have an old rusty one upstairs with a broken blade. You shall have it.”

“Thanks aw-filly!” said Ralph. “But, perhaps,” he added, after a minute’s pause. “I had best not have it, for Father would not like me to.”

“Oh, please yourself,” said Harriet. “Have you had enough breakfast?”

“Yes, thank you awfully, and it was so good. I suppose,” added Ralph, a little timidly, “we’d best begin my lessons now. I hate reading to myself, but I suppose I must learn.”

“You needn’t learn from me,” said Harriet. “I’m not going to give you any lessons.”

“Oh – but – oughtn’t you to?”

“Whether I ought to or not, I don’t mean to,” said Harriet. “Now, look here, what shall we do with ourselves?”

“I don’t know,” said Ralph, who was so excited and interested that he leaned up against Harriet, who would have given worlds to push him away, but did not dare.

“You’re very nice, really, truly,” he said, and he touched her lank hair with his little brown hand.

“Yes, am I not nice?” said Harriet, smiling at him. “Now, if you were to choose me for your school-mother, you would have a jolly time.”

“Am I to choose who I like?” said Ralph.

“Of course, you are. We are all trying our hands on you; but you are to make your own choice. Didn’t the other girls tell you?”

“No.”

“Do you like being with the others?”

“They were very kind,” said Ralph.

“Did you have a picnic breakfast with them?”

“Oh, no.”

“If I were your school-mother,” said Harriet, after a pause, “we would have one every day, and – and – no lessons; and you might play with matches, and you might have a pop-gun, and there’s something else we would do.”

“Oh, what is it?”

“We’d go and see the gipsies.”

“But I am frightened of gipsies,” said Ralph. As he spoke he pressed a little nearer to Harriet. “Are there gipsies about?”

“There are some gipsies living two fields off – you look almost like a gipsy boy yourself, you are so dark. There are a lot of little brown babies rolling about on the grass, and big brown men, and big brown women, and there are dogs, and a donkey, and an old horse; but the most wonderful thing of all is the house on wheels.”

“The house on wheels?” said Ralph.

“Yes, the old horse draws it, and the gipsies live inside; oh, it is wonderful!”

“Aren’t gipsies very wicked people?”

“Wicked?” said Harriet. “They’re the most lovely people in all the world. I can’t take you to see them to-day, but if I were your school-mother, we would manage to slip off and have a good time with them. They love little brown boys like you, and you would love them. Oh, you don’t know what a gipsy is! Frightened of them, are you? Well, I’ll tell you a story of what they did for me when I ran away once and stayed with them for a whole night. I never had such a good time in all my life.”

Harriet made up a story out of her head. It is true she had once been for a very frightened half-hour with some gipsies on the common nearest to her father’s house; but that time now was changed into something quite fairy-like.

Ralph listened with his eyes shining, his lips apart, and his breath coming fast.

“Oh, I didn’t know they were like that,” he said. “Let us go now, now; don’t put it off, please; let’s come this very instant-minute.”

“No,” said Harriet firmly. “I could not possibly take you to-day. But I will manage it if you choose me for your school-mother. Of course, you won’t choose me. I know who you’ll choose.”

“Who?” asked Ralph.

“That Robina girl.”

“Who?” asked Ralph.

“Oh, that creature who came for you and Curly Pate when you were sent for, to say good-bye to your father.”

“Is she Robina?” asked Ralph. “Oh, I like her so much!”

“That is because you don’t know her. Shall I tell you some things about her?”

“Would it be right?” asked Ralph.

“You needn’t listen if you don’t like,” replied Harriet. “You can go to the other side of the paddock. I am going to say them aloud, whether you listen or not.”

Harriet instantly crossed her hands on her lap, and began saying in a chanting tone: —

“Robina was so naughty at home, and made such a dreadful noise in the room with her poor sick mother that she had to be sent away. She was sent here to this school, and since she came all the rest of us are dreadfully unhappy, for, although she looks kind, she is not a bit kind; she is the sort of girl who doesn’t obey. She was sent away from home because she was so disobedient – ”

“Oh, don’t!” said Ralph suddenly.

“Why – what is the matter?” said Harriet. “Were you listening?”

“I couldn’t help myself; you spoke so loud. I didn’t want to, but you did speak very loud. Why do you say those horrid things about her?”

“They are true,” said Harriet. “I don’t mean to be unkind to her. I wouldn’t be unkind to anybody, but, at the same time, I want to warn you in case you are taken in by her ways and choose her as your school-mother.”

Ralph was quite silent. After a minute he said in an altered voice:

“Let’s do something now – what shall we?”

Harriet suggested that they should visit the farmyard at the back of the house and coax Jim, the groom, to let them ride on some of the horses. This, of course, was most fascinating, and no sooner had it been thought of than it was done. The ride was followed by something still more exciting. Jim was going to drive to the nearest town with the spring cart, and he offered to take the two children with him.

Harriet no sooner heard this proposal than she accepted it, and she and Ralph had a glorious drive to town. There she spent sixpence – all the money she possessed – on different sweetmeats.

“I wish I had some more,” she said. “I’d give you all my money – I would, indeed!”

“There are quite enough sweeties there,” said Ralph; “but if you really want to buy other things, Harriet, I have got money.”

“Have you? Let’s see what you’ve got,” said Harriet.

Ralph put his hand into his breeches pocket, and took out a handful of coppers, a shilling, and two sixpences.

“Here’s lots,” he said. “Isn’t it lots, Harriet?”

“Yes,” said Harriet, looking at it greedily. “We might buy a picnic tea for ourselves out of that.”

“Oh! might we?” said Ralph. “How per-fect-ly bee-tttiful!”

The picnic tea was purchased; it was not wholesome. The children went back. Ralph and Harriet had their dinner all alone, for during the trial day the arrangement was that the rest of the school children were not to interfere. Afterwards, they had their picnic tea out of doors, and after that was over, Harriet again spoke of the gipsies, and the delight of knowing them, and the certain fact that they would give them tea, or, perhaps, dinner, in the wonderful house on wheels, and the still more certain fact that Ralph would not be a true boy until he had visited the gipsies with Harriet.

On the whole, Harriet considered that her trial day was a success. It was an untidy, flushed, and not a healthy little boy who crept rather late into bed that night, and whom Harriet undressed without troubling herself whether he was washed too carefully or his hair brushed or not. Even to his cry that he had just a weeny, teeny pain, and that he did not feel quite quite well, she made no response. But when she was bidding him good-night, she said: —

“Remember the gipsies, and I am the sort of girl who always keeps her word.”

“Good-night, dear, dear Harriet!” said the little fellow. “I have had quite a lovely day!”

After Harriet went away, it was some time before Ralph fell asleep. Of course, he was a manly boy, and he did not mind a bit being alone, and it was nice, very nice, to have a little room all to himself. But, notwithstanding his bravery, and his fixed determination not to be lonely without Father, and never to cry even the smallest tear, there was an ache in his heart. He kept on thinking so much of his school-mother that he could not sleep. The girls in the school were very nice. Rose had been sweet to him, so had Frederica, so had Patience, and his school-mother of the past day – oh, she had been the most exciting of all. She was not a bit a pretty girl – in his heart of hearts he thought her rather ugly; but she had done things none of the others had done. She had given him adventures – that breakfast out of doors, a box of matches to keep in his own pocket; that ride on Firefly’s back – Firefly was a very spirited pony – and the girl had looked on admiringly while Ralph kept his seat; and then the drive to town, and the spending of all Harriet’s money on sweetmeats and of all Ralph’s money on a picnic tea. Oh, yes; he had had a good day, very good, and there had been no lessons.

Ralph could not honestly say that he loved lessons. He used to pretend he did, for he hated to grumble about things, and manly boys learned things – at least, so his father used to say. Manly boys always knew how to read, and they spelt words properly, and they wrote neat, good hands, and they learned, too, how to add up long, terrible rows of figures. All these things were necessary if a boy was to be manly and wise. Ralph knew perfectly well that he must go through with these unpleasant things. Nevertheless, he had to own that he did not like them. This school-mother, if he were to select her, would not be very particular about his reading aloud, and spelling properly, and working at his sums. Oh, no, he would have a good time with her; matches in his pocket, knives to play with – although his father did not like him to have knives – and, above all things, such a wonderful, glorious hope was held out to him! They would go away together, he and his school-mother, to see the gipsies. They would climb up the steps into that house on wheels; and, perhaps – perhaps – it would move, and they would feel it moving, and the brown babies would roll about on the grass at his feet, and the brown men and women would talk to him.

Harriet had spoken much to him about the delights of gipsy life. Ralph felt that he would give a great deal to taste it for himself. He tossed from side to side of his little bed, and presently he sat up, his cheeks flushed, his hair tumbled. “What would Father say to all this? Father liked boys to do lessons, and to lead orderly lives, and – ”

“Oh, Father!” sobbed the child. He could not help crying just a little bit. He wanted his father more than anything in all the world just then; yes, although his heart was full of Harriet and her proposal to visit the gipsies.

Book One – Chapter Seven

The Choice

The three remaining days of trial of the school-mothers went quickly by. There was suppressed excitement all over the third form. Harriet alone would not be induced to talk on the subject. She put on quite a good little air.

“No,” she said, “don’t let’s worry over the thing. Ralph will make his own choice. He is quite a nice little boy. He has a great deal of go in him, but he will make his own choice, whatever we say.”

Then Harriet would bend over her book, and pretend to be very industrious; while all the time she was watching Robina.

Robina had the wonderful faculty of jumping at conclusions. She caught at the sense of a thing in a flash. She had also an amazing memory. It was not the least trouble to Robina to learn a long poem by heart. She also remembered every single word told her by her teachers. She had never before been taught in the manner she was taught at school; but already she was amassing knowledge in a marvellous way. Notwithstanding all Harriet’s efforts, Robina, without the slightest trouble, kept at the head of the class. Every day Harriet tried to supplant her, or, rather, to get back her old position, but every single day she tried in vain. Robina kept her place in class, and the other girls now openly said to Harriet that she had not a chance.

“You have met your master,” they said, “and you may as well accept the position at once.”

It was by no means in Harriet’s nature to accept any such position, and her lanky little figure and pale face seemed to bristle all over with suppressed passion when she was addressed in this way.

On the night before Ralph was to make his decision with regard to the school-mothers, Harriet said a word to Jane.

“By this time to-morrow,” said Harriet, “we shall know everything.”

“Oh, yes; I suppose so,” said Jane. Then she added quickly: “I wish he had not come to the school.”

“Who do you mean by that?” asked Harriet.

“Ralph – I wish he had not come.”

“It can’t make any matter to you,” said Harriet.

“It does,” said Jane. “He is a nice little boy. I like him just awfully. He won’t be happy with you.”

“What do you mean by that?” said Harriet.

Jane was silent.

“You think,” said Harriet, in a low tone, “that I am sure to be selected by Mrs Burton as his school-mother?”

Jane nodded her head. Her little round face was quite flushed, and her black eyes were shining.

“Did he say anything to you,” asked Harriet, in great excitement. Jane nodded. Harriet felt her heart beating fast. She suddenly put her long, thin arm round Jane’s neck, drew her up to her, and kissed her.

“Then you have helped me,” she said. “I knew you would. I won’t forget it when the holidays come.”

Just then some other girls appeared in view, and Jane and Harriet had to separate. The other girls walked on arm-in-arm. They consisted of Rose and Vivian Amberley, Patience Chetwold and Robina. Robina was not quite au fait to the ins and outs of the school. She still lived more or less in a world of her own. Now, she was rather surprised when Vivian, who was leaning on her arm, gave it a violent tug, and said in a smothered voice, which only reached Robina’s ears:

“Oh, I am quite unhappy!”

This was the sort of remark which could not fail to interest Robina profoundly. She had been an only child all her life, and although she had now and then played with another child, and although the one dream of her existence was to be surrounded by other children, she had never enjoyed this pleasure daily and hourly until she came to school. Robina was full of faults, but she had a kind and generous nature. There was nothing mean about her, and she was, for an only child, absolutely unselfish. Vivian’s remark in a low tone was not heard by either Rose or Patience. Robina took an opportunity to draw the little girl aside, and to ask her what she meant.

“It’s about Ralph,” said Vivian.

“What about Ralph?” asked Robina.

“I dare not tell,” said Vivian.

“Very well,” said Robina; “then there is no use in questioning you.”

“But I am very, very unhappy, all the same,” said Vivian.

Robina looked at her longingly. “Sit down,” she said suddenly.

They had come to a wooden seat under an old oak tree. Vivian popped down at once, but Robina still stood.

“I don’t know much about school,” said Robina. “I have not been here long. I am not a specially good girl; I was often very troublesome at home, but I think I know a few things, and perhaps I learnt those things at home.”

“What are they?” asked Vivian.

“I have learned,” said Robina, “to know a good girl when I see her. There are some girls in this school who are not good.”

“Oh, yes; oh, yes!” said Vivian. She turned white, and clasped her small hands tightly together.

“And there are some girls in this school,” proceeded Robina, “who are not strong,” and she fixed her grey eyes on Vivian’s face.

“Yes,” said Vivian again, falteringly.

“I won’t name them,” said Robina; “but I will only just say this: that if I were a weak girl in the school, I’d just make up my mind that I was. I would not pretend that I was strong, for instance, and I’d go and tell anything that made me unhappy to the person who ought to know.”

“Oh, but you wouldn’t, if you were me,” said Vivian, suddenly speaking in great excitement.

“Does the cap fit?” asked Robina.

“Yes, yes,” answered Vivian; “it fits. But I can’t, I can’t!”

“I haven’t the least idea what is the matter,” said Robina; “but you are unhappy, for you have said so, and you are weak, not strong, for you admit it and, anyhow, I know. Now, being weak in a school like this, where there are some girls who are not good, you have no chance at all, unless you go to someone stronger than yourself to help you.”

“Who ought I to go to?” asked Vivian, trembling very much.

“You ought to go to some of your teachers.”

“Oh, I can’t do that – it would be quite too dreadful; you don’t know what they would say of me.”

“That is what you ought to do,” said Robina; “but if you haven’t courage for that, you ought to go to one of your school-fellows. You have your two sisters.”

“They are no good at all; they are not, really.” Robina was silent for a minute. Then she said: —

“Well, I am of some good, I suppose, and I think, on the whole, I am just a tiny bit strong.”

“Oh, you are, you are,” said Vivian. “You are just wonderful.”

“Well, then, you can come to me.”

“But they’ll call me a tell-tale-tit; they will, they will. You don’t know, you can’t know.”

“I tell you what you will do,” said Robina. “You will take my hand, and you and I together will go and stand before the girls who are making you unhappy. You will say: ‘I can’t stand this, and I am going to tell Robina, and Robina will help me to decide as to what is best to be done.’ You won’t be mean if you do that, Vivian, for they will understand. That is what you ought to do. Now, I have told you.”

“I ought, but I can’t,” said Vivian. She wriggled in her seat. Suddenly she sprang up, caught hold of Robina’s hands, and kissed them. But Robina wrenched them away.

“No, no; don’t do that,” she said. “I hate being kissed by cowards.”

She turned and left Vivian. The poor girl had never felt so small and abject in all her life, for poor Vivian was more or less in the secret. Not only had Jane explained to Ralph the great advantage of choosing Harriet as his school-mother, but Vivian had also been forced into the cause. She had spent a truly most miserable day, knowing perfectly well what Harriet’s real character was, and yet afraid to do anything but urge Ralph to choose her as his school-mother during the remainder of the term. Alas and alas! what a dreadful thing it was to be a weak girl, and how Robina despised her; and how strong Robina seemed herself, and what would not Vivian give in all the wide world to have Robina’s strength, and to follow the advice which she had given.

Immediately after breakfast the next day Mrs Burton called the eight girls of the third form into her parlour. When they had all assembled, she said to them:

“You have had your day of trial each, with the exception of Robina, whom it was more fair not to count. I may as well tell you frankly that I think Robina will be elected as Ralph’s school-mother, and I may as well, also, tell you now that I shall be glad if that is the ease. At the same time I may be mistaken.”

There came a sort of gasp from several of the girls. Harriet was standing quite in the background. Her face was quite pale. She felt her heart beating almost to suffocation. Oh, that pony, with his side-saddle. Oh, that habit made to fit so perfectly! Oh, the joy of going home in the holidays with such a companion – such an unfailing source of delight! Would not Harriet in future be a heroine in her home? What would not the others give to be the owner of a real flesh and blood pony? She did not mind how low she stooped in order to obtain it.

Mrs Burton paused, and looked round at the different girls.

“My dears,” she said, “I doubt not that you are interested, not, perhaps, in Ralph for himself, but in the thought of the prize which Ralph’s father, Mr Durrant, has offered you. I have my own ideas with regard to that prize; but Mr Durrant wishes you to have it, and there is nothing more to be said. The girl whom little Ralph himself selects as his school-mother will at the end of the term be the possessor of the pony – that is, always provided that she fulfills her duties to my perfect satisfaction. When Ralph has made his choice, he must, of course, abide by it, unless something quite out of the common occurs; but I must assure you in advance, my dear girls, that the post of school-mother will be no sinecure. The girl who has charge of Ralph must be patient and remember that he is only a very little boy. He will be necessarily thrown a great deal with the younger children, and the girl who is his school-mother must not only be patient with him, but she must help him to learn his little lessons. He must sit by her side at meals, and every morning she must rise a little earlier than usual in order to dress him, and every evening she must leave the playground in order to put him to bed. It will soon be perceived whether he is happy or not in her company. Now, I think I have said all that is necessary, and Ralph himself shall come in and decide.”

Mrs Burton rang a little silver bell which stood on the table. Miss Ford, the mistress who had the charge of the small children, immediately appeared.

“Will you bring Ralph Durrant into the room?” said Mrs Burton.

A minute later, Ralph marched in. He looked his very manliest. Every girl in the form felt her heart going pit-a-pat as she watched him. He was wearing a little suit of white on this warm day, but there was a crimson tie fastening his collar. Nothing could have been sweeter than his dress, and no little face in all the world could have looked more eager and lovely. He had the perfect self-possession of a very young child. He came straight up to Mrs Burton, holding out his hand.