The Little School-Mothers

“Go away!” she said, just glancing at Robina and Ralph and then resuming her position with her back to them. “I am busy at present: go away.”

“You aren’t busy, Harriet,” said Ralph, laughing; “why, you’re doing nothing at all.”

“Yes I am; I am thinking; go away, both of you, I don’t wish to talk to you.”

“Oh, Harriet!” said Ralph. There was a cry of pain in his voice, and just for a minute Harriet’s resolve to be intensely disagreeable wavered; but Robina’s voice recalled her to her worst self.

“Ralph, I must!” she whispered. Then she said aloud: “I do want you to ride Bo-peep this morning, Harriet. And you can easily wear my habit, although it may be a little big for you. Please, Harriet, do come downstairs and be nice and jolly with us all. You shall ride Bo-peep, and I will ride whichever donkey you have selected. I love riding a donkey, it is such fun.”

“Oh!” said Harriet; “oh! – before I’d demean myself to tell such lies! You love to ride on a donkey, do you? Then ride one, I am sure I don’t care. But as to my demeaning myself by getting on your pony’s back – I may be small, but I’m not as small as all that! No: go, both of you; I hate and detest you both. Ralph, you need not consider me your mother any more. I am not your school-mother – I am nothing at all to you. I am just a very cross, angry girl and oh, do go away, please!”

“Come, Ralph,” said Robina.

She took the little boy to the door. She opened the door; she pushed Ralph outside.

“You are just angry, Harriet,” she said then; “but I know you will be sorry by and by; and indeed, indeed, neither Ralph nor I are what you think us.”

“Oh go – go!” said Harriet; and Robina went.

The moment this happened, Harriet flew to the door, and locked it.

“Now am I to be left in peace?” she thought. She was in a white heat of rage. At that moment, there was no bitter, angry, nor desperate thing she would not say. She knew perfectly well that she had injured her own cause; that now Ralph could never love her. Had she not told him to his face that she hated him? – little Ralph, who had never from his birth had one harsh word addressed to him. Had she not said – oh, with such vehemence, such hot, angry rage, that she detested him, that she could not bear him in her presence? Well, she did not care. She was in too great a fury at present to regret her own words. Robina and Ralph had taken her at her word: they had gone away. There was absolute stillness upstairs. Sunshine Lodge was a big house, and to Harriet’s bedroom not a sound penetrated. She could not even hear the merry voices of the gay cavalcade that must even now be starting for the sea-shore.

They would have to ride quite three miles to that part of Eastbourne where Mr Durrant had arranged that bathing tents were to be erected on the beach. Harriet sat down on the low window-sill, clasped her hands and looked out. Why was she here? She might have been as jolly as the others. Oh, no; of course she could not possibly be merry and gay like the rest of the children; it was not in her nature. Nevertheless, she had looked forward to her time at Sunshine Lodge. She had made a great boast to her brothers and sisters and to her home companions, of the gay and delightful time she was about to have. Well, why was not she having it? The sun was shining, the sky was blue, the distant sea looked, oh! so inviting. The crisp waves were even now coming up on the sands and retreating again with their everlasting ‘I wish, I wish’ sort of sound. There were the donkeys for the contented children to ride, and there was the kindest of all hosts to give them every happiness. Why was she out of it?

“Because I am so mad, and bad!” she thought; and then she covered her face with her hands and burst into angry tears.

Harriet was neither sorry nor repentant, as she had been on that occasion when little Ralph was lost. She was furious at once with herself and with Robina, and even with Ralph. Why did Robina come prying and spying to her room? and why did she dare to bring Ralph with her? and then why did she make that detestable, hypocritical offer to her? Harriet, indeed, to be seen riding Robina’s pony! – the pony given to Robina by Mr Durrant because she had been so kind to his little son! What a martyr Robina would look on one of the donkeys! and what a monster of selfishness she, Harriet, would appear riding on Bo-peep’s back! Oh, yes: Robina wanted to serve her own ends when she would bestow on Harriet the favour of letting her ride her pony.

“She thinks she is not sure of Ralph: she thinks she is not quite sure of Mr Durrant. She meant to clinch matters with both of them by her pretended unselfishness this morning,” thought the furious girl.

“But I have circumvented her: I am glad I have.” However angry one may be; however furious one’s passions may become, it is difficult to keep up the anger and the commotion and the fierce storm within the breast when there is no one to listen, no one to watch, no one, either, to sympathise or to blame. In the stillness of her little room Harriet’s angry heart cooled down. Her cheeks no longer blazed with fury, her eyes no longer flashed. After her time of storm, she felt a sort of reaction which made her cold and dull and miserable. She was not a bit repentant, except in as far as regarded her own pleasure. But she was weary, and came to the conclusion that her life at Sunshine Lodge would not be such a happy one after all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, miss,” replied the girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then you do really love me?”

“I has said so,” answered Ralph.

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

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

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

“But he wanted you to go, surely?”

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

“And then?” said Harriet.

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