The Little School-Mothers. Meade L. T.

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