The Little School-Mothers

Robina immediately left her companions. Her head was aching; her heart was throbbing hard. Nevertheless, her mind was fully made up. She found Jane and Harriet walking side by side in the neighbourhood of the round pond. She approached quite close to them before they heard her. She did not want to listen to their conversation.

“I eavesdropped once,” she thought, “unintentionally of course; nevertheless, I did such a horrid, such a mean, such a despicable thing, and oh! how I have suffered in consequence! But I won’t eavesdrop again – not if I know it.”

Nevertheless, as she came close to the other girls, she had time to look at the pond, and to notice the exact position of that willow bough along whose slender branch little Ralph had crept in order to gather the water-lilies. The water-lilies were there still in great abundance with all their delicate wax-like cups closed, for it was the time of their slumber. The pond, too, looked still and glassy on its surface, except when the duck-weed, and many parasites of the pond threw an unwholesome glamour over its depths. Robina seemed to realise the whole scene that had taken place there – the child who had dropped into the water, the immediate power of the clinging weeds, the impossibility for the little fellow to swim in his clothes. She saw again Harriet rushing to the rescue, and she well guessed the storm of devotion which she had aroused in the heart of the brave little child. But since that scene, which, without its explanation, sounded innocent enough, another had taken place – one that Robina herself had witnessed. Could she ever forget the agony of that moment when, almost out of her depth, she had longed in vain for the power to swim out to save Ralph! Would she at such a moment have thought of any possible reward except that most divine reward of all – that of giving up her very life for his?

Robina shook herself as though from a day-dream, and it was at this instant that Harriet and Jane, turning, saw her standing in the path.

Jane’s round face was quite pale, and there were tears in her black eyes. She had been letting off some of the soreness of her heart to Harriet, and Harriet had been the reverse of sympathising. Harriet had said once or twice:

“All right, Jane: if you don’t want the five pounds, you need not have them. I can assure you it is an immense sacrifice on my part to give you so much money; but when I make a promise, I keep it. You haven’t done much for me, so don’t you think it: but I promised you five pounds. My birthday will be this week: god-mother never forgets me. When the five pound note comes, it will be handed over to you: you can take it or leave it.”

Why was it that the last words of Harriet’s sentence were wafted to Robina’s ears? “When the five pound note comes, you can take it or leave it.” Harriet turned pale and drew herself up abruptly.

“Well,” she said, “have you been eavesdropping again?”

“No,” said Robina, stoutly. “I came to speak to you as I heard that you and Jane were walking in the shrubbery. I did hear your last sentence; I heard you say to Jane, ‘When the five pounds comes, you can take it or leave it.’ I haven’t an idea what that sentence means, nor does it concern me. I want to speak to you, however, Harriet. Will you kindly listen, please.”

“Hadn’t I better go?” said Jane, who felt exceedingly uncomfortable.

“No,” said Robina; “unless Harriet greatly minds, I should prefer you to stay, Jane. You are her special friend, and you ought to witness what I am about to say to her. I don’t think that you, Harriet, and you, Jane, have many secrets from each other.”

The two other girls were silent, but they both felt uncomfortable.

“What I have to say,” continued Robina, “can be said in a very few words indeed. I have just to tell you this, Harriet. I have made up my mind to withdraw from the competition which was set to all the school-girls who came to this house, but which was especially intended to be a competition between you and me. I do not now wish to be Ralph Durrant’s school-mother: you will therefore have no difficulty to-morrow morning, for there will be no one to compete with you. I am now going to tell Mr Durrant what I have decided.”

“But I say,” cried Harriet, “you must have some reason for this!”

“I have my reasons, but those I am not prepared to give,” said Robina.

“I know,” continued Harriet, speaking in great excitement; “you nasty, horrid spitfire! You find that you have utterly failed – that you have not a chance of getting the position that you so covet; therefore you think you will make an imposing appearance if you withdraw from the competition. But let me tell you, that is monstrously unfair! You ought not to withdraw at the eleventh hour.”

“That is my affair,” said Robina. “Even if I were elected school-mother to-morrow, I should not accept the position.”

“Oh, wouldn’t you?” said Harriet. “It is so fine to hear you talking in that way; you know perfectly well that you would just give your eyes for it.”

“If that is your opinion, you are welcome to keep it,” said Robina. “But anyhow, my mind is quite made up.”

She was turning to go, when Harriet ran after her.

“Robina,” she said, “do you mean – that is, you will go without saying anything?”

“Ask me no questions; when you are made school-mother, I suppose you will be content: and I suppose – at least I hope you will be good to little Ralph.”

Robina’s lips quivered. Before Harriet could utter another word she had pushed her brusquely aside, and disappeared in the direction towards the house.

Book Two – Chapter Fourteen

Patience Interferes

It was now early in September, and although the weather was quite warm, the days were of course shortening considerably. Mrs Burton’s school was to re-open on the fifteenth of September. It was now the fourth day of the month; there was, therefore, practically ten days’ holiday still remaining for the girls.

These last few days, as all school-girls know, are very precious: each one, as it arrives, seems more valuable than its predecessor. More and more pleasures seem to crowd into these last hours, more and more things are there to talk about, more and more matters to arrange. There is at once pain and pleasure mingled in each young breast: the pain of parting from the beloved friends who have been with one during the long summer vacation, the pain of giving up pleasure for discipline, of giving up freedom for a certain amount of restraint. But the girl who really longs to do her best in life does not go back to school with unmixed sensations of regret. Healthier feelings than these visit her heart. She will accomplish much in the weeks that lie before her. She will get to the other side of this and that difficulty. She will take an honourable place in the report which is sent to her parents at the end of the term. She will enjoy the healthy life of routine and wholesome discipline.

The young girls who were inmates now of Sunshine Lodge were all of them, with the exception of Harriet Lane and Jane Bush, healthy-minded. They liked their pleasant school life: they were devoted to their parents and guardians: but they were also devoted to Mrs Burton and to the teachers in that delightful home of culture, Abbeyfield School. They therefore talked much of their future as they wandered about now in the dusk before coming in to late supper; and for a time even Robina and Harriet and Jane and little Ralph were forgotten.

Had not Patience to make the very most of her last term at school? and how soon would Cecil Amberley be moved from the third to the sixth form? What would be the big prize to be competed for next Christmas? What would the new French Mademoiselle be like? and would their dear old Fräulein return once more to the school? Such and such questions occupied them: but by-and-by it was time to go indoors to dress for supper, and when they entered the house a shadow seemed to fall over their bright young spirits and they looked one at the other questioningly.

“How selfish I am?” whispered Patience Chetwold to her sister. “I forgot in the excitement of our chat all about poor Robina. Girls, we must stick to our promise and worry out this thing to the very bottom.”

“But if Robina has spoken to Mr Durrant, what is there to be done?” remarked Rose. “Mr Durrant is a very determined man, and hates anything that he considers small and mean: he will not like our interfering. You see,” continued Rose, “we have been out of this matter from the very first; the whole thing has rested between Harriet and Robina.”

“Yes,” said Patience; “and very, very cleverly has Harriet played her cards. Well, all that I can say is that if I can circumvent that horrid sly creature in favour of poor dear true-hearted Robina, I shall do so. But now, let us run upstairs and get tidy for supper. This may be Liberty Hall, girls, but Mr Durrant likes form and ceremony as much as anyone I know; and if the girls of Sunshine Lodge – as he calls us – don’t make a presentable appearance at the last meal in the day, he is always somewhat annoyed.” The different girls went off immediately to their rooms, where they arrayed themselves in pretty evening dress. The shortness of the evenings by no means took from the pleasure of being at Sunshine Lodge; in fact, of late, the evenings had been almost the most delightful part of the day. With such a host as Mr Durrant it was quite impossible to be dull. He was the best story teller and the best comrade in the world. He had a way of making every child with whom he came in contact feel perfectly at home with him. But, at the same time, that child would not dare to take an undue liberty. He expected the child to be happy – very, very happy – but he also expected and insisted on instant obedience.

“When I put my foot down, it is down,” he was heard to say; “when I order a thing to be done, that thing is to be done; there is no walking round it, or squeezing out of it, or circumventing it in any way whatsoever. My object is the pleasure of all these young people; but I am the captain of this ship – if I may be permitted to use the simile – and the general in this battlefield. The captain must be obeyed, or the ship founders; and the general must give his orders, or the battle is lost.”

The girls knew all these things, and the very fact that there was unseen discipline at Sunshine Lodge gave the final zest to their enjoyments. Ralph would not have been the charming boy he was, but for this admirable trait of his father’s. Ralph, from his earliest days had obeyed at a word, at a nod. When he was told to go to bed, he went. He was never heard to plead for one minute or two minutes more. When he was ordered to get up, he rose. When he was expected to attend to his lessons, he did so. All the same, Ralph felt himself free as a little bird in the air, and happy as any child will be who clings to his beloved father’s hand. Even when parted from his father, Ralph had metaphorically clung to that strong brown hand. When he found things difficult in his little life, he remembered it, – how firm it was, how supporting. Even when his father was not present, he did instinctively what that father wished.

The happy little party at Sunshine Lodge came downstairs on this special evening with a certain feeling of expectancy. The Chetwolds and the Amberleys were very much concerned to know if anything decisive had yet taken place; if Robina had met Mr Durrant and had told him her decision, if Harriet knew, and if when they all met – first of all in the pleasant drawing-room and then in the still more delightful dining-room – they would see Robina’s proud calm face looking a little prouder and a little more resolved than usual, and Harriet’s queer pale face somewhat triumphant in its expression and Jane looking queer and frightened and worried as she had always done of late.

But when they all did come downstairs, the first thing they noticed was that although Robina was in the room, and Harriet and Jane, Mr Durrant was absent. Robina was seated in a distant corner where the electric light fell full on the pages of her open book. She wore a white frock, but had not taken otherwise much pains with her appearance. Robina did not even look up when her companions entered the room. Harriet, dressed in all the finery she could lay hands on, was standing by a table talking in a low tone to Jane. Ralph, who, as a rule, never sat up to supper, was also present on this occasion. He was dancing about in that radiant fashion he had, flying excitedly from one object of interest to another.

“Oh, what do you think, Patience?” he said. “I’s got to sit up to supper to-night!”

“Have you, indeed, Ralph?” replied Patience in some surprise, “but it’s rather late for you, isn’t it?”

“It’s not at all too late,” said Harriet, just raising her eyes and glancing defiantly at Patience and then turning to Ralph. “In the absence of your father, Ralph, I give you leave to sit up,” she said.

“Sankoo, Harriet,” said Ralph, taking her hand, and giving it a most affectionate squeeze. “Oh! I is glad!” he said. “I feel quite a grown-up person to-night.”

Robina did not take the slightest notice, but Frederica now enquired eagerly if Mr Durrant were really absent.

“Yes,” said Jane; “when we came in, expecting to find him here as usual, we were told that he was obliged to go suddenly to London, but would be back here by a very early train in the morning.”

“John told us,” continued Harriet, “that Mr Durrant will return in time for breakfast; we must spend this evening as best we can without him.”

Here she glanced at Robina. Ralph, who had been pulling excitedly at Harriet’s hand without receiving any attention, now left her and ran up to Robina.

“Is you sad about anything, Robin?” he asked.

“Oh, no,” replied Robina. She laid down her book and looked full at him. He looted full back at her.

“Don’t,” he said suddenly, in a low voice.

“Why did you ask me that?” she responded.

Her tone was dropping to a whisper.

“Your eyes hurt,” said the little fellow; “they go inside me and – and – burn something.”