The Little School-Mothers. Meade L. T.

said Robina, taking the lead in that way which nearly drove poor Harriet mad. “Is he going to stay here? What a perfect little darling he is!”

      “He is going to stay from now until the end of the term,” said the gentleman; “then I am coming back for him, and I am going to give a prize to the girl whom he himself likes best.”

      “Oh! then, of course, that will be Curly Pate,” said Robina, still smiling and looking very interesting and absolutely out of the common.

      “Curly Pate won’t count,” said the gentleman. “The prize is to be given by Mrs Burton’s permission to a girl in the third form. Who are the girls in the third form, if I may venture to ask, my dear madam?”

      The gentleman had a most courteous way; his manners were so nice, and his voice so – perhaps harmonious is the right word, that he might almost have been a king himself.

      “Girls of the third form,” said Mrs Burton in reply, “come and stand over here, will you?”

      At the word of command, Frederica and Patience Chetwold, the three Amberleys, Harriet and Jane, and last, but by no means least, Robina Starling, stood in a long row before the strange gentleman and Mrs Burton.

      “So you are the third form girls,” he said very kindly. “Well, I am exceedingly pleased to make your acquaintance. One of you – that one whom Mrs Burton considers the most truly kind to my little boy – shall receive from my hands, on my return to claim my child, a prize. It will be, after a fashion, a prize for conduct, for it will be given to that girl who does not spoil Ralph, but who helps him to be good, who wins his love, who, in short, understands him. I know he is a very pretty boy, and on the whole, perhaps he is good; but he is by no means all good, and perhaps it would be well, girls of the third form, to give you a hint – he can be led, but never driven. I think he is an honourable little fellow, and I am sure he would not willingly tell a lie, or be willingly disobedient. I want one of you to be, in short, his school-mother, and the school-mother who really adopts my Ralph shall be rewarded by me.”

      Mrs Burton now spoke.

      “You shall all be put on trial with regard to Ralph,” she said, “for the next week. At the end of that time he will himself select his school-mother, and unless something unforeseen occurs, I think, Mr Durrant, the prize will be already won. The fact is, my dear sir, there are a great many prizes to be competed for just now, and I do not want my girls to be kept in a state of suspense.”

      “I will give as my prize,” said Mr Durrant, “a pony, with a side-saddle, and a habit made to order and to fit the girl who wins the prize. In order, too, that the pony shall be no expense to the fortunate owner, I will provide for its maintenance a certain sum per year, until the owner can assure me that she is in a position to undertake this expense herself. What I mean is this,” continued Mr Durrant: “I don’t want the girl’s parents to have any expense with the pony. He will be my gift to the little girl who mothers my boy. And now I think I have said all that is necessary.”

      “I will talk to you girls on the subject of little Ralph this evening after prayers,” said the headmistress. Then she turned away with Mr Durrant, who, however, first of all shook hands with the girls of the third form, and said a few words to the sixth form girls, and, in short, charmed everyone.

      Harriet was the person selected now to find the king and queen.

      “Bring them both to the house, dear,” said Mrs Burton, and Harriet, well pleased, ran off to obey. Nowhere within sight could the little pair be found, and Harriet, after running for a few minutes, paused to consider.

      She wondered if this unexpected state of affairs would in any way promote her own interest. As a matter of fact, she hated small children. There was no small girl at the school who was ever seen to interrupt Harriet’s work, or to fling herself against Harriet’s knees, or to look into Harriet’s face with that childish petition: “Oh! do tell us a story, please.” The little ones left Harriet wisely alone, and Harriet never concealed her aversion to them.

      “Horrid little sticky things,” she was heard to say, “with their lollipops in their hands and their faces wanting washing, and their clothes so grubby!” These statements were quite false, for the small children were kept by their kind teacher, Miss Ford, in the most immaculate order. But Harriet was well-known in the school not to stick to the truth when she wished to give vent to her sentiments. Now, however, her feelings were changed. She must, of course, find the king and queen at once.

      “Ridiculous name!” she murmured. “That little tiresome, fat baby girl and that small boy, dressed for all the world as though he were a peacock! But still – but still – a pony with a side-saddle and habit, and his keep provided for, is worth struggling to win. And then it would be such fun to get the prize over Robina’s head. She is certain sure of it already, I see by her smug face. I am sure I am clever enough to get this from her, and I will.”

      Harriet now spied both children standing much too near the edge of a round pond which ornamented part of the grounds.

      “Oh, Curly Pate!” she shrieked. “Come back this minute, you naughty child, from the edge of the water!”

      Curly Pate, who had been gazing at her own little image in the pond, looked up. Her fair face was flushed with passion, and seizing Ralph’s hand, she said imperiously:

      “Turn away, king. Curly Pate hates that howwid dirl.”

      Harriet was near enough to hear the words. Angry already, and disliking Curly Pate more than words could say, she rushed up to her now, seized her by the waist, and planted her several feet away from the pond.

      “There, you naughty, disobedient little thing!” she said. “You’ll be drowned if you don’t take care!”

      Curly Pate burst into roars of tears, and set to work screaming as she alone knew how. Ralph, furious at having his queen abused, turned to Harriet and began to beat her.

      “Go away, go away!” he said. “You’re not a bit a nice girl. Go away, you horrid thing!”

      “Horrid thing yourself!” said Harriet and she slapped Ralph across the face.

      Little Ralph Durrant was much too proud to cry; the slap stung him, and the little olive-tinted face grew red. After a minute, during which he was struggling with himself, he turned towards Harriet and said gently:

      “’Twasn’t ladylike of you to slap me, but I forgive you.”

      “Oh, your Mightiness! Do you, indeed?” said Harriet. “I am sure, your Majesty, I am exceedingly obliged.”

      The scornful tone was quite new to little Ralph. What would have happened next is hard to tell, if at that moment Robina had not rushed up.

      “Well, Curly,” she said; “well, my little precious! Why, what are you crying about? And Ralph, dear, is anything the matter with you?”

      Curly, whose tears were now growing less, flung herself impetuously into Robina’s arms, while Robina laid a trembling hand on her shoulder. Robina by this time was on her knees, both children fondling her. Harriet stood still for a minute. Then she said in a lofty tone:

      “Take them to the house – or rather, take the boy to the house. I was sent to fetch them, but of course it would be like you to interfere. You want to be his school-mother, and to get the pony – I know you; and let me say at once that I despise you for your horrid ways!”

      Robina turned scarlet.

      “You have no right – no right to say such things to me!” was her first remark. Then with a great effort she managed to quiet herself. Her eyes, with a wild light in them, were fixed on Harriet’s face.

      “I despise you too much,” she said slowly, “to take any notice of your words. Curly, you shall have a ride, my sweet, on my shoulder; and Ralph, you will hold one of my hands. We must come quickly to the house, for Mr Durrant wants you to say good-bye.”

      “Oh, good-bye,” said Ralph; “that hurts, doesn’t it?”

      He forgot Harriet, who was watching the scene from a few feet away. A new expression