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.
“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.