The Little School-Mothers

“As her schoolfellow,” she said, hastily, “I cannot tell you anything about her; please don’t ask me. This, Mr Durrant, is a very serious matter, and I – I would rather not say.”

“You have answered me, my child,” said Mr Durrant, “and as I thought you would. Now, we will talk no more on the matter.”

Robina left him, and went into the grounds. The happy summer days were slipping by. Why is it that summer days will rush past one so quickly on such swift wings, that almost before we know it, they have all gone – never, never to return?

The eight little school-mothers at Sunshine Lodge wanted no one good thing that could add to the joys of life. From morning till night, their cup of bliss seemed to overflow. In addition to all the pleasures provided for them, they had perfect weather, for that summer was long to be remembered in England – that summer when day by day the sun shone in the midst of a cloudless sky, and the warm, mellow air was a delight even to breathe.

While on this occasion Mr Durrant was having a long talk with Robina and giving her to understand what he really wished with regard to the future of his little son, that same little son was pouring out his heart to Harriet.

“You is better, isn’t you?” he said.

“Yes,” replied Harriet, who had resolved to make the very most of things. “But I was ill, very ill indeed: I don’t think the doctor expected me to live.”

“And you’d have died – you’d have become deaded for me?” said Ralph.

“Yes,” answered Harriet, patting the little brown hand. “But I am all right now,” she added; “I am only weak.”

“I love you like anything,” said Ralph.

“Of course you do, Ralph,” answered Harriet.

“There is nothing at all I wouldn’t do for you.”

Harriet longed to say: “Love me better than Robina, and I will have obtained my heart’s desire.” But she did not think the time for this speech had come yet; and as, in reality, notwithstanding her affection for Ralph, she found herself from time to time rather worried by his presence, she now requested him to leave her, and the little boy ran downstairs and out into the open air.

There the first person he saw was his father.

“Oh, dad!” said the boy, dancing up to his parent, and putting his little hand in his.

“Well Ralph, old man,” said the great traveller, lifting the boy to his shoulder, “and how are you this afternoon?”

“Werry well,” said Ralph, “nearly quite well,” he added.

“And how is our other invalid, Harriet Lane?”

“She is better, father. Dear Harriet has been awfu’ bad. Did you guess, father, how bad she was?”

“No, my son: and I don’t think she was as bad as all that, for the doctor did not tell me so.”

“But she telled me her own self. She wouldn’t tell a lie, would Harriet.”

“Only, Ralph, when people are ill, they imagine they are much worse than they really are. That was the case with Harriet. She will be all right now in a day or two, and you can enjoy yourself as soon as possible.”

“Oh yes; oh yes!” said Ralph. He clasped one arm round his father’s neck. “Why has you got such a big brown neck?”

“Because, I suppose, I am a big brown man.”

“I love brown men ever so,” said Ralph.

“That is right.”

“And I love you best of all; and – and Harriet, and Robina. I has got three very great special friends – you, and Harriet, and Robina.”

“Why do you put them like that, Ralph?” answered his father, a certain uneasiness in his tone. “You mean it this way: you love father first – that is quite right – then comes Robina, then Harriet.”

“It used to be like that,” said Ralph, in a very low tone.

“And it is still, my son; it is still.”

Ralph fidgetted, and was silent. After a time he said:

“Put me down please, father.”

Mr Durrant obeyed.

“Take my hand, father,” said Ralph, “I want to lead you somewhere.”

Mr Durrant took the little hand. Ralph conducted his father to the edge of the round pond.

“Does you see the water over there?” said Ralph, “just over there where the lilies grow?”

“Of course, my dear boy.”

“And does you see the branch of the willow tree?”

“Well, yes, Ralph; having eyes, I see both the lilies and the willow tree.”

“Could you make a great, great guess, father, about how deep the water is there?”

“Roughly speaking,” said Mr Durrant, “I should say the water in that part was from seven to eight feet deep.”

Ralph straightened himself and looked full up at his father.

“I isn’t eight feet high, is I?”

Mr Durrant laughed.

“You little man,” he said, “you are not four feet yet.”

“Then if I was to stand bolt upright in that water where the lilies grow, I’d be drownded dead as dead could be?”

“Were such a thing to happen, you would be.”

“But if somebody swimmed out, somebody very, very brave, and clutched me, and brought me back to shore, I wouldn’t be a drownded boy; I’d be a saved boy,” said Ralph.

“That is true.”

“I’d most likely,” continued Ralph, “love that person very much.”