Book One—Chapter Eight.

Book One—Chapter Eight.Consequences.The astonishment which this announcement caused in the school may be better imagined than described. Even Mrs Burton was struck dumb for a minute. Then she said quietly:“Harriet, you are the favoured one. Will you please take Ralph to Miss Ford, and get her to set him his lessons, and then will you take him into the third form room, and give him a seat by yourself and attend to his work in the intervals when you can spare some moments from your own? I will arrange later on that you have plenty of time to do this. Now, my dear, attend to your duties. You have been elected in a fair field, and I don’t think any favour has been shown, and I congratulate you, and hope you will be the proud possessor of the prize pony on the day when you leave school.”The rest of the girls in the form congratulated Harriet also, and she walked out of Mrs Burton’s parlour with her head in the air, holding Ralph by the hand. Never had such a moment of intoxicating triumph been given her before. She was trembling from head to foot.“Now we’ll have fun, won’t we?” whispered Ralph. “Yes, of course,” said Harriet back. “But come along at once, Ralph. We must get your lessons. You will be a very good little boy, won’t you, and not too troublesome?” She longed to add: “I can’t stand troublesome children,” but refrained for the time being.Miss Ford gave Ralph some easy lessons, telling Harriet where his weak points lay, and how often he ought to repeat them over to her.“You must be very particular indeed with regard to his sums,” she said. “These sums in addition and this little one in subtraction must be done perfectly. I think that is all for to-day.”Harriet, still holding Ralph’s hand, but holding it rather loosely, marched now in the direction of the third form class-room. As they were going there, Ralph spoke:“I thought—I thought—that—if you were my school-mother, there wouldnotbe sums and things.”“Oh, nonsense!” replied Harriet, rather tartly. “There must be sums andthings, as you call them. How are you to be wise if you don’t learn?” she continued. Then, seeing that the colour swept over his face, she added hastily, “I won’t be hard on you, no fear, and when lessons are over, we’ll have great fun.”“Yes, great fun,” repeated Ralph. “The gipsies, perhaps?” he added, pleadingly.But Harriet, who had not the least idea in her heart of hearts of bothering herself with regard to gipsies, was silent. They entered the school-room, where all eyes followed them to their seats. Ralph’s choice was considered too wonderful for words, and more than one girl felt that the thing had been managed by foul play. What had occurred they could not tell, but they were positively certain that Ralph of his own accord would never have chosen Harriet.Meanwhile, lessons went on, and Ralph struggled over tasks which Robina or any other girl in the form would have rendered easy and pleasant for him, but which Harriet did not trouble herself to think about.“Don’t bother!” she whispered once quite crossly, when he pulled her sleeve.Towards the end of the morning it was with great difficulty that the little boy could keep back his tears. Of course, he had made a splendid choice, and Harriet was delightful; but, still—but, still—how hedidwish he knew how to take nine from seven! Nine would not go from seven because seven wasn’t as much as nine. Oh, how was it done? Then there was six from five. He came to the conclusion at last that sums were not meant for little boys; it was beyond the power of the human brain to manage sums; not even his own father could take six from five. He began in his restlessness to tear up paper, making five little pieces, and then six little pieces, and wondering how he could ever take the greater out of the less.“Harriet,” he whispered at last, tugging at her arm, “it can’t be done; see for yourself.”“Don’t bother,” whispered Harriet again. But then she saw Robina’s eyes fixed on her face, and, suddenly recovering herself, bent down over Ralph.“Whatisthe matter, you little troublesome thing?” she said.“I can’t take six from five,” answered the boy.“Oh, you goose!” said Harriet; “borrow ten. Now, then, peg away.”What Harriet meant was Greek to Ralph. “Borrow ten?” he murmured to himself, “borrow ten?”It was a very hot day, and Ralph, try as he would, could not borrow ten. There was no one to borrow it from. The windows were open at the opposite side of the great room, and a bee came in and sailed lazily round. The bee, in his velvety brown coat, was watched by a pair of eyes as soft, as brown as his own velvet coat. The bee never borrowed ten, that was certain; no more could he. Oh, he was sleepy, and lessons were horrid, and sums were the worst of all. And why, why, why did not his school-mother really help him?He was just dropping off to sleep when a brisk voice said in his ear:“What is the matter, Ralph?” He looked round, and there was Robina.“I am sleepy,” said Ralph. “It’s because I can’t borrow ten. Will you lend it to me?”Robina bent down over the slate, where poor little Ralph was making a muddle of his sums.“This is the way you do it,” she said.She explained so simply; the child understood. His eyes brightened.“Oh, thank you, thank you!” he answered. “Why, it’s quite nice now, quite nice.”“Well, you won’t forget another time,” said Robina. She had to go back to her own seat. She took care in doing so not to glance at Harriet.At last school time was over, and the young people went into the gardens. Ralph now felt happy once more. His idea was that Harriet—dear, kind, fascinating Harriet, who had made him so intensely happy on the day when she had been his trial school-mother—would now take him all away by himself. She would sit somewhere under a tree, and get him to sit by her side, and tell him her plans. These plans must surely include a picnic tea and a visit to the gipsies. Ralph felt now that every desire in his life was centred round the gipsies.“Come, Harriet,” he said, tugging at her sleeve, “come away, please.”“What’s the matter?” asked Harriet.“Why—we want to be all by our lones,” said Ralph. “We have such lots to talk about!”Harriet looked down at him. She looked down at a little boy, with flushed cheeks and lovely eyes and a tremulous, rosy mouth, and a little face all full of love and soul and feeling. But it was not given to Harriet, even for a minute, to see this little boy as he really was. She only sawthroughhim a pony—a flesh and blood pony, with its side-saddle; and she saw a girl with a perfectly-fitting habit who owned the pony, and this girl was herself.“Well,” she said a little crossly, for she had a great deal to do that afternoon, and meant to have a right good time at a great picnic where all the girls were going, and where, of course, she would be, in honour of her triumph that morning, the principal personage. “Well,” she repeated, “what is it?”“I have such a lot to say,” whispered Ralph.“Come along here, then, Ralph, and say it. What do you want?”“Why, Harriet, I thought—I thought—”“Now, I tell you what,” said Harriet. “You and I must understand each other. You’re a very good little boy, and I like you enormously, and I’ll be ever so kind to you. You don’t know what luck you’re in to have chosen me for your school-mother. I don’t know what would have come to you if you had chosen any of the others. But you mustn’t be selfish, you know.”“No,” said Ralph, winking back a tear, “’course not.”“And there’s another thing. You must never again allow that horrid girl, Robina, to help you with your sums. Now, do you hear? You did look silly over that sum in subtraction; and, of course, Robina, who hates me, was watching her opportunity.”“I don’t know what opportunity is,” said Ralph.“Oh, well—I can’t tell you—you’re a baby. Anyhow, don’t do it again, do you hear?”“Very well, Harriet,” said Ralph.It was just at that moment, and before a single word could be said with regard to the afternoon of that half-holiday, and the gipsies and all the great, great fun which Ralph so looked forward to, that Miss Ford came up to Harriet, and drew her a little aside.“Mrs Burton wishes me to say, Harriet, that she will not expect you to join the picnic to-day on account of Ralph Durrant.”“And why not, pray?” asked Harriet, turning very red.“Because they are going too far away, and he would not be back in time for bed, so you are to stay at home to look after him.”“Well, I like that,” said Harriet. “I won’t do anything of the kind.”“Oh, you needn’t stay, really, Harriet,” interrupted Ralph, who gave up all thought of the gipsies on the spot. “Do please go, Harriet. I don’t mind being left.”Harriet looked eagerly at him.“Don’t you?” she said. “Oh, I am sure you don’t; you are a very good little boy.”“But, I am afraid,” said Miss Ford, “that is not the question. Ralph’s school-mother accepts certain duties, which she must perform, and you can’t go to the picnic, Harriet, for Mrs Burton forbids it. She says you are to stay at home and look after Ralph, and make him as happy as possible.”Harriet, who never denied herself, was suddenly forced to do so, and in the most disagreeable, unexpected way. She almost hated Ralph at that moment. His brown eyes did not in the least appeal to her, and when he snuggled to her side, and tried to take her hand, she pushed him almost roughly away.“I hate being pawed!” said Harriet. “You must understand that, Ralph, if you are to be with me always. Very well, Miss Ford,” she continued, turning to the teacher. “I must do what is right, of course.”“Of course, you must,” said Miss Ford, and she marched away, saying to herself that she pitied Ralph, and wondering—as, indeed, everyone else was wondering—why Harriet had been chosen as his school-mother.

The astonishment which this announcement caused in the school may be better imagined than described. Even Mrs Burton was struck dumb for a minute. Then she said quietly:

“Harriet, you are the favoured one. Will you please take Ralph to Miss Ford, and get her to set him his lessons, and then will you take him into the third form room, and give him a seat by yourself and attend to his work in the intervals when you can spare some moments from your own? I will arrange later on that you have plenty of time to do this. Now, my dear, attend to your duties. You have been elected in a fair field, and I don’t think any favour has been shown, and I congratulate you, and hope you will be the proud possessor of the prize pony on the day when you leave school.”

The rest of the girls in the form congratulated Harriet also, and she walked out of Mrs Burton’s parlour with her head in the air, holding Ralph by the hand. Never had such a moment of intoxicating triumph been given her before. She was trembling from head to foot.

“Now we’ll have fun, won’t we?” whispered Ralph. “Yes, of course,” said Harriet back. “But come along at once, Ralph. We must get your lessons. You will be a very good little boy, won’t you, and not too troublesome?” She longed to add: “I can’t stand troublesome children,” but refrained for the time being.

Miss Ford gave Ralph some easy lessons, telling Harriet where his weak points lay, and how often he ought to repeat them over to her.

“You must be very particular indeed with regard to his sums,” she said. “These sums in addition and this little one in subtraction must be done perfectly. I think that is all for to-day.”

Harriet, still holding Ralph’s hand, but holding it rather loosely, marched now in the direction of the third form class-room. As they were going there, Ralph spoke:

“I thought—I thought—that—if you were my school-mother, there wouldnotbe sums and things.”

“Oh, nonsense!” replied Harriet, rather tartly. “There must be sums andthings, as you call them. How are you to be wise if you don’t learn?” she continued. Then, seeing that the colour swept over his face, she added hastily, “I won’t be hard on you, no fear, and when lessons are over, we’ll have great fun.”

“Yes, great fun,” repeated Ralph. “The gipsies, perhaps?” he added, pleadingly.

But Harriet, who had not the least idea in her heart of hearts of bothering herself with regard to gipsies, was silent. They entered the school-room, where all eyes followed them to their seats. Ralph’s choice was considered too wonderful for words, and more than one girl felt that the thing had been managed by foul play. What had occurred they could not tell, but they were positively certain that Ralph of his own accord would never have chosen Harriet.

Meanwhile, lessons went on, and Ralph struggled over tasks which Robina or any other girl in the form would have rendered easy and pleasant for him, but which Harriet did not trouble herself to think about.

“Don’t bother!” she whispered once quite crossly, when he pulled her sleeve.

Towards the end of the morning it was with great difficulty that the little boy could keep back his tears. Of course, he had made a splendid choice, and Harriet was delightful; but, still—but, still—how hedidwish he knew how to take nine from seven! Nine would not go from seven because seven wasn’t as much as nine. Oh, how was it done? Then there was six from five. He came to the conclusion at last that sums were not meant for little boys; it was beyond the power of the human brain to manage sums; not even his own father could take six from five. He began in his restlessness to tear up paper, making five little pieces, and then six little pieces, and wondering how he could ever take the greater out of the less.

“Harriet,” he whispered at last, tugging at her arm, “it can’t be done; see for yourself.”

“Don’t bother,” whispered Harriet again. But then she saw Robina’s eyes fixed on her face, and, suddenly recovering herself, bent down over Ralph.

“Whatisthe matter, you little troublesome thing?” she said.

“I can’t take six from five,” answered the boy.

“Oh, you goose!” said Harriet; “borrow ten. Now, then, peg away.”

What Harriet meant was Greek to Ralph. “Borrow ten?” he murmured to himself, “borrow ten?”

It was a very hot day, and Ralph, try as he would, could not borrow ten. There was no one to borrow it from. The windows were open at the opposite side of the great room, and a bee came in and sailed lazily round. The bee, in his velvety brown coat, was watched by a pair of eyes as soft, as brown as his own velvet coat. The bee never borrowed ten, that was certain; no more could he. Oh, he was sleepy, and lessons were horrid, and sums were the worst of all. And why, why, why did not his school-mother really help him?

He was just dropping off to sleep when a brisk voice said in his ear:

“What is the matter, Ralph?” He looked round, and there was Robina.

“I am sleepy,” said Ralph. “It’s because I can’t borrow ten. Will you lend it to me?”

Robina bent down over the slate, where poor little Ralph was making a muddle of his sums.

“This is the way you do it,” she said.

She explained so simply; the child understood. His eyes brightened.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” he answered. “Why, it’s quite nice now, quite nice.”

“Well, you won’t forget another time,” said Robina. She had to go back to her own seat. She took care in doing so not to glance at Harriet.

At last school time was over, and the young people went into the gardens. Ralph now felt happy once more. His idea was that Harriet—dear, kind, fascinating Harriet, who had made him so intensely happy on the day when she had been his trial school-mother—would now take him all away by himself. She would sit somewhere under a tree, and get him to sit by her side, and tell him her plans. These plans must surely include a picnic tea and a visit to the gipsies. Ralph felt now that every desire in his life was centred round the gipsies.

“Come, Harriet,” he said, tugging at her sleeve, “come away, please.”

“What’s the matter?” asked Harriet.

“Why—we want to be all by our lones,” said Ralph. “We have such lots to talk about!”

Harriet looked down at him. She looked down at a little boy, with flushed cheeks and lovely eyes and a tremulous, rosy mouth, and a little face all full of love and soul and feeling. But it was not given to Harriet, even for a minute, to see this little boy as he really was. She only sawthroughhim a pony—a flesh and blood pony, with its side-saddle; and she saw a girl with a perfectly-fitting habit who owned the pony, and this girl was herself.

“Well,” she said a little crossly, for she had a great deal to do that afternoon, and meant to have a right good time at a great picnic where all the girls were going, and where, of course, she would be, in honour of her triumph that morning, the principal personage. “Well,” she repeated, “what is it?”

“I have such a lot to say,” whispered Ralph.

“Come along here, then, Ralph, and say it. What do you want?”

“Why, Harriet, I thought—I thought—”

“Now, I tell you what,” said Harriet. “You and I must understand each other. You’re a very good little boy, and I like you enormously, and I’ll be ever so kind to you. You don’t know what luck you’re in to have chosen me for your school-mother. I don’t know what would have come to you if you had chosen any of the others. But you mustn’t be selfish, you know.”

“No,” said Ralph, winking back a tear, “’course not.”

“And there’s another thing. You must never again allow that horrid girl, Robina, to help you with your sums. Now, do you hear? You did look silly over that sum in subtraction; and, of course, Robina, who hates me, was watching her opportunity.”

“I don’t know what opportunity is,” said Ralph.

“Oh, well—I can’t tell you—you’re a baby. Anyhow, don’t do it again, do you hear?”

“Very well, Harriet,” said Ralph.

It was just at that moment, and before a single word could be said with regard to the afternoon of that half-holiday, and the gipsies and all the great, great fun which Ralph so looked forward to, that Miss Ford came up to Harriet, and drew her a little aside.

“Mrs Burton wishes me to say, Harriet, that she will not expect you to join the picnic to-day on account of Ralph Durrant.”

“And why not, pray?” asked Harriet, turning very red.

“Because they are going too far away, and he would not be back in time for bed, so you are to stay at home to look after him.”

“Well, I like that,” said Harriet. “I won’t do anything of the kind.”

“Oh, you needn’t stay, really, Harriet,” interrupted Ralph, who gave up all thought of the gipsies on the spot. “Do please go, Harriet. I don’t mind being left.”

Harriet looked eagerly at him.

“Don’t you?” she said. “Oh, I am sure you don’t; you are a very good little boy.”

“But, I am afraid,” said Miss Ford, “that is not the question. Ralph’s school-mother accepts certain duties, which she must perform, and you can’t go to the picnic, Harriet, for Mrs Burton forbids it. She says you are to stay at home and look after Ralph, and make him as happy as possible.”

Harriet, who never denied herself, was suddenly forced to do so, and in the most disagreeable, unexpected way. She almost hated Ralph at that moment. His brown eyes did not in the least appeal to her, and when he snuggled to her side, and tried to take her hand, she pushed him almost roughly away.

“I hate being pawed!” said Harriet. “You must understand that, Ralph, if you are to be with me always. Very well, Miss Ford,” she continued, turning to the teacher. “I must do what is right, of course.”

“Of course, you must,” said Miss Ford, and she marched away, saying to herself that she pitied Ralph, and wondering—as, indeed, everyone else was wondering—why Harriet had been chosen as his school-mother.

Book One—Chapter Nine.A Visit to the Fair.Almost immediately after early dinner, two waggonettes came up to the door, and the girls of the sixth form and the girls of the third form, with their governesses and Mrs Burton herself, started off for a long and happy day in some distant woods. They were to visit the ruins of Chudleigh Castle and go up to the top of Peter’s Tower—a celebrated place in the neighbourhood—and afterwards they were to have tea on the grass; and, best of all, they need not return home until the moon came up.The moonlight drive home would be the most fascinating part of the whole expedition. For days and days this picnic to Chudleigh Castle had been talked about; and Harriet, with the others, had enjoyed it in anticipation. Now, she had to stand by, gloomily holding Ralph’s hand, while the carriages were packed with radiant, happy girls, and, what was still harder, she had to listen to their gay shouts, and, in particular, to their badinage at her expense.“I hope you’ll enjoy yourself, Harriet,” said Rose Amberley.“I hope you and Ralph will have fun, my dear,” said Agnes Winter, one of the sixth form girls, whom it was a great honour to know, and whom Harriet secretly adored. Even her own special chum, Jane, was looking flushed and pleased—disgustingly flushed and pleased, thought Harriet. And there was that little weak Vivian giggling in the silly way she always did, and casting covert glances at her, and, of course, laughing at her in her sleeve. And there was that odious Robina, not looking at her at all, but calmly taking her seat, and making others laugh whenever she spoke to them. Oh, it was all distracting, and for the time being so angry was Harriet that even the prospective pony lost its charm.At last the waggonettes started on their journey. The sound of their wheels ceased to be heard. Stillness followed commotion; gay laughter was succeeded by—in Harriet’s opinion—a sort of void. Again Ralph tugged her arm.“Now,” he said, “now it’s gipsies, isn’t it?”“It’s nothing of the kind, you horrid, little troublesome thing,” said Harriet. “I am not going to take you to see the gipsies to-day—no, noranyday, for the present. Oh, stop that blubbering, or I’ll smack you.”“You did once before,” said Ralph steadily, and he looked her full in the face, tears arrested in his eyes, and his own colour coming and going.Harriet immediately saw that she had gone too far. She altered her tone.“Please forgive me, Ralph,” she said. “I know I am cross; I wanted so very much to go to that picnic, and I can’t because of you.”“I don’t understand,” said Ralph. “Iwouldn’t mind.”“Yes,” said Harriet crossly; “that’s not the question. You are considered a baby, and you must be treated as one.”“Iaren’ta baby!” said Ralph, in great indignation. “Father said I am a real manly boy.”“Well, prove yourself one,” said Harriet. “Don’t cry when I speak a little sharply, and don’t worry me about the gipsies. I will take you to see them when I can, because I promised to take you; but you’re not to remind me of them, for if you do I’ll be very angry.”“I won’t ever, ever speak of them again,” said Ralph, gulping down a sob.“Well, that’s all right,” said Harriet. She moved restlessly across the lawn. Curly Pate and the other small children were tumbling about on the grass. Ralph looked longingly at Curly Pate. Curly Pate clapped her pretty hands, and ran to meet him.“I keen—oo king!” she said.Harriet stood by restlessly. How contemptible it all was! Those silly little children, that tiresome Miss Ford, the empty house, the empty gardens, and the pleasure party far away—the pleasure party with some of its members laughing in their sleeves at her! Yes, she knew that fact quite well. That detestable little Jane was laughing. She saw the laughter hidden behind her smug face. And that horrid Vivian, she was all one giggle, and last, but not least, there was the detestable Robina—on this day of all days to laugh at Harriet seemed the final straw! She had had her great moment of victory; she had proved to Robina that she was the favourite—was the chosen one, was the beloved of the little boy about whom the school chose to make such a fuss. But oh, dear! there was reaction after triumph, and this reaction took place when Harriet found what were the duties imposed upon her by motherhood. She must take care of her little boy while the others went out a-pleasuring.By this time, however, Ralph had forgotten all about her. He and Curly Pate had gone away to a little distance. Curly Pate was on her knees picking daisies, and Ralph was standing over her, after the fashion of kings when they choose to govern their queens and give directions.“Longer stems, Curly; bigger flowers, Curly. Oh, you silly! not that one—that one with the red all round, it’s broader. Now, then—I’llshow you how to pick them.”“Peese, king! peese!” replied the impatient queen.Harriet was not interested in the small children, and just at that moment something occurred.A girl from the neighbourhood, of the name of Pattie Pyke, was seen walking down the avenue. She was the doctor’s daughter, and was the only girl who was ever allowed to come to the school to take lessons. She joined the third form twice a week for German lessons, but was never with them during recreation. In consequence, she was scarcely counted at all in the school life. Harriet and she, however, had managed to take up a sort of acquaintanceship which never until this moment had developed into friendship. Pattie was a plain girl, large for her age, stoutly built, and with a face covered with freckles. She had small blue eyes and a snub nose. Her hair was somewhat inclined to be carroty, and she had white eyelashes and eyebrows. Notwithstanding this, she was a pleasant girl enough, and had plenty of ability.“Hallo!” she said now, when she saw Harriet. “Why, I thought, of course, you’d be off to the picnic!”“Well, I’m not, you see,” answered Harriet ungraciously; “I am here.”Pattie drew nigh. The real desire of her life was to make friends with one of the school-girls. She was always imploring her father to send her to the school as a boarder, but hitherto he had been deaf to her entreaties.“I was coming to the school with a note,” said Pattie; “Father told me to leave it. I did not think I’d meet one of you. I am surprised to see you.”“Well, you need not be. You were not at school this morning, or you would know why I am here.”“No, I had a cold, and Father thought I had best not go. He is so awfully particular, for fear of my giving anything to the rest of the girls. I am better now, but I must not be out long; my throat is rather sore.”“You look quite well,” said Harriet.“It’s only my throat that’s a little bad. Please, do tell me about this morning.”“And the great triumph for me,” said Harriet. “Ralph, don’t go out of sight!”She shrieked these words to Ralph, who immediately paused, turned, and looked at her, then came in her direction, holding Curly Pate’s hand.“Do you see that child?” said Harriet.“Yes—the little darling!” cried Pattie. “Little Ralph Durrant. Father raves about him; he says that he will be the richest man in England some day.”“Oh, well,” said Harriet; “he is a very troublesome little boy now. But, nevertheless, I am pleased. His father has made a most ridiculous proposal. He said that Ralph was to choose one of us to be his school-mother—I can tell you it was thought a great honour—and he chose me.”“You?” cried Pattie.“Yes; are you surprised?”“Oh, no!” answered Pattie; but she was, nevertheless.“Well, I am the chosen one, and I can tell you I had my triumph. Those other girls, especially that new girl, Robina Starling, was sure that one of them would be cock-o’-the-walk; but not a bit of it—my little boy chose me.”“That was nice for you,” said Pattie; “only I should not have thought you would have cared to be bothered by a child.”“It’s not that,” said Harriet, lowering her voice; for, really, under the circumstances, any sympathiser was better than none. “A good deal depends on it. I will explain to you another time. Of course, there are drawbacks. I have the charge of that small person, and in consequence can’t enjoy myself at the picnic to-day.”“Oh, what a pity!” said Pattie.“It is, isn’t it?”“And you are all alone this lovely, lovely day?”“It is true,” said Harriet. “Well, I suppose I must take the rough with the smooth.”“I tell you what,” cried Pattie, in some excitement. “Couldn’t you come home and have tea with me? It would be such fun! You might bring Ralph with you, you know. Of course, you would be allowed to come, and it is only a stone’s throw away.”“I wish I could; I’d like it very much,” said Harriet.“Do come,” said Pattie. “We’ll manage afterwards to go out and see the fair in the village.”“Oh. I am sure I wouldn’t be allowed to take Ralph to the fair.”“He need not come; indeed, we wouldn’t want him. We’d manage somehow to leave him behind; there are lots of people at home to look after him. Oh, do, do come. You need not say a word to anybody.”Harriet thought for a minute. After all, Miss Ford had no control over her. Miss Ford had only the charge of the little children; there was no one’s leave to be asked. She was the school-mother of Ralph. Of course, it must never be told, for it was against the strict rules of the school that any girl should venture out of the grounds without leave. It is true that Harriet had gone in the spring cart to town last week; but, after all, she had got leave to do that, for she had run to the house to ask for it. “If Mrs Burton was at home, I know she would not mind,” said Harriet eagerly. “But I can’t ask her leave, as she isn’t here. If we go, we must be back quite early; we must be back before old Ford misses us. That’s the nuisance!”“You can manage that,” said Pattie. “It’s early now. We’ll go straight home, and have tea. Then Mother or someone will look after that little Ralph of yours, and you and I will just run down to the fair, and see what is to be seen. Do, do come, Harriet! I should so love to have you!”“All right,” said Harriet.She looked around her. Miss Ford was nowhere in sight. So much the better. Ralph was called sharply back to her side. He came, Curly Pate trotting after him.“Iontmy king,” called the school baby.“Then you will do without him,” said Harriet roughly. “Go back to your play, you little silly. Run back at once.”Curly Pate burst into loud screams and yells, and Ralph, forgetting his allegiance to Harriet, flung his arms round her and comforted her valiantly.In the midst of this scene, Miss Ford hurried up.“What is the matter?” she asked.“Ralph and Pattie and I are going away for a little by ourselves,” said Harriet. “Curly Pate wants to come with us; but we don’t want her.”“Yes, I want her,” said Ralph.“Why can’t the child go with you?” asked Miss Ford.“No, she can’t,” said Harriet, looking very cross. “Very well, darling,” said Miss Ford, catching the child in her arms and kissing her. “I’ve got something so nice to show you.”She carried the weeping baby away, and Ralph, with a great pain at his heart, followed Harriet. His school-mother! Oh, yes, she was that. But did he like her? He was not sure. She puzzled him extremely. She was not half as interesting as on that wonderful day when she had devoted herself to him, and told him stories about the gipsies.As soon as ever Miss Ford had turned the corner, and had carried the weeping Curly Pate out of sight, Harriet turned to Pattie.“Now we must be very quick,” she said. “If you don’t mind, we will run all the way.”“Where is we going?” asked Ralph.“We are going to have a jolly time,” replied Harriet. “Now, Ralph, you clearly understand; you are going to be put on your honour.”“Yes,” said Ralph, looking important; “Father says that sometimes.””‘Your honour’ means this,” continued Harriet: “You will never tell anybody what we are doing.”“Course not,” replied Ralph. “I aren’t a tell-tale.”“He isn’t, either,” said Harriet, looking at Pattie. “He is quite a good little boy, when he chooses. Well, then, we are ready, and I hope, Pattie, you are prepared to give us a very good time.”Pattie answered at once that she was. In her heart of hearts, however, she was doubtful. Her father and mother were poor. Dr Pyke’s practice was not a large one, and he found it difficult to make both ends meet. Then, there were numerous little Pykes at home—Pykes of all ages, from Pattie, whose years numbered twelve, to the baby, who was only three months old. It seemed to Pattie that the children swarmed everywhere. Still, she had a whole shilling stowed away in her purse in the corner of a drawer in her bedroom, that could be spent at the fair, and it was grand and delightful to bring a girl from Mrs Burton’s to tea with her, and she also felt sure that little Ralph would have a welcome.When they reached the house, an ivy-covered house of old-fashioned make, which stood a little back from the village street, she found the hall door open.“Now, then, Harriet, come in,” she said, and Harriet and Ralph entered.An untidy-looking servant was crossing the hall.“Anastasia,” said Pattie, “will you get tea in the drawing-room, please?”Anastasia stared at her.“Indeed, I can’t, miss. Your ma is out, and all the older children have gone to the park with Miss Fry,”—Miss Fry was the much overworked nursery governess—“and the missis told me,” continued Anastasia, “that I was to wash the handkerchiefs and things this afternoon. I have no time to bring tea into the drawing-room, and why should I do it? You always has it in the school-room.”“I’d much rather have tea in the school-room, Pattie,” said Harriet.“And so would I,” echoed Ralph.“You must get your own tea, miss,” continued Anastasia, by no means abashed by the sight of Harriet in her ordinary school frock, and not particularly struck by the beauty of little Ralph.“I am ever so sorry,” said Pattie, colouring high; “but this is rather an unfortunate day. One of our maids is out, and Mother’s away; and, in short—do you greatly mind waiting in the drawing-room while I get the tea?”“I don’t much care about tea at all,” said Harriet, who was not a bit gracious, and who was rather disgusted with the appearance of Pattie Pyke’s home. “You needn’t bother, as far as I am concerned.”“And I don’t want no tea,” said Ralph; “I aren’t a bit hungry.”He looked pleadingly and sorrowfully at Pattie, as much as to say: “Please, please, don’t trouble.”Poor Pattie, whose face was scarlet with mortification, insisted on providing a meal.“You can’t come into the school-room,” she said a little crossly. “The boys do leave it in such a mess. There is the rabbit-hutch in one corner, and I know Jim and Davie were washing Smut there this afternoon. You must come into the drawing-room. I will manage to get you some tea. Don’t stare, Anastasia. Go at once, and see that the kettle is boiling.”Pattie conducted her guests into a small, very hot drawing-room. She then left them, and, after about a quarter of an hour, reappeared with a tray containing very poor tea and some stale cake. Oh, how hot was that little room! It faced due south, and scarcely a breath of air came through the open bay window. Ralph felt very tired; he did not know why. He had had a trying morning. Those sums had worried him, and Harriet’s conduct had also worried him, although he was not aware of that fact at present.When the tea had come to an end Harriet said quickly:“Now, the fun is really going to begin; you and I will hurry off to the fair, Pattie. I can’t stay late, as your know, for I must smuggle Ralph back before Miss Ford misses him. You will stay quietly here, Ralph. You will be a good boy? I couldn’t take you to the fair, even if I wished it; for, in the first place, I haven’t any money.”“But I have a shilling—a whole shilling,” said Pattie, feeling all of a sudden quite grand and important.“I am very sorry,” continued Harriet, speaking in a firm voice; “but I shall be obliged to borrow my entrance money from you, Pattie. I will pay you next week, when my pocket-money comes in. There will be enough for us both to go in and also to have a turn on the merry-go-round—”“And we must see the fat lady and the man with two heads,” said Pattie.“But why mustn’t I see them, too?” asked Ralph, whose little face was scarlet now, and his voice quite choky with anger and disappointment.“No, you mustn’t, Ralph,” said Harriet. “And now I will tell you why! I, your mother, don’t choose it. You have got to obey me, you know. I am a big girl, and you are a very little boy; you must stay here quietly, and wait for me. I will return for you before long. Now, be a good child, and don’t cry: it is very babyish to cry.”Ralph stood quite still. The scarlet flush had faded from his face. After a minute, he said:“Course it’s babyish, and I aren’t crying.”“Then that is all right,” said Harriet. “Stay here till I fetch you. Come, Pattie.”The two little girls left the room.

Almost immediately after early dinner, two waggonettes came up to the door, and the girls of the sixth form and the girls of the third form, with their governesses and Mrs Burton herself, started off for a long and happy day in some distant woods. They were to visit the ruins of Chudleigh Castle and go up to the top of Peter’s Tower—a celebrated place in the neighbourhood—and afterwards they were to have tea on the grass; and, best of all, they need not return home until the moon came up.

The moonlight drive home would be the most fascinating part of the whole expedition. For days and days this picnic to Chudleigh Castle had been talked about; and Harriet, with the others, had enjoyed it in anticipation. Now, she had to stand by, gloomily holding Ralph’s hand, while the carriages were packed with radiant, happy girls, and, what was still harder, she had to listen to their gay shouts, and, in particular, to their badinage at her expense.

“I hope you’ll enjoy yourself, Harriet,” said Rose Amberley.

“I hope you and Ralph will have fun, my dear,” said Agnes Winter, one of the sixth form girls, whom it was a great honour to know, and whom Harriet secretly adored. Even her own special chum, Jane, was looking flushed and pleased—disgustingly flushed and pleased, thought Harriet. And there was that little weak Vivian giggling in the silly way she always did, and casting covert glances at her, and, of course, laughing at her in her sleeve. And there was that odious Robina, not looking at her at all, but calmly taking her seat, and making others laugh whenever she spoke to them. Oh, it was all distracting, and for the time being so angry was Harriet that even the prospective pony lost its charm.

At last the waggonettes started on their journey. The sound of their wheels ceased to be heard. Stillness followed commotion; gay laughter was succeeded by—in Harriet’s opinion—a sort of void. Again Ralph tugged her arm.

“Now,” he said, “now it’s gipsies, isn’t it?”

“It’s nothing of the kind, you horrid, little troublesome thing,” said Harriet. “I am not going to take you to see the gipsies to-day—no, noranyday, for the present. Oh, stop that blubbering, or I’ll smack you.”

“You did once before,” said Ralph steadily, and he looked her full in the face, tears arrested in his eyes, and his own colour coming and going.

Harriet immediately saw that she had gone too far. She altered her tone.

“Please forgive me, Ralph,” she said. “I know I am cross; I wanted so very much to go to that picnic, and I can’t because of you.”

“I don’t understand,” said Ralph. “Iwouldn’t mind.”

“Yes,” said Harriet crossly; “that’s not the question. You are considered a baby, and you must be treated as one.”

“Iaren’ta baby!” said Ralph, in great indignation. “Father said I am a real manly boy.”

“Well, prove yourself one,” said Harriet. “Don’t cry when I speak a little sharply, and don’t worry me about the gipsies. I will take you to see them when I can, because I promised to take you; but you’re not to remind me of them, for if you do I’ll be very angry.”

“I won’t ever, ever speak of them again,” said Ralph, gulping down a sob.

“Well, that’s all right,” said Harriet. She moved restlessly across the lawn. Curly Pate and the other small children were tumbling about on the grass. Ralph looked longingly at Curly Pate. Curly Pate clapped her pretty hands, and ran to meet him.

“I keen—oo king!” she said.

Harriet stood by restlessly. How contemptible it all was! Those silly little children, that tiresome Miss Ford, the empty house, the empty gardens, and the pleasure party far away—the pleasure party with some of its members laughing in their sleeves at her! Yes, she knew that fact quite well. That detestable little Jane was laughing. She saw the laughter hidden behind her smug face. And that horrid Vivian, she was all one giggle, and last, but not least, there was the detestable Robina—on this day of all days to laugh at Harriet seemed the final straw! She had had her great moment of victory; she had proved to Robina that she was the favourite—was the chosen one, was the beloved of the little boy about whom the school chose to make such a fuss. But oh, dear! there was reaction after triumph, and this reaction took place when Harriet found what were the duties imposed upon her by motherhood. She must take care of her little boy while the others went out a-pleasuring.

By this time, however, Ralph had forgotten all about her. He and Curly Pate had gone away to a little distance. Curly Pate was on her knees picking daisies, and Ralph was standing over her, after the fashion of kings when they choose to govern their queens and give directions.

“Longer stems, Curly; bigger flowers, Curly. Oh, you silly! not that one—that one with the red all round, it’s broader. Now, then—I’llshow you how to pick them.”

“Peese, king! peese!” replied the impatient queen.

Harriet was not interested in the small children, and just at that moment something occurred.

A girl from the neighbourhood, of the name of Pattie Pyke, was seen walking down the avenue. She was the doctor’s daughter, and was the only girl who was ever allowed to come to the school to take lessons. She joined the third form twice a week for German lessons, but was never with them during recreation. In consequence, she was scarcely counted at all in the school life. Harriet and she, however, had managed to take up a sort of acquaintanceship which never until this moment had developed into friendship. Pattie was a plain girl, large for her age, stoutly built, and with a face covered with freckles. She had small blue eyes and a snub nose. Her hair was somewhat inclined to be carroty, and she had white eyelashes and eyebrows. Notwithstanding this, she was a pleasant girl enough, and had plenty of ability.

“Hallo!” she said now, when she saw Harriet. “Why, I thought, of course, you’d be off to the picnic!”

“Well, I’m not, you see,” answered Harriet ungraciously; “I am here.”

Pattie drew nigh. The real desire of her life was to make friends with one of the school-girls. She was always imploring her father to send her to the school as a boarder, but hitherto he had been deaf to her entreaties.

“I was coming to the school with a note,” said Pattie; “Father told me to leave it. I did not think I’d meet one of you. I am surprised to see you.”

“Well, you need not be. You were not at school this morning, or you would know why I am here.”

“No, I had a cold, and Father thought I had best not go. He is so awfully particular, for fear of my giving anything to the rest of the girls. I am better now, but I must not be out long; my throat is rather sore.”

“You look quite well,” said Harriet.

“It’s only my throat that’s a little bad. Please, do tell me about this morning.”

“And the great triumph for me,” said Harriet. “Ralph, don’t go out of sight!”

She shrieked these words to Ralph, who immediately paused, turned, and looked at her, then came in her direction, holding Curly Pate’s hand.

“Do you see that child?” said Harriet.

“Yes—the little darling!” cried Pattie. “Little Ralph Durrant. Father raves about him; he says that he will be the richest man in England some day.”

“Oh, well,” said Harriet; “he is a very troublesome little boy now. But, nevertheless, I am pleased. His father has made a most ridiculous proposal. He said that Ralph was to choose one of us to be his school-mother—I can tell you it was thought a great honour—and he chose me.”

“You?” cried Pattie.

“Yes; are you surprised?”

“Oh, no!” answered Pattie; but she was, nevertheless.

“Well, I am the chosen one, and I can tell you I had my triumph. Those other girls, especially that new girl, Robina Starling, was sure that one of them would be cock-o’-the-walk; but not a bit of it—my little boy chose me.”

“That was nice for you,” said Pattie; “only I should not have thought you would have cared to be bothered by a child.”

“It’s not that,” said Harriet, lowering her voice; for, really, under the circumstances, any sympathiser was better than none. “A good deal depends on it. I will explain to you another time. Of course, there are drawbacks. I have the charge of that small person, and in consequence can’t enjoy myself at the picnic to-day.”

“Oh, what a pity!” said Pattie.

“It is, isn’t it?”

“And you are all alone this lovely, lovely day?”

“It is true,” said Harriet. “Well, I suppose I must take the rough with the smooth.”

“I tell you what,” cried Pattie, in some excitement. “Couldn’t you come home and have tea with me? It would be such fun! You might bring Ralph with you, you know. Of course, you would be allowed to come, and it is only a stone’s throw away.”

“I wish I could; I’d like it very much,” said Harriet.

“Do come,” said Pattie. “We’ll manage afterwards to go out and see the fair in the village.”

“Oh. I am sure I wouldn’t be allowed to take Ralph to the fair.”

“He need not come; indeed, we wouldn’t want him. We’d manage somehow to leave him behind; there are lots of people at home to look after him. Oh, do, do come. You need not say a word to anybody.”

Harriet thought for a minute. After all, Miss Ford had no control over her. Miss Ford had only the charge of the little children; there was no one’s leave to be asked. She was the school-mother of Ralph. Of course, it must never be told, for it was against the strict rules of the school that any girl should venture out of the grounds without leave. It is true that Harriet had gone in the spring cart to town last week; but, after all, she had got leave to do that, for she had run to the house to ask for it. “If Mrs Burton was at home, I know she would not mind,” said Harriet eagerly. “But I can’t ask her leave, as she isn’t here. If we go, we must be back quite early; we must be back before old Ford misses us. That’s the nuisance!”

“You can manage that,” said Pattie. “It’s early now. We’ll go straight home, and have tea. Then Mother or someone will look after that little Ralph of yours, and you and I will just run down to the fair, and see what is to be seen. Do, do come, Harriet! I should so love to have you!”

“All right,” said Harriet.

She looked around her. Miss Ford was nowhere in sight. So much the better. Ralph was called sharply back to her side. He came, Curly Pate trotting after him.

“Iontmy king,” called the school baby.

“Then you will do without him,” said Harriet roughly. “Go back to your play, you little silly. Run back at once.”

Curly Pate burst into loud screams and yells, and Ralph, forgetting his allegiance to Harriet, flung his arms round her and comforted her valiantly.

In the midst of this scene, Miss Ford hurried up.

“What is the matter?” she asked.

“Ralph and Pattie and I are going away for a little by ourselves,” said Harriet. “Curly Pate wants to come with us; but we don’t want her.”

“Yes, I want her,” said Ralph.

“Why can’t the child go with you?” asked Miss Ford.

“No, she can’t,” said Harriet, looking very cross. “Very well, darling,” said Miss Ford, catching the child in her arms and kissing her. “I’ve got something so nice to show you.”

She carried the weeping baby away, and Ralph, with a great pain at his heart, followed Harriet. His school-mother! Oh, yes, she was that. But did he like her? He was not sure. She puzzled him extremely. She was not half as interesting as on that wonderful day when she had devoted herself to him, and told him stories about the gipsies.

As soon as ever Miss Ford had turned the corner, and had carried the weeping Curly Pate out of sight, Harriet turned to Pattie.

“Now we must be very quick,” she said. “If you don’t mind, we will run all the way.”

“Where is we going?” asked Ralph.

“We are going to have a jolly time,” replied Harriet. “Now, Ralph, you clearly understand; you are going to be put on your honour.”

“Yes,” said Ralph, looking important; “Father says that sometimes.”

”‘Your honour’ means this,” continued Harriet: “You will never tell anybody what we are doing.”

“Course not,” replied Ralph. “I aren’t a tell-tale.”

“He isn’t, either,” said Harriet, looking at Pattie. “He is quite a good little boy, when he chooses. Well, then, we are ready, and I hope, Pattie, you are prepared to give us a very good time.”

Pattie answered at once that she was. In her heart of hearts, however, she was doubtful. Her father and mother were poor. Dr Pyke’s practice was not a large one, and he found it difficult to make both ends meet. Then, there were numerous little Pykes at home—Pykes of all ages, from Pattie, whose years numbered twelve, to the baby, who was only three months old. It seemed to Pattie that the children swarmed everywhere. Still, she had a whole shilling stowed away in her purse in the corner of a drawer in her bedroom, that could be spent at the fair, and it was grand and delightful to bring a girl from Mrs Burton’s to tea with her, and she also felt sure that little Ralph would have a welcome.

When they reached the house, an ivy-covered house of old-fashioned make, which stood a little back from the village street, she found the hall door open.

“Now, then, Harriet, come in,” she said, and Harriet and Ralph entered.

An untidy-looking servant was crossing the hall.

“Anastasia,” said Pattie, “will you get tea in the drawing-room, please?”

Anastasia stared at her.

“Indeed, I can’t, miss. Your ma is out, and all the older children have gone to the park with Miss Fry,”—Miss Fry was the much overworked nursery governess—“and the missis told me,” continued Anastasia, “that I was to wash the handkerchiefs and things this afternoon. I have no time to bring tea into the drawing-room, and why should I do it? You always has it in the school-room.”

“I’d much rather have tea in the school-room, Pattie,” said Harriet.

“And so would I,” echoed Ralph.

“You must get your own tea, miss,” continued Anastasia, by no means abashed by the sight of Harriet in her ordinary school frock, and not particularly struck by the beauty of little Ralph.

“I am ever so sorry,” said Pattie, colouring high; “but this is rather an unfortunate day. One of our maids is out, and Mother’s away; and, in short—do you greatly mind waiting in the drawing-room while I get the tea?”

“I don’t much care about tea at all,” said Harriet, who was not a bit gracious, and who was rather disgusted with the appearance of Pattie Pyke’s home. “You needn’t bother, as far as I am concerned.”

“And I don’t want no tea,” said Ralph; “I aren’t a bit hungry.”

He looked pleadingly and sorrowfully at Pattie, as much as to say: “Please, please, don’t trouble.”

Poor Pattie, whose face was scarlet with mortification, insisted on providing a meal.

“You can’t come into the school-room,” she said a little crossly. “The boys do leave it in such a mess. There is the rabbit-hutch in one corner, and I know Jim and Davie were washing Smut there this afternoon. You must come into the drawing-room. I will manage to get you some tea. Don’t stare, Anastasia. Go at once, and see that the kettle is boiling.”

Pattie conducted her guests into a small, very hot drawing-room. She then left them, and, after about a quarter of an hour, reappeared with a tray containing very poor tea and some stale cake. Oh, how hot was that little room! It faced due south, and scarcely a breath of air came through the open bay window. Ralph felt very tired; he did not know why. He had had a trying morning. Those sums had worried him, and Harriet’s conduct had also worried him, although he was not aware of that fact at present.

When the tea had come to an end Harriet said quickly:

“Now, the fun is really going to begin; you and I will hurry off to the fair, Pattie. I can’t stay late, as your know, for I must smuggle Ralph back before Miss Ford misses him. You will stay quietly here, Ralph. You will be a good boy? I couldn’t take you to the fair, even if I wished it; for, in the first place, I haven’t any money.”

“But I have a shilling—a whole shilling,” said Pattie, feeling all of a sudden quite grand and important.

“I am very sorry,” continued Harriet, speaking in a firm voice; “but I shall be obliged to borrow my entrance money from you, Pattie. I will pay you next week, when my pocket-money comes in. There will be enough for us both to go in and also to have a turn on the merry-go-round—”

“And we must see the fat lady and the man with two heads,” said Pattie.

“But why mustn’t I see them, too?” asked Ralph, whose little face was scarlet now, and his voice quite choky with anger and disappointment.

“No, you mustn’t, Ralph,” said Harriet. “And now I will tell you why! I, your mother, don’t choose it. You have got to obey me, you know. I am a big girl, and you are a very little boy; you must stay here quietly, and wait for me. I will return for you before long. Now, be a good child, and don’t cry: it is very babyish to cry.”

Ralph stood quite still. The scarlet flush had faded from his face. After a minute, he said:

“Course it’s babyish, and I aren’t crying.”

“Then that is all right,” said Harriet. “Stay here till I fetch you. Come, Pattie.”

The two little girls left the room.

Book One—Chapter Ten.The Gipsies.How hot was that drawing-room to the tired little boy! His head quite ached, he did not know why; he could not understand his own sensations. There was a very ugly look-out, too, for the bay window opened into a tiny garden, which was full now of clothes hanging on lines and flapping in what little breeze there was. Ralph could not see anything beyond the white line of clothes.He went to the window, half inclined to go into the garden; but, as it was so uninviting, he did not venture. He returned to the ugly room, and looked at what was left of the make-shift tea. It certainly was hard that he had not been allowed to go to the fair. He would so have liked to have a ride on the merry-go-round, and to see the fat lady and the man with two heads. How was it possible for anyone to have two heads? He felt his own little soft neck, and wondered where the other head could appear. He sat down very thoughtfully to consider this problem. It was really more difficult than borrowing ten, and much,muchmore interesting. It seemed to him even more interesting than seeing gipsies: the brown, brown gipsies, with their house on wheels, had none of them two heads. He would love beyond anything to gaze at the person who possessed such treasures.Certainly his school-mother was not too kind. He could not understand her to-day, but, having chosen her, he felt somehow that it was his bounden duty to be as good as possible, and to think as kindly as possible about her. So he very determinedly shut away from his little mind all unkind thoughts with regard to Harriet. Of course, he was a troublesome little boy, and he ought to have known all about borrowing ten, and he ought to understand now why little boys should stay in very hot rooms while big girls went away to fairs and merry-go-rounds, and delightful shows full of queer people. Oh, yes: of course, it was all right; only he did wish his head was not so swimmy—yes, that was how he expressed his feeling.He sank down at last on a very uncomfortable sofa with a broken spring, and the next minute fell fast asleep. He did not know, poor little boy, how long he slept; but when he awoke he felt very much startled and puzzled, for it had grown quite late, and the sun had gone away, and the room was no longer so hot. The clothes, too, had all been taken down from their lines, and he could see across the ugly garden.It was a very small garden; but there was a gate at the further end, and the gate was standing open; and beyond the gate was a field with a path leading across it; and, lo and behold! at the far, far end of the field was a very brown man standing quite still, and holding a lot of baskets in his hand. They were baskets of all sorts and shapes and sizes; and there was something about the man and the baskets which caused Ralph’s heart to beat.He went cautiously to the window, and gazed across the garden and across the fields at the man. The man was very brown, and he carried baskets. Gipsies carried baskets; they always did; Ralph had heard so. He did not believe that there was ever a basket in the whole world that had not once been carried by a gipsy.Suppose he went and talked to the man; there would be no harm in that; it would be interesting to him. Harriet had told him to stay where he was, but then Harriet did not know that there would be—first, an open window, and then an open gate, and beyond the gate a gipsy—the very person Ralph longed to see!The temptation was too much for him. He was too tired, and too lonely, and too much a very little boy to resist it. Swiftly he rose from his uncomfortable sofa, pushed back his tumbled hair, and flying, first across the garden and then across the field, reached the brown man’s side.“Please,” said Ralph earnestly, looking up with his brown eyes at the brown face, “is you a gipsy?”“I be that, little master,” said the man, and he gazed down inquisitively and perhaps not unkindly at Ralph.Ralph looked at him with great wonder and intense curiosity.“Wot be yer wanting o’ me, little master?” said the man.“I love gipsies!” said Ralph.“Do yer, indeed? And wot’s yer name?”“I am Ralph Durrant. I live at a school near. There are lots of girls in the school, and I’ve got a school-mother. My school-mother is at the fair, and I am alone here. I’m rather lonesome, and I’m so glad you have come, gipsy man, ’cause you can talk to me.”“To be sure,” said the man, seating himself on a low stile, and taking from his pocket a very large clasp knife, with which he proceeded to sharpen a stick.Ralph stood very near him without speaking, just glad to be close to him. From time to time the man looked at the child, and the child returned the man’s gaze.“Where did yer say yer held out, youngster?” he remarked after a long pause.“At a school with a lot of girls,” said Ralph. “Father sent me; it’s all right. How funny and sharp you make that stick, gipsy man!”“I guess you mean you live at Abbeyfield?” said the man, now shutting up his knife and returning it to his pocket. “They be rich folks there, so I guess you must be rich. We gipsies is poor; our folks haven’t got any money.”“Nor have I,” said Ralph eagerly. “I haven’t any money at all; if I had I ’spec’ I’d have been took to the fair. See, gipsy man, see, my pockets is quite empty.”He turned out both his little pockets as he spoke, and looked at the man for sympathy.“Dear, dear, dear!” said the man. “That is ’ard, now. But your folks is rich, bean’t they?”“Father’s made of money; I’ve heard folks say so.”“Well, now; that is nice for you; and he’s fond of a little chap like you, ain’t he?”“Father?” said Ralph. He paused for a minute; then said with great force: “Yes, Father’s fond of me.”The man looked to right of him and to left of him. There was no one in sight. There was only very pretty little Ralph, in his pretty and expensive dress. There was a wood behind them, a wood to right of them, and a wood to left of them, and the doctor’s little, old-fashioned house at the further end of the field; the house was to all appearance empty for the time being.The gipsy man drew Ralph close and took his hand. Ralph felt that brown hand of the gipsy man’s as hard as iron. His little heart gave a sort of jump; but he was not going to be at all frightened. He was glad, he was very glad, he had seen a brown, brown gipsy man for himself; he had spoken to him; whatever Harriet might or might not do in the future,hehad seen a gipsy man himself.“I must be saying good-night, now,” he remarked in a very polite voice. “I am so glad I has met you. Please, good-night, Mr Gipsy Man. I am going back. I must wait in a horrid, ugly drawing-room for my school-mother: I must say good-night, Mr Gipsy.”“Not so fast, master,” said the man. “How do you know that I wants to say good-night to you? I’ve took a sort of a fancy to yer, little master.”“Have you?” said Ralph, looking up at him.“Yes—’tain’t every little master as says such pretty words to us brown folks.”“Oh, I love you all,” said Ralph.“Now, see,” said the man, “that’s very pretty talk, very pretty, indeed; and how would little master like a basket for his very own to hold things—marbles and knives—”“Oh—and matches!” said Ralph, intensely excited all in a minute.“Yes, and matches.”“And pocket-hankershers,” said Ralph.“To be sure! How would little master like such a basket with a lid to it, now, and a little handle?”“Oh—it would be lovely!” said Ralph.“There’s my good wife ’as got one, not like these,”—he kicked his own baskets with a look of contempt—“but a pretty one, to home. You come along ’ome with me, and I’ll give you one.”“How far off is your house?” asked Ralph, in great excitement.“No way ’tall; just through this wood, and through another field, and there you be.”“Is it a house on wheels?” asked Ralph.“Now, ain’t you a ’cute little master! There are wheels to our house.”“And does it move?”“Incourse, it moves!”“I should love it to move,” said Ralph—“and tofeelit move.”“Then, you shall, my pretty little dear. You come along with me, and we’ll harness old Dobbin to the house, and take you a bit across the field and give you a basket, and you shall be back again here in time for your school-mother afore she misses you.”Ralph considered for a minute.“We must be very, very quick,” he said. “I shouldn’t like to vex my school-mother. Shall we run, brown gipsy man?”“Yes,” said the man.The next minute he had sprung lightly over the stile, had lifted Ralph across, and hand-in-hand they were running through the wood. In a very short time they had also crossed a field, and beyond the field was a wide clearing, where were tents, and brown babies, and brown men and women, and some mongrel dogs that rose lazily and wagged their tails when the big brown man and the little brown boy approached. A very hideous old woman, nearly bent double, and with a toothless jaw, advanced towards the pair, and a very young woman with a handsome face and flashing black eyes followed her.The young woman wore a scarlet shawl twisted round her head, and a lot of beads round her neck, and long ear-rings in her ears. The man spoke at once:“Here’s a little master,” he said, “who wants a basket. Flavia—you choose him the very prettiest basket we ’as got, and put a knife into it and some coloured beads, and take him into our house on wheels, and put Dobbin to the house, and make the house move right across the field. You understand, Flavia?” Flavia’s eyes flashed. She knelt down by Ralph, and took his two little hands, and looked into his face.“Eh, but you are a sweet little man!” she said, and she kissed him on his red lips. Then, lifting him bodily in her arms, she carried him up the steps into the house on wheels.“Here we be!” said Flavia; “and I’ll just find the prettiest basket of all for you, and I’ll find a knife, too, and show you how to sharpen sticks so as to make them like arrows. I’ll show yer lots o’ things, and I’ll be real good to yer.”“Only—I must be going home,” said Ralph, who, somehow, now that he had got into the house on wheels, was not quite so sure that he liked it. It was so full of smoke, and so crowded with furniture, and there were such a number of brown babies bobbing up their heads in every direction that at first he felt he could not breathe. And then he wondered why his eyes hurt so much.“You shall go home,” said Flavia, “as soon as ever the house moves across the field.”“Perhaps,” said Ralph, trying to be very polite and not to show the least scrap of fear, “perhaps, gipsy lady, it might be best for me not to wait just now for your pretty house to move. Perhaps I had best come ’nother day, pretty lady, ’cause my school-mother will be coming back, and she’ll be wanting me.”“Where do you live?” asked Flavia.“In a big school with a lot of girls. I’s the only boy, and I’s staying there till Father comes back to fetch me.”“He must mean Abbeyfield,” said the toothless crone, raising her head from where she was lying on a bundle of old sacks.She had a pipe in her mouth, and as she spoke she puffed out a volume of smoke.“Now, to think of it,” said Flavia. “Is that the house, the pretty house, you’re in? We go past Abbeyfield: we’ll put you out when we get there; it’ll save a lot of time.”“But,” said Ralph, very nearly crying, and very nearly losing his manhood, “I’s not to wait in that house; I’s to wait in the house of a doctor—in a hot drawing-room. Oh, please, let me out!”“There,” said Flavia, “we’re off at last. Just once across the field, little master, and then back you’ll go, basket and all.”It was exciting; with whoops, and shouts, and cracking of several whips, the house on wheels began slowly to go forward. Gipsy men ran by it, and gipsy children shouted at each side of it, and the mongrel dogs all barked in chorus; and one little boy sat very still inside with a sad, beating heart.What was going to happen? It was lovely to be in a house that moved, and Flavia was very pretty. But, somehow, he was very nearly losing his manhood, and he did think that in another minute tears must rush to his eyes.

How hot was that drawing-room to the tired little boy! His head quite ached, he did not know why; he could not understand his own sensations. There was a very ugly look-out, too, for the bay window opened into a tiny garden, which was full now of clothes hanging on lines and flapping in what little breeze there was. Ralph could not see anything beyond the white line of clothes.

He went to the window, half inclined to go into the garden; but, as it was so uninviting, he did not venture. He returned to the ugly room, and looked at what was left of the make-shift tea. It certainly was hard that he had not been allowed to go to the fair. He would so have liked to have a ride on the merry-go-round, and to see the fat lady and the man with two heads. How was it possible for anyone to have two heads? He felt his own little soft neck, and wondered where the other head could appear. He sat down very thoughtfully to consider this problem. It was really more difficult than borrowing ten, and much,muchmore interesting. It seemed to him even more interesting than seeing gipsies: the brown, brown gipsies, with their house on wheels, had none of them two heads. He would love beyond anything to gaze at the person who possessed such treasures.

Certainly his school-mother was not too kind. He could not understand her to-day, but, having chosen her, he felt somehow that it was his bounden duty to be as good as possible, and to think as kindly as possible about her. So he very determinedly shut away from his little mind all unkind thoughts with regard to Harriet. Of course, he was a troublesome little boy, and he ought to have known all about borrowing ten, and he ought to understand now why little boys should stay in very hot rooms while big girls went away to fairs and merry-go-rounds, and delightful shows full of queer people. Oh, yes: of course, it was all right; only he did wish his head was not so swimmy—yes, that was how he expressed his feeling.

He sank down at last on a very uncomfortable sofa with a broken spring, and the next minute fell fast asleep. He did not know, poor little boy, how long he slept; but when he awoke he felt very much startled and puzzled, for it had grown quite late, and the sun had gone away, and the room was no longer so hot. The clothes, too, had all been taken down from their lines, and he could see across the ugly garden.

It was a very small garden; but there was a gate at the further end, and the gate was standing open; and beyond the gate was a field with a path leading across it; and, lo and behold! at the far, far end of the field was a very brown man standing quite still, and holding a lot of baskets in his hand. They were baskets of all sorts and shapes and sizes; and there was something about the man and the baskets which caused Ralph’s heart to beat.

He went cautiously to the window, and gazed across the garden and across the fields at the man. The man was very brown, and he carried baskets. Gipsies carried baskets; they always did; Ralph had heard so. He did not believe that there was ever a basket in the whole world that had not once been carried by a gipsy.

Suppose he went and talked to the man; there would be no harm in that; it would be interesting to him. Harriet had told him to stay where he was, but then Harriet did not know that there would be—first, an open window, and then an open gate, and beyond the gate a gipsy—the very person Ralph longed to see!

The temptation was too much for him. He was too tired, and too lonely, and too much a very little boy to resist it. Swiftly he rose from his uncomfortable sofa, pushed back his tumbled hair, and flying, first across the garden and then across the field, reached the brown man’s side.

“Please,” said Ralph earnestly, looking up with his brown eyes at the brown face, “is you a gipsy?”

“I be that, little master,” said the man, and he gazed down inquisitively and perhaps not unkindly at Ralph.

Ralph looked at him with great wonder and intense curiosity.

“Wot be yer wanting o’ me, little master?” said the man.

“I love gipsies!” said Ralph.

“Do yer, indeed? And wot’s yer name?”

“I am Ralph Durrant. I live at a school near. There are lots of girls in the school, and I’ve got a school-mother. My school-mother is at the fair, and I am alone here. I’m rather lonesome, and I’m so glad you have come, gipsy man, ’cause you can talk to me.”

“To be sure,” said the man, seating himself on a low stile, and taking from his pocket a very large clasp knife, with which he proceeded to sharpen a stick.

Ralph stood very near him without speaking, just glad to be close to him. From time to time the man looked at the child, and the child returned the man’s gaze.

“Where did yer say yer held out, youngster?” he remarked after a long pause.

“At a school with a lot of girls,” said Ralph. “Father sent me; it’s all right. How funny and sharp you make that stick, gipsy man!”

“I guess you mean you live at Abbeyfield?” said the man, now shutting up his knife and returning it to his pocket. “They be rich folks there, so I guess you must be rich. We gipsies is poor; our folks haven’t got any money.”

“Nor have I,” said Ralph eagerly. “I haven’t any money at all; if I had I ’spec’ I’d have been took to the fair. See, gipsy man, see, my pockets is quite empty.”

He turned out both his little pockets as he spoke, and looked at the man for sympathy.

“Dear, dear, dear!” said the man. “That is ’ard, now. But your folks is rich, bean’t they?”

“Father’s made of money; I’ve heard folks say so.”

“Well, now; that is nice for you; and he’s fond of a little chap like you, ain’t he?”

“Father?” said Ralph. He paused for a minute; then said with great force: “Yes, Father’s fond of me.”

The man looked to right of him and to left of him. There was no one in sight. There was only very pretty little Ralph, in his pretty and expensive dress. There was a wood behind them, a wood to right of them, and a wood to left of them, and the doctor’s little, old-fashioned house at the further end of the field; the house was to all appearance empty for the time being.

The gipsy man drew Ralph close and took his hand. Ralph felt that brown hand of the gipsy man’s as hard as iron. His little heart gave a sort of jump; but he was not going to be at all frightened. He was glad, he was very glad, he had seen a brown, brown gipsy man for himself; he had spoken to him; whatever Harriet might or might not do in the future,hehad seen a gipsy man himself.

“I must be saying good-night, now,” he remarked in a very polite voice. “I am so glad I has met you. Please, good-night, Mr Gipsy Man. I am going back. I must wait in a horrid, ugly drawing-room for my school-mother: I must say good-night, Mr Gipsy.”

“Not so fast, master,” said the man. “How do you know that I wants to say good-night to you? I’ve took a sort of a fancy to yer, little master.”

“Have you?” said Ralph, looking up at him.

“Yes—’tain’t every little master as says such pretty words to us brown folks.”

“Oh, I love you all,” said Ralph.

“Now, see,” said the man, “that’s very pretty talk, very pretty, indeed; and how would little master like a basket for his very own to hold things—marbles and knives—”

“Oh—and matches!” said Ralph, intensely excited all in a minute.

“Yes, and matches.”

“And pocket-hankershers,” said Ralph.

“To be sure! How would little master like such a basket with a lid to it, now, and a little handle?”

“Oh—it would be lovely!” said Ralph.

“There’s my good wife ’as got one, not like these,”—he kicked his own baskets with a look of contempt—“but a pretty one, to home. You come along ’ome with me, and I’ll give you one.”

“How far off is your house?” asked Ralph, in great excitement.

“No way ’tall; just through this wood, and through another field, and there you be.”

“Is it a house on wheels?” asked Ralph.

“Now, ain’t you a ’cute little master! There are wheels to our house.”

“And does it move?”

“Incourse, it moves!”

“I should love it to move,” said Ralph—“and tofeelit move.”

“Then, you shall, my pretty little dear. You come along with me, and we’ll harness old Dobbin to the house, and take you a bit across the field and give you a basket, and you shall be back again here in time for your school-mother afore she misses you.”

Ralph considered for a minute.

“We must be very, very quick,” he said. “I shouldn’t like to vex my school-mother. Shall we run, brown gipsy man?”

“Yes,” said the man.

The next minute he had sprung lightly over the stile, had lifted Ralph across, and hand-in-hand they were running through the wood. In a very short time they had also crossed a field, and beyond the field was a wide clearing, where were tents, and brown babies, and brown men and women, and some mongrel dogs that rose lazily and wagged their tails when the big brown man and the little brown boy approached. A very hideous old woman, nearly bent double, and with a toothless jaw, advanced towards the pair, and a very young woman with a handsome face and flashing black eyes followed her.

The young woman wore a scarlet shawl twisted round her head, and a lot of beads round her neck, and long ear-rings in her ears. The man spoke at once:

“Here’s a little master,” he said, “who wants a basket. Flavia—you choose him the very prettiest basket we ’as got, and put a knife into it and some coloured beads, and take him into our house on wheels, and put Dobbin to the house, and make the house move right across the field. You understand, Flavia?” Flavia’s eyes flashed. She knelt down by Ralph, and took his two little hands, and looked into his face.

“Eh, but you are a sweet little man!” she said, and she kissed him on his red lips. Then, lifting him bodily in her arms, she carried him up the steps into the house on wheels.

“Here we be!” said Flavia; “and I’ll just find the prettiest basket of all for you, and I’ll find a knife, too, and show you how to sharpen sticks so as to make them like arrows. I’ll show yer lots o’ things, and I’ll be real good to yer.”

“Only—I must be going home,” said Ralph, who, somehow, now that he had got into the house on wheels, was not quite so sure that he liked it. It was so full of smoke, and so crowded with furniture, and there were such a number of brown babies bobbing up their heads in every direction that at first he felt he could not breathe. And then he wondered why his eyes hurt so much.

“You shall go home,” said Flavia, “as soon as ever the house moves across the field.”

“Perhaps,” said Ralph, trying to be very polite and not to show the least scrap of fear, “perhaps, gipsy lady, it might be best for me not to wait just now for your pretty house to move. Perhaps I had best come ’nother day, pretty lady, ’cause my school-mother will be coming back, and she’ll be wanting me.”

“Where do you live?” asked Flavia.

“In a big school with a lot of girls. I’s the only boy, and I’s staying there till Father comes back to fetch me.”

“He must mean Abbeyfield,” said the toothless crone, raising her head from where she was lying on a bundle of old sacks.

She had a pipe in her mouth, and as she spoke she puffed out a volume of smoke.

“Now, to think of it,” said Flavia. “Is that the house, the pretty house, you’re in? We go past Abbeyfield: we’ll put you out when we get there; it’ll save a lot of time.”

“But,” said Ralph, very nearly crying, and very nearly losing his manhood, “I’s not to wait in that house; I’s to wait in the house of a doctor—in a hot drawing-room. Oh, please, let me out!”

“There,” said Flavia, “we’re off at last. Just once across the field, little master, and then back you’ll go, basket and all.”

It was exciting; with whoops, and shouts, and cracking of several whips, the house on wheels began slowly to go forward. Gipsy men ran by it, and gipsy children shouted at each side of it, and the mongrel dogs all barked in chorus; and one little boy sat very still inside with a sad, beating heart.

What was going to happen? It was lovely to be in a house that moved, and Flavia was very pretty. But, somehow, he was very nearly losing his manhood, and he did think that in another minute tears must rush to his eyes.

Book One—Chapter Eleven.The Terror.The fair was delightful. The merry-go-rounds were much more enchanting than anything Harriet had ever dreamed about. Pattie was very generous, too, with her shilling, and that shilling seemed to go a long way.Pattie had made a careful calculation. A penny each to be admitted to the fair, a penny each for a turn on the merry-go-round; a penny each for a visit to the fat lady; a penny each for a peep at the man with two heads. All this fun, this intoxicating delight, could be obtained for eightpence. There would still be fourpence over. Pattie explained to Harriet as they were approaching the fair how she meant to spend her money. Harriet nodded. Pattie’s programme was carried out to perfection.How delightful it was! Oh, the fascination of that rush through the air on those prancing horses! And oh—the mystery of looking at the fat woman, and the thrill which went through them when they gazed at the man with two heads!But the delight was short, and quickly over. They had not been half an hour at the fair, but the whole of their programme had been carried through, and eight pence out of Pattie’s twelve had vanished. Still, there were four more to spend. They might have two more turns each on the merry-go-round, or they might buy some gingerbread at the gingerbread stall. That stall was a most fascinating one, for the gingerbread was made into all kinds of funny shapes. There were gingerbread dogs, gingerbread cats, gingerbread birds; and there were also horses of gingerbread, and elephants of gingerbread, and—what was more exciting than anything else—the wonderful and handsome lady who sold the gingerbread cakes could write anything to order on them. She had a sort of pencil which she dipped in liquid sugar, and behold, Pattie’s name could appear on the cake, or Harriet’s name, or any other thing that the girls happened to ask for.Should they have a gingerbread each? Oh yes, they must. Harriet decided that she would have written on her gingerbread cat, “Harriet—the Queen of Hearts.” She could get all this for a penny. She borrowed a penny from Pattie, and the deed was done. She would not eat her treasure on any account—she would carry it home with her. By and by, she might show it to the children in the old house in the country, and describe to them how she of all others on that special morning had won the heart of a little boy. She was in ecstasies over her treasure.Pattie also secured a gingerbread cake with a suitable inscription. But now there were only two pennies left. They might have one more ride on the merry-go-round, and then they would go home. Had they done this, that which happened would not have happened, for they would have found little Ralph asleep on the sofa, and Harriet would have rushed back to the school with him before Miss Ford had time to miss either of them. But, just as they were about to leave the fair, who should come up and speak to Pattie, but her father’s chemist, for Dr Pyke kept his own dispensary.The chemist was a young man of the name of Frost, very much addicted to eating gingerbreads and amusing himself at fairs. He was delighted to see Pattie; and Pattie, with some pride, introduced Harriet to him.Mr Frost was a fat, podgy young man, and he felt quite pleased to walk with the little girls. With one on his right hand and one on his left he perambulated round and round the fair with them now.“What have you seen?” he asked, and when they explained, he told them that they had practically seen nothing at all, and that now it would be his pleasure to give them a good time. He described what he meant to do, and certainly his programme was delightful. He himself would go on the merry-go-round with a little girl on each side of him, and they would fly right round not once, but several times; and afterwards, they would go into a little theatre and witness a wonderful piece of acting in which there was a giant and a pigmy, and some acting dogs, and an elephant and even a lion. The entertainment was of a jumble order, but it would be intensely exciting. It would take, Mr Frost said, no time at all. They must not miss it, however, for it really was first-rate, of that he could assure them.Before Harriet could even reply, he had provided tickets for all three—tickets which cost sixpence each. He really was a most generous young man.“But,” said Harriet, turning to Pattie, “won’t this make me dreadfully late?”“Late?” cried Mr Frost, overhearing her. “Not a bit of it. I tell you it will be over in no time at all. Here, take a hand each, girls, and we’ll squeeze well to the front. We mustn’t miss the beginning of the fun. The fat lady comes on first of all with the kangaroo; oh, it will be screamingly funny!”The next minute, they were inside the tent where the great performance was to take place.They were inside with a crush of people behind them, and Harriet forgot everything else. The entertainment was of the breathless order; before you had time to recover from one astounding surprise, another still more astounding followed on its heels. The fat lady’s performance was nothing at all to that done by the man with two heads—he really managed these double appendages with the greatest cleverness, nodding and winking simultaneously with both, and causing the people to shriek, holding their sides with mirth.“He hasn’t two heads at all, you know,” said Mr Frost, “but it’s wonderfully cleverly managed for all that.”Harriet and Pattie were almost sorry. They would much rather have believed that the man was possessed of the double head.“Oh!” said Pattie, with a gasp. “I was thinking what a lot he could do if they were really two heads.”Mr Frost roared with laughter.“It would be convenient, wouldn’t it?” he said. “He could eat with one of his mouths, you know, and talk with the other; and he could keep one of his brains for amusement, and one for lessons. I say, though, let’s look at this! Here’s the elephant with the dancing dogs on his back!”Oh, was there ever such a time? It flashed by in what seemed less than a minute, but in reality it took over an hour and a half. When Harriet and Pattie, two flushed and intensely happy little girls, left the small theatre Harriet knew at once by the changed light how long she must have been within.“Oh please,” she said, turning to Mr Frost, “we have enjoyed ourselves tremendously; but what is the hour, please?—oh, I do hope it isn’t late: I wanted to take Ralph back to school before five o’clock.”“Five o’clock!” said Mr Frost with a roaring laugh. Really he was rather a noisy young man. “Why, it’s long past seven. You don’t suppose we have had all that fun in no time at all?”“Past seven!” said Harriet, in a tone of horror. “Oh, oh, don’t keep me!”She rushed away. She never waited even to say good-bye; Pattie and Mr Frost both thought her rather rude. In a minute she was out of the fair and running along the road. When she had gone to the fair that afternoon with Pattie, the distance between the doctor’s house and the bit of common where the fair was held seemed no way at all. But now Harriet thought she had miles to travel.At last, panting and terrified, she reached the doctor’s house. The door, which had been standing open in the afternoon, was now shut. She rang the bell furiously. Oh, why had they shut the door? Every minute of delay was intolerable. Why did not Anastasia hurry? What a horrid name to give a servant! and what a horrid servant she was. Harriet in her agony gave the bell another and more furious pull.It was opened this time by a stout, red faced lady. “Now, little girl,” she said, “if you dare to ring the doctor’s bell again in this rude manner I shall complain to your—oh, my dear!” she continued, changing her voice, “I beg your pardon, I thought it was little Susan Wright from across the road. That child requires keeping in her place; she is always playing practical jokes. But what is it, my dear little girl? Come in, pray. Do you want Dr Tyke?”“No, no!” said Harriet. “Don’t keep me, please. I have come for the little boy in the drawing-room.”“The little boy in the drawing-room?” said Mrs Pyke, who wondered if Harriet were very ill and a little off her head. “But I know nothing of any little boy in the drawing-room.”“Oh, please let me go for him,” said Harriet, trying to push past the stout lady. “He is there, I know, for I left him there. He is little Ralph—little Ralph Durrant. I told him to wait for me; I know I am late, but let me go for him at once, please.”“You can go into the drawing-room, of course,” said Mrs Pyke; “although I must say you puzzle me very much, for I know of no little boy there. The doctor and I are having a cosy little supper in the drawing-room at the present moment; we often do of an evening to get away from the children, and I assure you there is no little boy in the room.”Nevertheless, Harriet would go for herself. Ralph must be where she had desired him to stay. With her face very white, her whole appearance exceedingly wild, and her poor little heart beating almost to suffocation, she poked about the untidy and ugly drawing-room. She looked under sofas and behind curtains, and finally burst into tears.“He is not here—he is gone! What will become of me?” she sobbed.“Why,” said Dr Pyke, who had not recognised her at first, “why, surely I cannot be mistaken—you are one of the little girls from Abbeyfield! My dear child, sit down and tell my wife and me at once what is the matter.”“Oh, I must not stay,” said Harriet, struggling to suppress her tears; “but I—oh, it is too dreadful!” And then she told, as best she could, the story of her day’s adventure. “I should not have done it,” she said in conclusion, “but it was so tempting, and I thought of course he would wait for me.”“This, my dear,” said Dr Pyke, turning to his wife, when Harriet had finished speaking, “is one of my little patients at Abbeyfield. Her name is Harriet Lane, and I am thankful to say that, as a rule, she does not put many pennies into the doctor’s pocket; but, my dear child, if you give way like this you will be ill, and then I shall be the richer, and you the poorer. Come now, stop crying; of course you have done wrong, but doubtless you have no cause for alarm. The little boy, my dear wife, is little Ralph Durrant. His father—you must know his father’s name, of course—theDurrant, you know, the great African explorer. I have seen the little fellow, a most sweet little man. I am sure, my dear child, that we shall find your little friend safe at school. And now, if you will take my hand, I will bring you back to Abbeyfield, and try to explain what has occurred.”“Oh, oh!” sobbed Harriet. “Oh, oh—I am too miserable. I am certain that Ralph—little Ralph, is lost!”

The fair was delightful. The merry-go-rounds were much more enchanting than anything Harriet had ever dreamed about. Pattie was very generous, too, with her shilling, and that shilling seemed to go a long way.

Pattie had made a careful calculation. A penny each to be admitted to the fair, a penny each for a turn on the merry-go-round; a penny each for a visit to the fat lady; a penny each for a peep at the man with two heads. All this fun, this intoxicating delight, could be obtained for eightpence. There would still be fourpence over. Pattie explained to Harriet as they were approaching the fair how she meant to spend her money. Harriet nodded. Pattie’s programme was carried out to perfection.

How delightful it was! Oh, the fascination of that rush through the air on those prancing horses! And oh—the mystery of looking at the fat woman, and the thrill which went through them when they gazed at the man with two heads!

But the delight was short, and quickly over. They had not been half an hour at the fair, but the whole of their programme had been carried through, and eight pence out of Pattie’s twelve had vanished. Still, there were four more to spend. They might have two more turns each on the merry-go-round, or they might buy some gingerbread at the gingerbread stall. That stall was a most fascinating one, for the gingerbread was made into all kinds of funny shapes. There were gingerbread dogs, gingerbread cats, gingerbread birds; and there were also horses of gingerbread, and elephants of gingerbread, and—what was more exciting than anything else—the wonderful and handsome lady who sold the gingerbread cakes could write anything to order on them. She had a sort of pencil which she dipped in liquid sugar, and behold, Pattie’s name could appear on the cake, or Harriet’s name, or any other thing that the girls happened to ask for.

Should they have a gingerbread each? Oh yes, they must. Harriet decided that she would have written on her gingerbread cat, “Harriet—the Queen of Hearts.” She could get all this for a penny. She borrowed a penny from Pattie, and the deed was done. She would not eat her treasure on any account—she would carry it home with her. By and by, she might show it to the children in the old house in the country, and describe to them how she of all others on that special morning had won the heart of a little boy. She was in ecstasies over her treasure.

Pattie also secured a gingerbread cake with a suitable inscription. But now there were only two pennies left. They might have one more ride on the merry-go-round, and then they would go home. Had they done this, that which happened would not have happened, for they would have found little Ralph asleep on the sofa, and Harriet would have rushed back to the school with him before Miss Ford had time to miss either of them. But, just as they were about to leave the fair, who should come up and speak to Pattie, but her father’s chemist, for Dr Pyke kept his own dispensary.

The chemist was a young man of the name of Frost, very much addicted to eating gingerbreads and amusing himself at fairs. He was delighted to see Pattie; and Pattie, with some pride, introduced Harriet to him.

Mr Frost was a fat, podgy young man, and he felt quite pleased to walk with the little girls. With one on his right hand and one on his left he perambulated round and round the fair with them now.

“What have you seen?” he asked, and when they explained, he told them that they had practically seen nothing at all, and that now it would be his pleasure to give them a good time. He described what he meant to do, and certainly his programme was delightful. He himself would go on the merry-go-round with a little girl on each side of him, and they would fly right round not once, but several times; and afterwards, they would go into a little theatre and witness a wonderful piece of acting in which there was a giant and a pigmy, and some acting dogs, and an elephant and even a lion. The entertainment was of a jumble order, but it would be intensely exciting. It would take, Mr Frost said, no time at all. They must not miss it, however, for it really was first-rate, of that he could assure them.

Before Harriet could even reply, he had provided tickets for all three—tickets which cost sixpence each. He really was a most generous young man.

“But,” said Harriet, turning to Pattie, “won’t this make me dreadfully late?”

“Late?” cried Mr Frost, overhearing her. “Not a bit of it. I tell you it will be over in no time at all. Here, take a hand each, girls, and we’ll squeeze well to the front. We mustn’t miss the beginning of the fun. The fat lady comes on first of all with the kangaroo; oh, it will be screamingly funny!”

The next minute, they were inside the tent where the great performance was to take place.

They were inside with a crush of people behind them, and Harriet forgot everything else. The entertainment was of the breathless order; before you had time to recover from one astounding surprise, another still more astounding followed on its heels. The fat lady’s performance was nothing at all to that done by the man with two heads—he really managed these double appendages with the greatest cleverness, nodding and winking simultaneously with both, and causing the people to shriek, holding their sides with mirth.

“He hasn’t two heads at all, you know,” said Mr Frost, “but it’s wonderfully cleverly managed for all that.”

Harriet and Pattie were almost sorry. They would much rather have believed that the man was possessed of the double head.

“Oh!” said Pattie, with a gasp. “I was thinking what a lot he could do if they were really two heads.”

Mr Frost roared with laughter.

“It would be convenient, wouldn’t it?” he said. “He could eat with one of his mouths, you know, and talk with the other; and he could keep one of his brains for amusement, and one for lessons. I say, though, let’s look at this! Here’s the elephant with the dancing dogs on his back!”

Oh, was there ever such a time? It flashed by in what seemed less than a minute, but in reality it took over an hour and a half. When Harriet and Pattie, two flushed and intensely happy little girls, left the small theatre Harriet knew at once by the changed light how long she must have been within.

“Oh please,” she said, turning to Mr Frost, “we have enjoyed ourselves tremendously; but what is the hour, please?—oh, I do hope it isn’t late: I wanted to take Ralph back to school before five o’clock.”

“Five o’clock!” said Mr Frost with a roaring laugh. Really he was rather a noisy young man. “Why, it’s long past seven. You don’t suppose we have had all that fun in no time at all?”

“Past seven!” said Harriet, in a tone of horror. “Oh, oh, don’t keep me!”

She rushed away. She never waited even to say good-bye; Pattie and Mr Frost both thought her rather rude. In a minute she was out of the fair and running along the road. When she had gone to the fair that afternoon with Pattie, the distance between the doctor’s house and the bit of common where the fair was held seemed no way at all. But now Harriet thought she had miles to travel.

At last, panting and terrified, she reached the doctor’s house. The door, which had been standing open in the afternoon, was now shut. She rang the bell furiously. Oh, why had they shut the door? Every minute of delay was intolerable. Why did not Anastasia hurry? What a horrid name to give a servant! and what a horrid servant she was. Harriet in her agony gave the bell another and more furious pull.

It was opened this time by a stout, red faced lady. “Now, little girl,” she said, “if you dare to ring the doctor’s bell again in this rude manner I shall complain to your—oh, my dear!” she continued, changing her voice, “I beg your pardon, I thought it was little Susan Wright from across the road. That child requires keeping in her place; she is always playing practical jokes. But what is it, my dear little girl? Come in, pray. Do you want Dr Tyke?”

“No, no!” said Harriet. “Don’t keep me, please. I have come for the little boy in the drawing-room.”

“The little boy in the drawing-room?” said Mrs Pyke, who wondered if Harriet were very ill and a little off her head. “But I know nothing of any little boy in the drawing-room.”

“Oh, please let me go for him,” said Harriet, trying to push past the stout lady. “He is there, I know, for I left him there. He is little Ralph—little Ralph Durrant. I told him to wait for me; I know I am late, but let me go for him at once, please.”

“You can go into the drawing-room, of course,” said Mrs Pyke; “although I must say you puzzle me very much, for I know of no little boy there. The doctor and I are having a cosy little supper in the drawing-room at the present moment; we often do of an evening to get away from the children, and I assure you there is no little boy in the room.”

Nevertheless, Harriet would go for herself. Ralph must be where she had desired him to stay. With her face very white, her whole appearance exceedingly wild, and her poor little heart beating almost to suffocation, she poked about the untidy and ugly drawing-room. She looked under sofas and behind curtains, and finally burst into tears.

“He is not here—he is gone! What will become of me?” she sobbed.

“Why,” said Dr Pyke, who had not recognised her at first, “why, surely I cannot be mistaken—you are one of the little girls from Abbeyfield! My dear child, sit down and tell my wife and me at once what is the matter.”

“Oh, I must not stay,” said Harriet, struggling to suppress her tears; “but I—oh, it is too dreadful!” And then she told, as best she could, the story of her day’s adventure. “I should not have done it,” she said in conclusion, “but it was so tempting, and I thought of course he would wait for me.”

“This, my dear,” said Dr Pyke, turning to his wife, when Harriet had finished speaking, “is one of my little patients at Abbeyfield. Her name is Harriet Lane, and I am thankful to say that, as a rule, she does not put many pennies into the doctor’s pocket; but, my dear child, if you give way like this you will be ill, and then I shall be the richer, and you the poorer. Come now, stop crying; of course you have done wrong, but doubtless you have no cause for alarm. The little boy, my dear wife, is little Ralph Durrant. His father—you must know his father’s name, of course—theDurrant, you know, the great African explorer. I have seen the little fellow, a most sweet little man. I am sure, my dear child, that we shall find your little friend safe at school. And now, if you will take my hand, I will bring you back to Abbeyfield, and try to explain what has occurred.”

“Oh, oh!” sobbed Harriet. “Oh, oh—I am too miserable. I am certain that Ralph—little Ralph, is lost!”

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