Book One—Chapter Twelve.In the High Woods.Alas! Harriet was right. When they reached the house, and when she wildly enquired of Miss Ford if Ralph were anywhere about, she was met by that astonished woman’s instant denial.“Where have you been yourself?” said Miss Ford, speaking in great agitation. “We wondered what you and Ralph could be doing, and now you come here without him, and—and—Dr Pyke, you have brought her! Is anything wrong?”“I greatly fear there is, Miss Ford,” said the doctor. “Please don’t scold this poor child at present. There is no doubt she has behaved very badly, but our immediate duty is to find the poor little fellow.”“What poor little fellow? Oh, how you terrify me,” said Miss Ford.“Little Ralph Durrant,” said the doctor. “The fact is, Harriet brought him to my house this afternoon—”“You dared!” began Miss Ford.“Oh yes,” said the doctor; “she dared a good deal. She was very naughty, we know that, but there’s no use in thinking of her at present. She left Ralph in my drawing-room, and when she came back for him, he was gone.”“Oh!” said Miss Ford, “what is to be done?”“You are certain he has not returned here?”“Certain?” said the poor teacher; “of course I am certain. But I will go and enquire: I will look everywhere.”Miss Ford did look. She searched the house; she questioned the maids, she went to Ralph’s own little bedroom, she even penetrated to that snug nest where Curly Pate lay like a ball of down. Nowhere was Ralph to be found. She came back at last, with a pale face, to the doctor.“The child has not returned,” she said. “What is to be done?”“We must lose no time,” said Dr Pyke. “Harriet—”Harriet had seated herself on the first chair. She sat there huddled up. There is no other word to describe her appearance. Her hat was pushed forward over her eyes, and those eyes were red with crying. Now, however, her great terror prevented any further flow of tears.“Harriet,” repeated the doctor, sternly.“Yes, sir.”“You know more about Ralph than I do. Have you the least—the slightest idea where he may have gone?”Harriet thought of the gipsies. She remembered how she had promised Ralph to take him to see them; how she had failed in her promise.“Perhaps,”—she said—“oh, I don’t know—but he was very much excited about the gipsies; he may have gone to them.”“We will send at once to enquire,” said Miss Ford. “We must on no account wait until Mrs Burton returns; there is not an instant to lose.”“I will go myself,” said the doctor. “I know where their encampment is. It is really scarcely likely that they have the child. Gipsies don’t often steal children now-a-days. We may find the little fellow anywhere. I will also call at the police station, and get the police to begin to search for him.”When Dr Pyke left the house, Miss Ford turned to Harriet.“A nice sort of school-mother you have made,” she said. “You don’t suppose that you will win your pony after this, you bad girl. Come with me at once into the third form parlour, and wait there until Mrs Burton returns. She will then decide what is to be done with you.”“I don’t want any pony,” suddenly sobbed Harriet. “I only want Ralph. I know I am desperately naughty, but I don’t want anything in all the world now but Ralph.”“It is easy for you to talk like that now that you have neglected the poor little fellow so shamefully, and disobeyed Mrs Burton’s strictest orders. Come with me at once, you bad child.”Harriet went. So subdued was she, that she did not even hate Miss Ford for speaking to her in this way. A minute later, she found herself in the third form special parlour. One electric light was on. It threw a dim reflection over the scene. Harriet looked round at the familiar objects—the table in the middle, the story-books, the globes in their corner, the birds in their cages, and the parrot in his cage.The small birds were all asleep. The books and toys, and tables and chairs could not move; but the parrot was wide awake, and very much alive. He hopped from side to side and looked hard at Harriet. At last, he screamed in a noisy, shrill tone:“Mind what you’re about! Ha, ha! Mind what you’re about! Ha, ha!”Poor Harriet. She flung herself down on the floor and cried as though her heart would break. She was only a little girl still, and not all bad. That pony with his side-saddle, that perfectly made habit, all the delights which she had sinned so deeply to obtain, would have been as ashes now in her mouth. She only wanted Ralph now, and Ralph was far away. Why had she behaved so badly? Oh what, what was happening?Her agony became almost unendurable. Suddenly, she perceived that the door of the parlour had not been shut, that it was a little ajar. Why need she sit there? It was so awful to remain still; so frightful to do nothing at all.She stole softly to the door, opened it, and peeped out. There was no one in the hall, and the hall door itself stood wide open.“Mind what you’re about. Ha, ha!” shrieked the parrot.But Harriet was in no mood to mind. She crossed the hall on tip-toe, rushed to the open door, drew a deep breath, and the next moment was skimming herself, light as a bird, over the ground in the direction of the gipsy encampment. Harriet could, indeed, run like the wind, and never had she ran faster than on this occasion.“It was I,” she thought, “who caused him to be lost, so I will find him again; yes, I will find him if it kills me.”Suddenly she drew up on the edge of a piece of common. Here only yesterday, surely, were many brown tents and many brown people. Here was this fascinating house on wheels of which she had spoken so much to little Ralph. But now—she could not believe her eyes!The place was empty. She could see, even by the moonlight, patches of yellow grass which had been covered by the tents, and here and there she could also perceive a bone or two, or a scrap of broken bread. But not a gipsy was in sight, not a tent within view, not a dog, not a brown baby. The gipsies had gone! Why had they gone? They were there, she knew, that very afternoon, for she had seen the smoke curling up from the house on wheels, as she and Ralph had gone with Pattie to the village.The gipsies had gone away quickly: of course they had taken Ralph with them. Now what was she to do? She stood still in a shadowy part of the field, and, as she did so, she distinctly heard the sound of wheels, and listening, there floated also to her ears the sound of many voices singing.Her school-companions were returning from their picnic. They were coming back, as arranged, by moonlight. They were happy: they were enjoying themselves. Harriet distinctly heard Robina’s voice above the others. Robina had a clear voice like a bird. Her notes were very high. They seemed to rise up as though, like the larks, they would pierce the sky. Now they rose above the other voices in a sort of torrent of rejoicing. Harriet dug her fingers into her ears.“Oh, how soon they will be back!” she thought; “and they will miss him, and they will know all about me, and oh—I can’t, can’t stand it! I will follow the gipsies. I wonder where they have gone.”Harriet thought for a few minutes. The police had already been to visit that very field. They had gone there in Dr Pyke’s company, and they were taking steps to follow the gipsies on horseback. But Harriet knew something that the police did not know. One of the servants in the house had long ago been a gipsy girl herself; and Harriet, who was much fascinated by stories of the wild brown people, used to talk to this girl when she got a chance. The girl, from time to time, imparted some of the secrets of her people to Harriet. Amongst other things, she had told her of the favourite resting-places of her tribe. This special common was one. But there was another five miles away, in the very heart of a deep wood, where they used to go when they wanted to hide something. The police did not know of this place of refuge in the middle of the High Woods, as they were called; but Harriet remembered it now.It was five miles away, and she was only a little girl, and she was tired. But what of that if it might be her privilege to find Ralph and bring him back? What mattered any amount of fatigue?Cora had told her how to get to the hiding-place in the wood. She had described how difficult it was for an ordinary person to find it, but had given Harriet a full description of it in one of her moments of confidence.“We often wanted to make ourselves scarce,” Cora would say, “and no one ever yet found us there. It was a bonny enough place, too, although the trees grew so thick around that we did not get much sunshine.”Now Harriet started on her way to the gipsies’ hiding-place in the woods. She was glad of the moonlight, and glad to avoid the road. She crossed many fields, and by and by found herself in a lane with very, very high hedges. The hedges were so high that she could not see a scrap of the world on either side of her. She could only gaze at the stars overhead, and wonder, and wonder, what was going to happen. She might be going wrong for all she knew. But all of a sudden she saw something shining on the road. She stooped and picked it up. It was a child’s broken rattle—the sort of thing which a gipsy child might have.Now she felt certain that she was on the track of the runaways, and this knowledge gave her confidence. It takes, however, a very long time for a small girl not twelve years of age to walk five miles; and it was long past midnight, and the moon in the sky had set, and real darkness had come over the world before Harriet reached the entrance to the woods.The lane in which she found herself led straight to these very woods: and oh! if it had been dark in the lane, how black was it here. She found her heart beating, and for a short time had not courage to go on. But then she thought of Ralph. She thought of him so hard that he began to fill all her little world. She wanted him so badly that no pony that ever breathed was now of any consequence to her in comparison. Why should she fear the creatures in the wood? She had no room in her heart for fear.So she moved gently forward, a little girl, all alone in the black wood! The creatures of the wood must have wondered, and no doubt most of them were very much afraid of her, and retired into their snug little wood homes on her approach. But she saw none of them.At last she came to a clearing, and in the clearing she perceived what made her heart beat wildly. It was no less a creature than a dog. The gipsies must be close at hand.The dog was lying on the ground dead asleep. But when Harriet approached, he started and growled. Harriet, led by she knew not what instinct, immediately put her hand on his head. He quivered all over. Whether he would have growled again or bitten her, no one can tell, but in despair she flung herself by his side, and whispered in his ear:“Oh, do be quiet; I am so miserable!”No one can quite tell what dogs understand, but certainly this dog growled no more. On the contrary, he licked Harriet’s hand with his hot tongue. She had at last found the gipsies, and she might stay where she was until the first light of the morning. Perhaps poor Harriet slept with her head on the dog’s shaggy neck, but even she herself was not quite sure on that point.Early, very, very early in the morning, led by Jakes, the gipsies’ dog, she found the house on wheels. The gipsies were tired, and most of them asleep. But when Harriet approached the dogs all barked, and of course the gipsy men all started to their feet, and the toothless old crone came out of the house on wheels, and pretty Flavia followed her.“What did the little lady want?” they asked. They were all quite inclined to be civil to the little girl.“I want,” said Harriet, “my own little boy. I am his school-mother, and I want him back again.”“Oh Harriet! Harriet!” cried Ralph’s little voice.He popped his small head outside the house on wheels. Not even Flavia could keep him from Harriet now. In one minute he was in her arms, and she was kissing him—oh, with such a world of affection. Somehow, Ralph felt a difference in her kisses, and he loved her at last, and knew that he had not loved her at all before.“Ralph, you must come home at once,” said Harriet.“Now, my dear,” said the tall gipsy man who had lured Ralph away on the previous night; “this little boy belongs to us, don’t yer, little man?”“No, I don’t,” said Ralph. “This is my school-mother, and I belong to her.”“You had best let him come,” said Harriet, “for the police are looking for you, and you’ll get into dreadful hot water if you keep the little boy.”“We took charge of him,” said the man, sulkily; but a frightened look crossed his face when Harriet spoke of the police. “He were a poor lonely little gent, and we took pity on him.”“They were awfu’ kind to me!” said Ralph. “They’re very nice gipsy people; and see, they give me this.”He showed his basket with great pride to Harriet.“See!” he continued, “there’s things inside—a knife, and matches, and all sorts of other things.”“That don’t matter now,” said Harriet. “You must come back; they’re dreadfully frightened about you at school, and so was I. Gipsy man,” said Harriet, looking up at the tall man, “will you please saddle a horse, and put Ralph on its back, and put me there too, for I am dreadfully tired, and take us to Abbeyfield, and please be quick.”“When my father comes back,” said Ralph, “I will talk to him about you, gipsy man, and about you, pretty gipsy lady.” Here he took Flavia’s hand. “And he shall give you money—much—and big money; and I will come and see you again, for I love you all.”“We’d best take him back,” said the man, looking at the toothless old crone, “or we’ll get into trouble with the per-lice.”“Yes,” said Harriet, gravely, “and you had best be quick.”So early in the morning the children went back to the school on the gipsy’s tall horse, and the gipsy himself led them. Ralph talked all the way back, and was very gay and very happy; and when he parted from the gipsy man he insisted on kissing him, which surprised that person very much.“Good-bye, little master,” he said, in rather a shamefaced way.“Good-bye,” said Ralph. “And Father will give you money: I’ll see he do.”Thus Ralph returned after his great adventure and Harriet and he went together, side by side, into Mrs Burton’s private sitting-room. There Harriet told all.“I don’t want the pony,” she said in conclusion; “and I’m not a bit fit to be a school-mother! But I love him all the same.”“I must punish you, Harriet,” said Mrs Burton. “I should not do my duty else. For the remainder of the term, Robina will be Ralph’s school-mother; but you shall see him every day, and it remains with Ralph himself to decide whether he loves you in future or not.”“Oh, don’t I love her just this very instant-minute,” said Ralph: and he flung his arms round Harriet’s neck. Thus Harriet found out what real love meant. She found it out in her pain, the pain she had suffered during that lonely night—she found it out also in her joy—the joy that had come to her when she saw Ralph again.The pony and the habit and the side-saddle did not matter a bit to Harriet now, for she had more—the true heart of Ralph himself. Love can destroy jealousy and all bad things in the heart. So it was with Harriet, even though Robina became the little boy’s school-mother, and even though she won the big prize. Harriet was happy.
Alas! Harriet was right. When they reached the house, and when she wildly enquired of Miss Ford if Ralph were anywhere about, she was met by that astonished woman’s instant denial.
“Where have you been yourself?” said Miss Ford, speaking in great agitation. “We wondered what you and Ralph could be doing, and now you come here without him, and—and—Dr Pyke, you have brought her! Is anything wrong?”
“I greatly fear there is, Miss Ford,” said the doctor. “Please don’t scold this poor child at present. There is no doubt she has behaved very badly, but our immediate duty is to find the poor little fellow.”
“What poor little fellow? Oh, how you terrify me,” said Miss Ford.
“Little Ralph Durrant,” said the doctor. “The fact is, Harriet brought him to my house this afternoon—”
“You dared!” began Miss Ford.
“Oh yes,” said the doctor; “she dared a good deal. She was very naughty, we know that, but there’s no use in thinking of her at present. She left Ralph in my drawing-room, and when she came back for him, he was gone.”
“Oh!” said Miss Ford, “what is to be done?”
“You are certain he has not returned here?”
“Certain?” said the poor teacher; “of course I am certain. But I will go and enquire: I will look everywhere.”
Miss Ford did look. She searched the house; she questioned the maids, she went to Ralph’s own little bedroom, she even penetrated to that snug nest where Curly Pate lay like a ball of down. Nowhere was Ralph to be found. She came back at last, with a pale face, to the doctor.
“The child has not returned,” she said. “What is to be done?”
“We must lose no time,” said Dr Pyke. “Harriet—”
Harriet had seated herself on the first chair. She sat there huddled up. There is no other word to describe her appearance. Her hat was pushed forward over her eyes, and those eyes were red with crying. Now, however, her great terror prevented any further flow of tears.
“Harriet,” repeated the doctor, sternly.
“Yes, sir.”
“You know more about Ralph than I do. Have you the least—the slightest idea where he may have gone?”
Harriet thought of the gipsies. She remembered how she had promised Ralph to take him to see them; how she had failed in her promise.
“Perhaps,”—she said—“oh, I don’t know—but he was very much excited about the gipsies; he may have gone to them.”
“We will send at once to enquire,” said Miss Ford. “We must on no account wait until Mrs Burton returns; there is not an instant to lose.”
“I will go myself,” said the doctor. “I know where their encampment is. It is really scarcely likely that they have the child. Gipsies don’t often steal children now-a-days. We may find the little fellow anywhere. I will also call at the police station, and get the police to begin to search for him.”
When Dr Pyke left the house, Miss Ford turned to Harriet.
“A nice sort of school-mother you have made,” she said. “You don’t suppose that you will win your pony after this, you bad girl. Come with me at once into the third form parlour, and wait there until Mrs Burton returns. She will then decide what is to be done with you.”
“I don’t want any pony,” suddenly sobbed Harriet. “I only want Ralph. I know I am desperately naughty, but I don’t want anything in all the world now but Ralph.”
“It is easy for you to talk like that now that you have neglected the poor little fellow so shamefully, and disobeyed Mrs Burton’s strictest orders. Come with me at once, you bad child.”
Harriet went. So subdued was she, that she did not even hate Miss Ford for speaking to her in this way. A minute later, she found herself in the third form special parlour. One electric light was on. It threw a dim reflection over the scene. Harriet looked round at the familiar objects—the table in the middle, the story-books, the globes in their corner, the birds in their cages, and the parrot in his cage.
The small birds were all asleep. The books and toys, and tables and chairs could not move; but the parrot was wide awake, and very much alive. He hopped from side to side and looked hard at Harriet. At last, he screamed in a noisy, shrill tone:
“Mind what you’re about! Ha, ha! Mind what you’re about! Ha, ha!”
Poor Harriet. She flung herself down on the floor and cried as though her heart would break. She was only a little girl still, and not all bad. That pony with his side-saddle, that perfectly made habit, all the delights which she had sinned so deeply to obtain, would have been as ashes now in her mouth. She only wanted Ralph now, and Ralph was far away. Why had she behaved so badly? Oh what, what was happening?
Her agony became almost unendurable. Suddenly, she perceived that the door of the parlour had not been shut, that it was a little ajar. Why need she sit there? It was so awful to remain still; so frightful to do nothing at all.
She stole softly to the door, opened it, and peeped out. There was no one in the hall, and the hall door itself stood wide open.
“Mind what you’re about. Ha, ha!” shrieked the parrot.
But Harriet was in no mood to mind. She crossed the hall on tip-toe, rushed to the open door, drew a deep breath, and the next moment was skimming herself, light as a bird, over the ground in the direction of the gipsy encampment. Harriet could, indeed, run like the wind, and never had she ran faster than on this occasion.
“It was I,” she thought, “who caused him to be lost, so I will find him again; yes, I will find him if it kills me.”
Suddenly she drew up on the edge of a piece of common. Here only yesterday, surely, were many brown tents and many brown people. Here was this fascinating house on wheels of which she had spoken so much to little Ralph. But now—she could not believe her eyes!
The place was empty. She could see, even by the moonlight, patches of yellow grass which had been covered by the tents, and here and there she could also perceive a bone or two, or a scrap of broken bread. But not a gipsy was in sight, not a tent within view, not a dog, not a brown baby. The gipsies had gone! Why had they gone? They were there, she knew, that very afternoon, for she had seen the smoke curling up from the house on wheels, as she and Ralph had gone with Pattie to the village.
The gipsies had gone away quickly: of course they had taken Ralph with them. Now what was she to do? She stood still in a shadowy part of the field, and, as she did so, she distinctly heard the sound of wheels, and listening, there floated also to her ears the sound of many voices singing.
Her school-companions were returning from their picnic. They were coming back, as arranged, by moonlight. They were happy: they were enjoying themselves. Harriet distinctly heard Robina’s voice above the others. Robina had a clear voice like a bird. Her notes were very high. They seemed to rise up as though, like the larks, they would pierce the sky. Now they rose above the other voices in a sort of torrent of rejoicing. Harriet dug her fingers into her ears.
“Oh, how soon they will be back!” she thought; “and they will miss him, and they will know all about me, and oh—I can’t, can’t stand it! I will follow the gipsies. I wonder where they have gone.”
Harriet thought for a few minutes. The police had already been to visit that very field. They had gone there in Dr Pyke’s company, and they were taking steps to follow the gipsies on horseback. But Harriet knew something that the police did not know. One of the servants in the house had long ago been a gipsy girl herself; and Harriet, who was much fascinated by stories of the wild brown people, used to talk to this girl when she got a chance. The girl, from time to time, imparted some of the secrets of her people to Harriet. Amongst other things, she had told her of the favourite resting-places of her tribe. This special common was one. But there was another five miles away, in the very heart of a deep wood, where they used to go when they wanted to hide something. The police did not know of this place of refuge in the middle of the High Woods, as they were called; but Harriet remembered it now.
It was five miles away, and she was only a little girl, and she was tired. But what of that if it might be her privilege to find Ralph and bring him back? What mattered any amount of fatigue?
Cora had told her how to get to the hiding-place in the wood. She had described how difficult it was for an ordinary person to find it, but had given Harriet a full description of it in one of her moments of confidence.
“We often wanted to make ourselves scarce,” Cora would say, “and no one ever yet found us there. It was a bonny enough place, too, although the trees grew so thick around that we did not get much sunshine.”
Now Harriet started on her way to the gipsies’ hiding-place in the woods. She was glad of the moonlight, and glad to avoid the road. She crossed many fields, and by and by found herself in a lane with very, very high hedges. The hedges were so high that she could not see a scrap of the world on either side of her. She could only gaze at the stars overhead, and wonder, and wonder, what was going to happen. She might be going wrong for all she knew. But all of a sudden she saw something shining on the road. She stooped and picked it up. It was a child’s broken rattle—the sort of thing which a gipsy child might have.
Now she felt certain that she was on the track of the runaways, and this knowledge gave her confidence. It takes, however, a very long time for a small girl not twelve years of age to walk five miles; and it was long past midnight, and the moon in the sky had set, and real darkness had come over the world before Harriet reached the entrance to the woods.
The lane in which she found herself led straight to these very woods: and oh! if it had been dark in the lane, how black was it here. She found her heart beating, and for a short time had not courage to go on. But then she thought of Ralph. She thought of him so hard that he began to fill all her little world. She wanted him so badly that no pony that ever breathed was now of any consequence to her in comparison. Why should she fear the creatures in the wood? She had no room in her heart for fear.
So she moved gently forward, a little girl, all alone in the black wood! The creatures of the wood must have wondered, and no doubt most of them were very much afraid of her, and retired into their snug little wood homes on her approach. But she saw none of them.
At last she came to a clearing, and in the clearing she perceived what made her heart beat wildly. It was no less a creature than a dog. The gipsies must be close at hand.
The dog was lying on the ground dead asleep. But when Harriet approached, he started and growled. Harriet, led by she knew not what instinct, immediately put her hand on his head. He quivered all over. Whether he would have growled again or bitten her, no one can tell, but in despair she flung herself by his side, and whispered in his ear:
“Oh, do be quiet; I am so miserable!”
No one can quite tell what dogs understand, but certainly this dog growled no more. On the contrary, he licked Harriet’s hand with his hot tongue. She had at last found the gipsies, and she might stay where she was until the first light of the morning. Perhaps poor Harriet slept with her head on the dog’s shaggy neck, but even she herself was not quite sure on that point.
Early, very, very early in the morning, led by Jakes, the gipsies’ dog, she found the house on wheels. The gipsies were tired, and most of them asleep. But when Harriet approached the dogs all barked, and of course the gipsy men all started to their feet, and the toothless old crone came out of the house on wheels, and pretty Flavia followed her.
“What did the little lady want?” they asked. They were all quite inclined to be civil to the little girl.
“I want,” said Harriet, “my own little boy. I am his school-mother, and I want him back again.”
“Oh Harriet! Harriet!” cried Ralph’s little voice.
He popped his small head outside the house on wheels. Not even Flavia could keep him from Harriet now. In one minute he was in her arms, and she was kissing him—oh, with such a world of affection. Somehow, Ralph felt a difference in her kisses, and he loved her at last, and knew that he had not loved her at all before.
“Ralph, you must come home at once,” said Harriet.
“Now, my dear,” said the tall gipsy man who had lured Ralph away on the previous night; “this little boy belongs to us, don’t yer, little man?”
“No, I don’t,” said Ralph. “This is my school-mother, and I belong to her.”
“You had best let him come,” said Harriet, “for the police are looking for you, and you’ll get into dreadful hot water if you keep the little boy.”
“We took charge of him,” said the man, sulkily; but a frightened look crossed his face when Harriet spoke of the police. “He were a poor lonely little gent, and we took pity on him.”
“They were awfu’ kind to me!” said Ralph. “They’re very nice gipsy people; and see, they give me this.”
He showed his basket with great pride to Harriet.
“See!” he continued, “there’s things inside—a knife, and matches, and all sorts of other things.”
“That don’t matter now,” said Harriet. “You must come back; they’re dreadfully frightened about you at school, and so was I. Gipsy man,” said Harriet, looking up at the tall man, “will you please saddle a horse, and put Ralph on its back, and put me there too, for I am dreadfully tired, and take us to Abbeyfield, and please be quick.”
“When my father comes back,” said Ralph, “I will talk to him about you, gipsy man, and about you, pretty gipsy lady.” Here he took Flavia’s hand. “And he shall give you money—much—and big money; and I will come and see you again, for I love you all.”
“We’d best take him back,” said the man, looking at the toothless old crone, “or we’ll get into trouble with the per-lice.”
“Yes,” said Harriet, gravely, “and you had best be quick.”
So early in the morning the children went back to the school on the gipsy’s tall horse, and the gipsy himself led them. Ralph talked all the way back, and was very gay and very happy; and when he parted from the gipsy man he insisted on kissing him, which surprised that person very much.
“Good-bye, little master,” he said, in rather a shamefaced way.
“Good-bye,” said Ralph. “And Father will give you money: I’ll see he do.”
Thus Ralph returned after his great adventure and Harriet and he went together, side by side, into Mrs Burton’s private sitting-room. There Harriet told all.
“I don’t want the pony,” she said in conclusion; “and I’m not a bit fit to be a school-mother! But I love him all the same.”
“I must punish you, Harriet,” said Mrs Burton. “I should not do my duty else. For the remainder of the term, Robina will be Ralph’s school-mother; but you shall see him every day, and it remains with Ralph himself to decide whether he loves you in future or not.”
“Oh, don’t I love her just this very instant-minute,” said Ralph: and he flung his arms round Harriet’s neck. Thus Harriet found out what real love meant. She found it out in her pain, the pain she had suffered during that lonely night—she found it out also in her joy—the joy that had come to her when she saw Ralph again.
The pony and the habit and the side-saddle did not matter a bit to Harriet now, for she had more—the true heart of Ralph himself. Love can destroy jealousy and all bad things in the heart. So it was with Harriet, even though Robina became the little boy’s school-mother, and even though she won the big prize. Harriet was happy.
Book Two—Chapter One.A Delightful Proposal.When Ralph Durrant’s father came for him on the day of the great break-up at the school, he found a little boy who said with emphasis that he had several school-mothers, and that he did not wish to say good-bye to any of them. This state of things rather puzzled Mr Durrant, whose one desire in life was to make Ralph intensely happy.“How am I to manage such a lot of mothers, little man?” he said.“You must, Father,” replied Ralph. “There is my naughty school-mother—her name is Harriet. She is both naughty and good, and I love her like anything. And there is my beautiful, good school-mother—Robina; and I want not to say good-bye to either of them. I s’pose,” continued Ralph, “that Robina must have the pony; only I wish there were two ponies—”But here Mrs Burton interfered.“Ralph,” she said, “I have something to say to your father. Run away for a short time and play with Curly Pate, my dear.”Ralph, who had been excellently trained by Robina, ran immediately out of the room. Mr Durrant turned and faced Mrs Burton.“Well,” he said, with a smile, “my little scheme seems to have answered. Ralph was fretting a good deal when I brought him here. He had been badly managed at home: none of his aunts understood him. He missed his dear mother,—who died two years ago,—more than words can say. It was not that he fretted about her, for the dear little man was too young to fret, but he just missed the mothering part of life which all little children need and cannot do without. His aunts are good, but old-fashioned people, and they failed just where they most meant to succeed. Now, I see a dear, healthy, happy little boy, with rosy cheeks and bright eyes. I have to thank you, Mrs Burton, for a great deal.“You know that I must leave him very soon to return to South Africa. You know, too, that my work while there, leads me into very possible dangers: in fact, I think I may add into certain dangers; and if it were possible to secure a permanent home for my little man in your house, I should love to do so.”“But this is a school for girls,” said Mrs Burton, with a smile.“Still, one little boy—my dear friend—one little motherless boy, not six years of age—”“He is a baby,” said Mrs Burton, “and we all love him. I will think it over.”“Do, my dear friend. I can scarcely tell you what a weight of care will be lifted from my mind if you will allow me to send Ralph back here at the end of the holidays. But in the meantime, what is this talk about several school-mothers, and in especial about two; one naughty—one whom he loves very dearly, and one good—one whom he also seems to adore? Am I really to give two ponies, two side-saddles, two habits, and provide for the keep of two of these little animals for many years? If you can prove to me that such an action on my part is necessary, I will gladly give not two, but twenty, ponies to Ralph’s little mothers in this school.”“You are so generous, Mr Durrant, that you would really spoil all my little girls if you were allowed to have your own way,” said the headmistress. “The fact is, this your proposal with regard to the pony was so tempting and so unlooked for, that it very nearly turned the head and the heart of one child in this school. That child—your little boy will tell you her name, so there is no use in my withholding it—is called Harriet Lane. She behaved as she ought not to have done; and although circumstances occurred—which I will also tell you later on—that so terrified her and so appealed to her conscience that she is very much improved now; nevertheless it would never do to give her a pony. You must keep to your decision, Mr Durrant, one pony for one girl, and one school-mother for little Ralph.”“Very well,” said Mr Durrant. “But I suppose I may do something else for the would-be school-mothers.”He talked a little longer with Mrs Burton, and the result of this conference was that just before break-up on that lovely summer’s day, the great African explorer made a proposal to the school. It was this:“I have heard a great deal,” said Mr Durrant, standing on a platform and looking at all the eager faces, “about your goodness to my little boy. I have further heard that the girls of the third form have each in turn acted as his school-mother.”“Oh yes—oh yes!” said Ralph, coming forward now, and speaking with great eagerness: “I has got eight mothers, and I don’t want to lose one of them. My bestest mothers are my naughty one and my goodest one. Robina is my goodest one, and Harriet is my naughtiest one: I love them best, but I love all the others too.”“You, I think, are Robina Starling,” said Mr Durrant, fixing his eyes on Robina’s face.“Yes, sir;” she answered.“And you have taken good care of my little boy.”“I love Ralph very much, sir,” said Robina simply.“And you, too, love him,” said Mr Durrant, turning his eyes by a sort of instinct in the direction where Harriet stood, Harriet still looking pale and lanky and different from the rest of her school-fellows.“Yes,” said Harriet, with a sort of choke in her voice; “I care for Ralph.”Little Ralph himself looked full at her. He ran up to her now and took her hand.“Don’t think about your naughtiness,” he whispered to her. “You is forgived, you know.”Harriet squeezed the little hand and then let it go. There was a lump in her throat. She could not imagine why Ralph Durrant—a little, little boy—had such power over her.“And the rest of you are mothers too,” said Mr Durrant, looking from one to the other.“We all love Ralph,” they answered.“Well now: I have a proposal to make. I am taking a house at the seaside—a very nice country house for the holidays; and I want to know if all the school-mothers can come and stay with Ralph and me in my house. You are all invited. Will you come? There will be the pony for thespecialschool-mother—for you, Robina. The pony which will be your property, and which you can ride as much as you like, and as long as you like, and lend to your companions when you wish to be good-natured, will be with you. And there will be donkeys—excellent donkeys for the rest of you, and also bicycles, and also a waggonette, and a governess cart; so I think there will be no difficulty in your getting about; and I can promise you beforehand that I am a first-rate person for managing picnics; and that my cook-housekeeper, Mrs Joseph, is famous for her cakes, pies, and puddings; and that my other housekeeper, Mrs Scott, will see to your wardrobes and look after your other comforts. But I wish to warn you beforehand, that there will be no lady in the house. There will be no grown-up lady-woman in my house, so you children will have to look out for storms; for I can be, when I like, averyfierce man, and if there are really naughty children, I can make it unpleasant for them. There, my dear little girls, I am only joking—”“Father’s awful at his jokes,” interrupted Ralph at that moment. “Youissilly, father; you know that you is never cross.”“Perhaps,” said Mr Durrant, “you had better, girls, take Ralph’s estimate of my character. Anyhow, come those of you who wish to try me, and stay away, those of you who are afraid. The house will be ready to receive you in a fortnight from now. During that time, Ralph and I will enjoy ourselves together. This day fortnight, we shall both be prepared to welcome you at Sunshine Lodge. I am calling the house by that name in advance, for I mean to have the sunshine in it day and night; and by the special sort of sun that I allude to, I mean Kindness, Charity, Unselfishness, Forbearance; and last, but not least, Love. I mean, too, that Pleasure should enter the house—nice, jolly Pleasure—and that Care should keep her wrinkled old face out-of-doors. I mean, in order to secure these things, to have a certain amount of discipline in the house, but that I shall exercise myself, and in my own way. Now, all those who wish to come to Sunshine Lodge, have the kindness to hold up their hands. Those who do not wish to come can keep their hands down.”“In course you willallcome!” said Ralph. “It’s Father’s way to talk like that; but he’s awfu’ jolly, is Father!”“Yes: I believe I am jolly,” said Mr Durrant. “You had best take Ralph’s estimate of me: it is fair, on the whole. Now girls: who’ll come? who’ll stay?”Was there an instant’s hesitation? Every hand was raised: every eye said “Yes.” Every mouth shouted, “I am going!” Every little heart quivered with excitement.“Then you will all come: you will all trust me,” said Mr Durrant. “Now you need not trouble any more about the matter. Get ready for the fun; for fun it will be, I assure you—fun, fast and furious; fun from morning till night, and in a certain sense from night till morning. I will get the addresses of your parents from Mrs Burton, and will write to them individually, and I think I can promise that there won’t be one refusal. The eight little mothers shall join Ralph and me at Sunshine Lodge in a fortnight. And now, my dears, good-bye for the present.”Mr Durrant took Ralph’s hand as he spoke. Ralph turned, however, as they were leaving that sunny part of the grounds where this animated and exciting scene had just taken place.“Good-bye, mothers: good-bye, all of you!” shouted Ralph, kissing his hand frantically to the eight little girls.He disappeared round the corner, a proud little figure in his pretty costume, and the school-girls looked one at the other.
When Ralph Durrant’s father came for him on the day of the great break-up at the school, he found a little boy who said with emphasis that he had several school-mothers, and that he did not wish to say good-bye to any of them. This state of things rather puzzled Mr Durrant, whose one desire in life was to make Ralph intensely happy.
“How am I to manage such a lot of mothers, little man?” he said.
“You must, Father,” replied Ralph. “There is my naughty school-mother—her name is Harriet. She is both naughty and good, and I love her like anything. And there is my beautiful, good school-mother—Robina; and I want not to say good-bye to either of them. I s’pose,” continued Ralph, “that Robina must have the pony; only I wish there were two ponies—”
But here Mrs Burton interfered.
“Ralph,” she said, “I have something to say to your father. Run away for a short time and play with Curly Pate, my dear.”
Ralph, who had been excellently trained by Robina, ran immediately out of the room. Mr Durrant turned and faced Mrs Burton.
“Well,” he said, with a smile, “my little scheme seems to have answered. Ralph was fretting a good deal when I brought him here. He had been badly managed at home: none of his aunts understood him. He missed his dear mother,—who died two years ago,—more than words can say. It was not that he fretted about her, for the dear little man was too young to fret, but he just missed the mothering part of life which all little children need and cannot do without. His aunts are good, but old-fashioned people, and they failed just where they most meant to succeed. Now, I see a dear, healthy, happy little boy, with rosy cheeks and bright eyes. I have to thank you, Mrs Burton, for a great deal.
“You know that I must leave him very soon to return to South Africa. You know, too, that my work while there, leads me into very possible dangers: in fact, I think I may add into certain dangers; and if it were possible to secure a permanent home for my little man in your house, I should love to do so.”
“But this is a school for girls,” said Mrs Burton, with a smile.
“Still, one little boy—my dear friend—one little motherless boy, not six years of age—”
“He is a baby,” said Mrs Burton, “and we all love him. I will think it over.”
“Do, my dear friend. I can scarcely tell you what a weight of care will be lifted from my mind if you will allow me to send Ralph back here at the end of the holidays. But in the meantime, what is this talk about several school-mothers, and in especial about two; one naughty—one whom he loves very dearly, and one good—one whom he also seems to adore? Am I really to give two ponies, two side-saddles, two habits, and provide for the keep of two of these little animals for many years? If you can prove to me that such an action on my part is necessary, I will gladly give not two, but twenty, ponies to Ralph’s little mothers in this school.”
“You are so generous, Mr Durrant, that you would really spoil all my little girls if you were allowed to have your own way,” said the headmistress. “The fact is, this your proposal with regard to the pony was so tempting and so unlooked for, that it very nearly turned the head and the heart of one child in this school. That child—your little boy will tell you her name, so there is no use in my withholding it—is called Harriet Lane. She behaved as she ought not to have done; and although circumstances occurred—which I will also tell you later on—that so terrified her and so appealed to her conscience that she is very much improved now; nevertheless it would never do to give her a pony. You must keep to your decision, Mr Durrant, one pony for one girl, and one school-mother for little Ralph.”
“Very well,” said Mr Durrant. “But I suppose I may do something else for the would-be school-mothers.”
He talked a little longer with Mrs Burton, and the result of this conference was that just before break-up on that lovely summer’s day, the great African explorer made a proposal to the school. It was this:
“I have heard a great deal,” said Mr Durrant, standing on a platform and looking at all the eager faces, “about your goodness to my little boy. I have further heard that the girls of the third form have each in turn acted as his school-mother.”
“Oh yes—oh yes!” said Ralph, coming forward now, and speaking with great eagerness: “I has got eight mothers, and I don’t want to lose one of them. My bestest mothers are my naughty one and my goodest one. Robina is my goodest one, and Harriet is my naughtiest one: I love them best, but I love all the others too.”
“You, I think, are Robina Starling,” said Mr Durrant, fixing his eyes on Robina’s face.
“Yes, sir;” she answered.
“And you have taken good care of my little boy.”
“I love Ralph very much, sir,” said Robina simply.
“And you, too, love him,” said Mr Durrant, turning his eyes by a sort of instinct in the direction where Harriet stood, Harriet still looking pale and lanky and different from the rest of her school-fellows.
“Yes,” said Harriet, with a sort of choke in her voice; “I care for Ralph.”
Little Ralph himself looked full at her. He ran up to her now and took her hand.
“Don’t think about your naughtiness,” he whispered to her. “You is forgived, you know.”
Harriet squeezed the little hand and then let it go. There was a lump in her throat. She could not imagine why Ralph Durrant—a little, little boy—had such power over her.
“And the rest of you are mothers too,” said Mr Durrant, looking from one to the other.
“We all love Ralph,” they answered.
“Well now: I have a proposal to make. I am taking a house at the seaside—a very nice country house for the holidays; and I want to know if all the school-mothers can come and stay with Ralph and me in my house. You are all invited. Will you come? There will be the pony for thespecialschool-mother—for you, Robina. The pony which will be your property, and which you can ride as much as you like, and as long as you like, and lend to your companions when you wish to be good-natured, will be with you. And there will be donkeys—excellent donkeys for the rest of you, and also bicycles, and also a waggonette, and a governess cart; so I think there will be no difficulty in your getting about; and I can promise you beforehand that I am a first-rate person for managing picnics; and that my cook-housekeeper, Mrs Joseph, is famous for her cakes, pies, and puddings; and that my other housekeeper, Mrs Scott, will see to your wardrobes and look after your other comforts. But I wish to warn you beforehand, that there will be no lady in the house. There will be no grown-up lady-woman in my house, so you children will have to look out for storms; for I can be, when I like, averyfierce man, and if there are really naughty children, I can make it unpleasant for them. There, my dear little girls, I am only joking—”
“Father’s awful at his jokes,” interrupted Ralph at that moment. “Youissilly, father; you know that you is never cross.”
“Perhaps,” said Mr Durrant, “you had better, girls, take Ralph’s estimate of my character. Anyhow, come those of you who wish to try me, and stay away, those of you who are afraid. The house will be ready to receive you in a fortnight from now. During that time, Ralph and I will enjoy ourselves together. This day fortnight, we shall both be prepared to welcome you at Sunshine Lodge. I am calling the house by that name in advance, for I mean to have the sunshine in it day and night; and by the special sort of sun that I allude to, I mean Kindness, Charity, Unselfishness, Forbearance; and last, but not least, Love. I mean, too, that Pleasure should enter the house—nice, jolly Pleasure—and that Care should keep her wrinkled old face out-of-doors. I mean, in order to secure these things, to have a certain amount of discipline in the house, but that I shall exercise myself, and in my own way. Now, all those who wish to come to Sunshine Lodge, have the kindness to hold up their hands. Those who do not wish to come can keep their hands down.”
“In course you willallcome!” said Ralph. “It’s Father’s way to talk like that; but he’s awfu’ jolly, is Father!”
“Yes: I believe I am jolly,” said Mr Durrant. “You had best take Ralph’s estimate of me: it is fair, on the whole. Now girls: who’ll come? who’ll stay?”
Was there an instant’s hesitation? Every hand was raised: every eye said “Yes.” Every mouth shouted, “I am going!” Every little heart quivered with excitement.
“Then you will all come: you will all trust me,” said Mr Durrant. “Now you need not trouble any more about the matter. Get ready for the fun; for fun it will be, I assure you—fun, fast and furious; fun from morning till night, and in a certain sense from night till morning. I will get the addresses of your parents from Mrs Burton, and will write to them individually, and I think I can promise that there won’t be one refusal. The eight little mothers shall join Ralph and me at Sunshine Lodge in a fortnight. And now, my dears, good-bye for the present.”
Mr Durrant took Ralph’s hand as he spoke. Ralph turned, however, as they were leaving that sunny part of the grounds where this animated and exciting scene had just taken place.
“Good-bye, mothers: good-bye, all of you!” shouted Ralph, kissing his hand frantically to the eight little girls.
He disappeared round the corner, a proud little figure in his pretty costume, and the school-girls looked one at the other.
Book Two—Chapter Two.Robina at Home.The next day, the different girls went to their several homes. Robina had to make a longer journey than the others; but she arrived at length at the somewhat solitary house on the borders of Wales where she lived with her father and mother, and two little sisters.Robina’s mother was one of those rather trying invalids who without ever being in any danger yet manage to make all those around them uncomfortable. Now, Robina loved her mother, but she never managed to be an hour in her presence without rubbing the poor invalid the wrong way. Mrs Starling said that this big, firm, almost manly sort of child was too much for her. She did not mind the twolittlegirls sitting in her shaded room and playing quietly with their toys. Now and then, she even permitted them to climb up on her sofa and pat her pale cheeks, and kiss her hands. But Robina was too lively and too full of vitality for this sort of existence; and, as Mrs Starling was fond of remarking, she tired her out without meaning to do so.Now poor little Robina loved her mother passionately, and it was one of her secret troubles that she could not manage to make that mother happy. Mrs Starling had been an invalid for so long that her sister, Miss Felicia Jennings, had charge of the house; and Miss Felicia was also the sort of person who had the power of rubbing Robina the wrong way.She was a very fussy woman who was so fond of saying ‘Don’t’ that Robina wondered if she had any other word in her vocabulary.“Now, Robina,” she said on the present occasion, the moment the little girl entered the house—“don’tmake so much noise: walk quietly; go up to your room, anddon’tslam the door; also—don’tneglect to put your boots outside on the mat, so that Fanny may take them down in good time to get them cleaned. And, Robina—don’tforget to wash your hands and brush your hair, anddon’ton any account fail to remember that your mother has a bad headache and cannot have noise or excitement in her room.”“I am not going to make any noise; and I will try not to be excited,” said Robina. “I have been very happy at school, Aunt Felice, and people haven’t said such a lot of ‘don’ts’ to me. I think it is ‘don’t’ makes me so naughty when I am at home.”“Well—don’toblige me to say ‘Don’t,’” was Aunt Felicia’s remark.Robina ran upstairs. She was never cross at school. Why did she feel irritation the very moment she got home? She had looked forward very much to her holidays. She had all sorts of schemes in her practical little brain for improving and rendering life agreeable to little Violet and little Rose, her two small sisters.She had quite expected that Violet and Rose would be waiting to welcome her. She had pictured them to herself all during the long, hot journey to Wales.Violet was five years old, and a very pretty little girl. Curly Pate had always more or less reminded Robina of Violet. And then there was Rose, who was not yet four years old, and who was a very delicate little child and rather fractious. Rose in some sort of intangible manner recalled Harriet to Robina’s memory; for she was lanky, and thin, and had poor little weak legs, and a weak sort of crying voice, and people said that she took after her mother, and would never be specially good for anything.Before she went to school, Robina had much preferred to play with Violet, and had often left Rose more or less out in the cold. But now she resolved to correct all this, and to try to get to understand little Rose, and to add to the happiness of her life.“For if I don’t,” thought Robina, “she may grow up like Harriet: she may even learn to be deceitful, and that would never do. Oh, I know—I know quite well the person who is better than all the rest of us put together at the school, and that person is Ralph. Who else would have changed Harriet, and made her so that she could even bear to allow me to be Ralph’s school-mother, and yet to love little Ralph all the time? I must own that I do not love Harriet even now; but I suppose it is wrong of me; anyhow, I see that there are possibilities of good in her; and I will be very good to little Rose during the fortnight that I am at home because of Harriet.”But Violet and Rose were both in bed, although they had pleaded very hard indeed to be let stay up, and Mrs Starling was not considered well enough to be disturbed by Robina that evening. Robina’s father was not at home, and there was no one, therefore, to welcome the little girl except Aunt Felicia.“It is dull,” thought Robina. “I am glad that I am going to Sunshine Lodge in a fortnight: I wonder if the invitation has come yet. How jolly we shall all be when we are there! If mother were really glad to see me, and if Rose and Violet were up, I should be a very happy girl this evening; but as it is—”Robina entered her rather bare and decidedly ugly bedroom, tossed her hat on the bed, went to the small cracked looking-glass in order to see how to put her thick hair straight, and then was preparing to run downstairs again, when she saw the nursery room door very softly opened, and a little figure peeped out.“I am in my nighty, and so is Rose; but we’re both ’ide awake,” said Violet’s voice. “Oo’s come back, Wobbin. Come and kiss us; do, do!”“Oh, you darlings! you pets!” said Robina.She went noisily into the nursery, and alack! and alas! the next minute the door slammed after her. Violet’s little rosy face turned pale, and the real Rose began to cry.“Aunt Felice will come up and scold!” said Violet. “Oh, put us into bed, do! and don’t go away—please, please, Wobina!”“No, I won’t,” said Robina. “I don’t mind a bit whether I’m scolded or not. Of course, I didn’t mean to slam the door. You little darlings, both of you! You sweet pets! Here I am back again, and won’t we have good times! I have some chocolates for you in a corner of my school trunk: I bought it out of the savings of my pocket-money; and it is right good, I can tell you.”“All keemy in middle?” enquired Rose, in a voice of great eagerness.“Yes,” said Robina, “and browny outside.”“Can’t us have some now?” asked Violet.“I will try,” said Robina. “You lie quite still, and pretend to be asleep, and I’ll bring you some in a minute or two. Aunt Felice couldn’t have heard the door slam, or she would be up here on the landing by now. Oh dear! oh dear! I’ll creep out ever so quietly. Now, mum’s the word. Stay as still as mice, you two, until I return.”Two eager pairs of eyes in the midst of two small wide awake faces followed Robina as she went to the nursery door. She opened it softly, and shut it behind her. In a minute or two, she was back with the chocolates, and each little child was made intensely happy. Robina promised all sorts of good things on the morrow—pick-a-back was one; and oh! there was a wonderful secret: something amazing was going to happen: for of course Robina knew well that the pony with the side-saddle and the habit would arrive early the next day. He could not be objected to, for part of the prize was that all his expenses were to be paid.There was an old stable at the back of the house where he could lodge, and the services of a special man were to be secured to look after him. The thought of the pony comforted Robina immensely on that first evening at home. When she sat opposite to Aunt Felicia at supper, it occurred to her to mention it.“Aunt Felice,” she said, “I have got a great piece of news for you.”“What is that, my dear Robina? Don’t put your elbow on the table; it is so unladylike; and I wish, my dear, you would not have that habit of opening your mouth when you are not speaking. You ought to say the old phrase, ‘Papa, potatoes, prunes and prism’ constantly to yourself. There is nothing for keeping the mouth in a nice shape like uttering the word ‘prism.’”“I can’t, really, Aunt Felice. I am not made that way,” said Robina. “I can’t be worried about my mouth.”“There you are,” said Aunt Felice, “always so headstrong, rough, and disagreeable. Now,don’tfrown! It really makes you look like a fright. Your poor mother quite dreads the thought of having you in the house; you are so undisciplined and wayward.”“I was thought quite a good girl at school,” said Robina.“Then that was because none of them really knew you.”“I think they knew me very well. You have to be your real self at school, Aunt Felice.”“Then may I ask, miss, if that is the case, why you are not your real self at home?”“I am afraid I have got two selves, and I am my worst self at home, because I am rubbed the wrong way.”“Indeed!” said Miss Jennings. “That is nice hearing. And who rubs you the wrong way?”“I know you will be very angry with me, Aunt Felicia; but you do.”“Robina: this is really more than I can stand. You don’t speak in that impertinent way to me any more: you have no respect for those older and better than yourself, Robina. I don’t say for a moment that you have not your good points. You are a clever, strong, intelligent child, but you are too independent: that is what is the matter with you.”Robina fidgetted.“Don’tpush your things about on your plate like that!” said Miss Felicia: “and oh! don’t kick me with your long legs under the table! You really are most objectionable in your manners—such a rough sort of girl.”“Come, Auntie,” said Robina suddenly, “I have been thinking a lot of my return home. I have never been to school before, and these are my very first holidays, and anyhow, there is jolly good news—”“Don’t say jolly! It is a most unladylike expression.”“Oh, I must talk a little slang. I can’t be too proper. Besides, ‘jolly’ is accepted now as the most correct English. ‘Awfully jolly’ is a lovely phrase.”“It is a misnomer, and abominable. Don’t ever say ‘awfully jolly’ in my presence.”“I will try not to,” said Robina aloud. To herself, she whispered: “I won’t be tempted: things never are awfully jolly when she is about.”“May I tell you thenicething that has happened?” she said, after a pause.“Don’t spill that jam, Robina. See, you are dropping the juice on the table-cloth. Now then, what is your news? I don’t suppose it is worth anything.”“To begin with: I am going away on a visit in a fortnight.”“Indeed?” said Miss Jennings. “That is so likely: little girls do go away on visits without the permission of their elders. That is the modern tendency, I am well aware, but it has not taken root in this house so far.”“Mr Durrant has invited me,” said Robina, “and I know father and mother will let me go: I am not a bit afraid on that point. Mr Durrant will manage it.”“Who is Mr Durrant?”“He istheDurrant, you know: everyone speaks of him. He is one of the greatest men in England at the present day.”Miss Jennings stared hard at her niece.“Up to the present,” she said, “I always did think you were truthful: but I cannot quite believe that the great African explorer, whose thrilling book I could scarcely lay down when once I began to read it, would take any notice of an inconsequent, silly little girl like yourself.”“Oh, but he has,” said Robina, in a careless tone. “He is very fond of me. I am his little boy’s mother, you know.”“Robina: don’t open your lips for the remainder of this meal. Lies I will not stand.”Robina whispered ‘prism’ under her breath, and sat mute with her hands folded. After a time, Miss Jennings asked if she wished for anything more. She shook her head.“Are you satisfied? Are you no longer hungry?” Robina nodded.“Then leave the room.”Robina did so. The next minute she was out of the house, and had rushed round to the stables.“Jim!” she said to the man who had charge of the old grey horse and the very humble chaise which was the only conveyance known at Heather House—the name of Robina’s home. “Jim: there is a very beautiful pony coming here to-morrow; or he may not arrive till the next day. He is mine; and I want him to have a stable all to himself, and I want to hire a proper groom to see after him. Do you know any nice boy in the village who can be trained to look after my pony?”Jim, who had always a secret admiration for Miss Robina as a fine, manly sort of young lady who could ride old Dobbin bareback from the time she could walk, and whom he had secretly provided with many a less safe seat on neighbours’ horses, now answered with alacrity:“You don’t mean, miss, as Mr Starling has gone and bought you a pony of your own?”“No, Jim; nothing of the sort. It is such a comfort to confide in you, Jim: Iwonthe pony as a prize at school.”“Lawk-a-mercy!” said Jim: “what queer prizes they do have at that school, now!”“Shall I tell you how I won it? I was good to a child.”“Lor! miss.”“A dear little boy. I am his school-mother. He chose me—or rather, he didn’t choose me first, but I became his school-mother afterwards; and the prize was a pony and a side-saddle. You will have me skimming all over the country now when I am at home, Jim. I’ll be worse to manage than ever.”“But miss, there is the master. How do you know as he’ll let you keep a pony?”“Oh, that is all right,” said Robina. “The gentleman who has given him is going to pay all his expenses. He is quite a rich gentleman, and he doesn’t mind what he spends. So I want a very nice groom indeed.”“I wish I could do for him, miss,” said Jim. “I would with a heart and a half, but the master wouldn’t spare a minute of my time; and even if he would. Miss Jennings wouldn’t hear of it. She is very particular, miss, and works a man real hard.”“Robina, come in this minute!” called a shrill voice at that moment, “anddon’tstand talking with Jim. Jim; howdareyou idle your time! Have you cleaned out the hen’s roost? and have you put down fresh straw for the laying hen? and what about the ducks, Jim? anddon’tforget that you are to go to the village early in the morning to get some fresh corn for the young turkeys. Robina, come here this minute: don’t dawdle: come quickly.”“I was talking to Jim,” said Robina, “about my pony.”“Your what?” asked Miss Felicia.“My pony: you would not let me tell you at supper time: you snapped me up so short. I have got such a lovely pony as a prize!”“You dare to tell me such things!”“But, Aunt Felicia, it is true. I have got a pony. I haven’t seen him yet, but I know he isgoingto be a perfect darling, and there’s a side-saddle coming too, and a habit made from my own measurements. My measurements were taken before I left school, so the habit will fit me perfectly, and will allow room for growing.”“The pony may come,” said Miss Felicia: “but if it comes, it goes. Do you suppose for a single moment—you silly, selfish, thoughtless child—that your poor father, who has such expenses owing to your dear mother’s sad condition of health, can afford to keep a pony for you? If anyone is fool enough to send the animal here it goes back again.”“I am certain father won’t send it away,” said Robina, “for it will cost no one anything. Mr Durrant—theDurrant—for I have told no lies, Aunt Felicia—is going to provide for all the expenses of my pony. He spoke to me about it; and there is to be a groom engaged to look after my darling; and when I go away in a fortnight’s time to Sunshine Lodge, my pony comes with me, and father will never be one penny out of pocket as far as my pony is concerned.”“Dear, dear! Tut, tut!” said Miss Felicia. “Go into the house, Robina. You are either telling the most shocking lies, or something too marvellous has happened. I am inclined to believe in your want of truth, Robina, and if this is proved to be the case, your punishment will be exceedingly heavy.”
The next day, the different girls went to their several homes. Robina had to make a longer journey than the others; but she arrived at length at the somewhat solitary house on the borders of Wales where she lived with her father and mother, and two little sisters.
Robina’s mother was one of those rather trying invalids who without ever being in any danger yet manage to make all those around them uncomfortable. Now, Robina loved her mother, but she never managed to be an hour in her presence without rubbing the poor invalid the wrong way. Mrs Starling said that this big, firm, almost manly sort of child was too much for her. She did not mind the twolittlegirls sitting in her shaded room and playing quietly with their toys. Now and then, she even permitted them to climb up on her sofa and pat her pale cheeks, and kiss her hands. But Robina was too lively and too full of vitality for this sort of existence; and, as Mrs Starling was fond of remarking, she tired her out without meaning to do so.
Now poor little Robina loved her mother passionately, and it was one of her secret troubles that she could not manage to make that mother happy. Mrs Starling had been an invalid for so long that her sister, Miss Felicia Jennings, had charge of the house; and Miss Felicia was also the sort of person who had the power of rubbing Robina the wrong way.
She was a very fussy woman who was so fond of saying ‘Don’t’ that Robina wondered if she had any other word in her vocabulary.
“Now, Robina,” she said on the present occasion, the moment the little girl entered the house—“don’tmake so much noise: walk quietly; go up to your room, anddon’tslam the door; also—don’tneglect to put your boots outside on the mat, so that Fanny may take them down in good time to get them cleaned. And, Robina—don’tforget to wash your hands and brush your hair, anddon’ton any account fail to remember that your mother has a bad headache and cannot have noise or excitement in her room.”
“I am not going to make any noise; and I will try not to be excited,” said Robina. “I have been very happy at school, Aunt Felice, and people haven’t said such a lot of ‘don’ts’ to me. I think it is ‘don’t’ makes me so naughty when I am at home.”
“Well—don’toblige me to say ‘Don’t,’” was Aunt Felicia’s remark.
Robina ran upstairs. She was never cross at school. Why did she feel irritation the very moment she got home? She had looked forward very much to her holidays. She had all sorts of schemes in her practical little brain for improving and rendering life agreeable to little Violet and little Rose, her two small sisters.
She had quite expected that Violet and Rose would be waiting to welcome her. She had pictured them to herself all during the long, hot journey to Wales.
Violet was five years old, and a very pretty little girl. Curly Pate had always more or less reminded Robina of Violet. And then there was Rose, who was not yet four years old, and who was a very delicate little child and rather fractious. Rose in some sort of intangible manner recalled Harriet to Robina’s memory; for she was lanky, and thin, and had poor little weak legs, and a weak sort of crying voice, and people said that she took after her mother, and would never be specially good for anything.
Before she went to school, Robina had much preferred to play with Violet, and had often left Rose more or less out in the cold. But now she resolved to correct all this, and to try to get to understand little Rose, and to add to the happiness of her life.
“For if I don’t,” thought Robina, “she may grow up like Harriet: she may even learn to be deceitful, and that would never do. Oh, I know—I know quite well the person who is better than all the rest of us put together at the school, and that person is Ralph. Who else would have changed Harriet, and made her so that she could even bear to allow me to be Ralph’s school-mother, and yet to love little Ralph all the time? I must own that I do not love Harriet even now; but I suppose it is wrong of me; anyhow, I see that there are possibilities of good in her; and I will be very good to little Rose during the fortnight that I am at home because of Harriet.”
But Violet and Rose were both in bed, although they had pleaded very hard indeed to be let stay up, and Mrs Starling was not considered well enough to be disturbed by Robina that evening. Robina’s father was not at home, and there was no one, therefore, to welcome the little girl except Aunt Felicia.
“It is dull,” thought Robina. “I am glad that I am going to Sunshine Lodge in a fortnight: I wonder if the invitation has come yet. How jolly we shall all be when we are there! If mother were really glad to see me, and if Rose and Violet were up, I should be a very happy girl this evening; but as it is—”
Robina entered her rather bare and decidedly ugly bedroom, tossed her hat on the bed, went to the small cracked looking-glass in order to see how to put her thick hair straight, and then was preparing to run downstairs again, when she saw the nursery room door very softly opened, and a little figure peeped out.
“I am in my nighty, and so is Rose; but we’re both ’ide awake,” said Violet’s voice. “Oo’s come back, Wobbin. Come and kiss us; do, do!”
“Oh, you darlings! you pets!” said Robina.
She went noisily into the nursery, and alack! and alas! the next minute the door slammed after her. Violet’s little rosy face turned pale, and the real Rose began to cry.
“Aunt Felice will come up and scold!” said Violet. “Oh, put us into bed, do! and don’t go away—please, please, Wobina!”
“No, I won’t,” said Robina. “I don’t mind a bit whether I’m scolded or not. Of course, I didn’t mean to slam the door. You little darlings, both of you! You sweet pets! Here I am back again, and won’t we have good times! I have some chocolates for you in a corner of my school trunk: I bought it out of the savings of my pocket-money; and it is right good, I can tell you.”
“All keemy in middle?” enquired Rose, in a voice of great eagerness.
“Yes,” said Robina, “and browny outside.”
“Can’t us have some now?” asked Violet.
“I will try,” said Robina. “You lie quite still, and pretend to be asleep, and I’ll bring you some in a minute or two. Aunt Felice couldn’t have heard the door slam, or she would be up here on the landing by now. Oh dear! oh dear! I’ll creep out ever so quietly. Now, mum’s the word. Stay as still as mice, you two, until I return.”
Two eager pairs of eyes in the midst of two small wide awake faces followed Robina as she went to the nursery door. She opened it softly, and shut it behind her. In a minute or two, she was back with the chocolates, and each little child was made intensely happy. Robina promised all sorts of good things on the morrow—pick-a-back was one; and oh! there was a wonderful secret: something amazing was going to happen: for of course Robina knew well that the pony with the side-saddle and the habit would arrive early the next day. He could not be objected to, for part of the prize was that all his expenses were to be paid.
There was an old stable at the back of the house where he could lodge, and the services of a special man were to be secured to look after him. The thought of the pony comforted Robina immensely on that first evening at home. When she sat opposite to Aunt Felicia at supper, it occurred to her to mention it.
“Aunt Felice,” she said, “I have got a great piece of news for you.”
“What is that, my dear Robina? Don’t put your elbow on the table; it is so unladylike; and I wish, my dear, you would not have that habit of opening your mouth when you are not speaking. You ought to say the old phrase, ‘Papa, potatoes, prunes and prism’ constantly to yourself. There is nothing for keeping the mouth in a nice shape like uttering the word ‘prism.’”
“I can’t, really, Aunt Felice. I am not made that way,” said Robina. “I can’t be worried about my mouth.”
“There you are,” said Aunt Felice, “always so headstrong, rough, and disagreeable. Now,don’tfrown! It really makes you look like a fright. Your poor mother quite dreads the thought of having you in the house; you are so undisciplined and wayward.”
“I was thought quite a good girl at school,” said Robina.
“Then that was because none of them really knew you.”
“I think they knew me very well. You have to be your real self at school, Aunt Felice.”
“Then may I ask, miss, if that is the case, why you are not your real self at home?”
“I am afraid I have got two selves, and I am my worst self at home, because I am rubbed the wrong way.”
“Indeed!” said Miss Jennings. “That is nice hearing. And who rubs you the wrong way?”
“I know you will be very angry with me, Aunt Felicia; but you do.”
“Robina: this is really more than I can stand. You don’t speak in that impertinent way to me any more: you have no respect for those older and better than yourself, Robina. I don’t say for a moment that you have not your good points. You are a clever, strong, intelligent child, but you are too independent: that is what is the matter with you.”
Robina fidgetted.
“Don’tpush your things about on your plate like that!” said Miss Felicia: “and oh! don’t kick me with your long legs under the table! You really are most objectionable in your manners—such a rough sort of girl.”
“Come, Auntie,” said Robina suddenly, “I have been thinking a lot of my return home. I have never been to school before, and these are my very first holidays, and anyhow, there is jolly good news—”
“Don’t say jolly! It is a most unladylike expression.”
“Oh, I must talk a little slang. I can’t be too proper. Besides, ‘jolly’ is accepted now as the most correct English. ‘Awfully jolly’ is a lovely phrase.”
“It is a misnomer, and abominable. Don’t ever say ‘awfully jolly’ in my presence.”
“I will try not to,” said Robina aloud. To herself, she whispered: “I won’t be tempted: things never are awfully jolly when she is about.”
“May I tell you thenicething that has happened?” she said, after a pause.
“Don’t spill that jam, Robina. See, you are dropping the juice on the table-cloth. Now then, what is your news? I don’t suppose it is worth anything.”
“To begin with: I am going away on a visit in a fortnight.”
“Indeed?” said Miss Jennings. “That is so likely: little girls do go away on visits without the permission of their elders. That is the modern tendency, I am well aware, but it has not taken root in this house so far.”
“Mr Durrant has invited me,” said Robina, “and I know father and mother will let me go: I am not a bit afraid on that point. Mr Durrant will manage it.”
“Who is Mr Durrant?”
“He istheDurrant, you know: everyone speaks of him. He is one of the greatest men in England at the present day.”
Miss Jennings stared hard at her niece.
“Up to the present,” she said, “I always did think you were truthful: but I cannot quite believe that the great African explorer, whose thrilling book I could scarcely lay down when once I began to read it, would take any notice of an inconsequent, silly little girl like yourself.”
“Oh, but he has,” said Robina, in a careless tone. “He is very fond of me. I am his little boy’s mother, you know.”
“Robina: don’t open your lips for the remainder of this meal. Lies I will not stand.”
Robina whispered ‘prism’ under her breath, and sat mute with her hands folded. After a time, Miss Jennings asked if she wished for anything more. She shook her head.
“Are you satisfied? Are you no longer hungry?” Robina nodded.
“Then leave the room.”
Robina did so. The next minute she was out of the house, and had rushed round to the stables.
“Jim!” she said to the man who had charge of the old grey horse and the very humble chaise which was the only conveyance known at Heather House—the name of Robina’s home. “Jim: there is a very beautiful pony coming here to-morrow; or he may not arrive till the next day. He is mine; and I want him to have a stable all to himself, and I want to hire a proper groom to see after him. Do you know any nice boy in the village who can be trained to look after my pony?”
Jim, who had always a secret admiration for Miss Robina as a fine, manly sort of young lady who could ride old Dobbin bareback from the time she could walk, and whom he had secretly provided with many a less safe seat on neighbours’ horses, now answered with alacrity:
“You don’t mean, miss, as Mr Starling has gone and bought you a pony of your own?”
“No, Jim; nothing of the sort. It is such a comfort to confide in you, Jim: Iwonthe pony as a prize at school.”
“Lawk-a-mercy!” said Jim: “what queer prizes they do have at that school, now!”
“Shall I tell you how I won it? I was good to a child.”
“Lor! miss.”
“A dear little boy. I am his school-mother. He chose me—or rather, he didn’t choose me first, but I became his school-mother afterwards; and the prize was a pony and a side-saddle. You will have me skimming all over the country now when I am at home, Jim. I’ll be worse to manage than ever.”
“But miss, there is the master. How do you know as he’ll let you keep a pony?”
“Oh, that is all right,” said Robina. “The gentleman who has given him is going to pay all his expenses. He is quite a rich gentleman, and he doesn’t mind what he spends. So I want a very nice groom indeed.”
“I wish I could do for him, miss,” said Jim. “I would with a heart and a half, but the master wouldn’t spare a minute of my time; and even if he would. Miss Jennings wouldn’t hear of it. She is very particular, miss, and works a man real hard.”
“Robina, come in this minute!” called a shrill voice at that moment, “anddon’tstand talking with Jim. Jim; howdareyou idle your time! Have you cleaned out the hen’s roost? and have you put down fresh straw for the laying hen? and what about the ducks, Jim? anddon’tforget that you are to go to the village early in the morning to get some fresh corn for the young turkeys. Robina, come here this minute: don’t dawdle: come quickly.”
“I was talking to Jim,” said Robina, “about my pony.”
“Your what?” asked Miss Felicia.
“My pony: you would not let me tell you at supper time: you snapped me up so short. I have got such a lovely pony as a prize!”
“You dare to tell me such things!”
“But, Aunt Felicia, it is true. I have got a pony. I haven’t seen him yet, but I know he isgoingto be a perfect darling, and there’s a side-saddle coming too, and a habit made from my own measurements. My measurements were taken before I left school, so the habit will fit me perfectly, and will allow room for growing.”
“The pony may come,” said Miss Felicia: “but if it comes, it goes. Do you suppose for a single moment—you silly, selfish, thoughtless child—that your poor father, who has such expenses owing to your dear mother’s sad condition of health, can afford to keep a pony for you? If anyone is fool enough to send the animal here it goes back again.”
“I am certain father won’t send it away,” said Robina, “for it will cost no one anything. Mr Durrant—theDurrant—for I have told no lies, Aunt Felicia—is going to provide for all the expenses of my pony. He spoke to me about it; and there is to be a groom engaged to look after my darling; and when I go away in a fortnight’s time to Sunshine Lodge, my pony comes with me, and father will never be one penny out of pocket as far as my pony is concerned.”
“Dear, dear! Tut, tut!” said Miss Felicia. “Go into the house, Robina. You are either telling the most shocking lies, or something too marvellous has happened. I am inclined to believe in your want of truth, Robina, and if this is proved to be the case, your punishment will be exceedingly heavy.”
Book Two—Chapter Three.A Surprise.Late that night, Mr Starling returned home. He was a heavily built, rather dull looking man. He was a gentleman living on his private means, and as these means were small, and he was far too lazy to add to them, the young Starlings had to do without the good things of life.His house was decidedly ramshackle; his grounds neglected; his stables in shocking disorder, and his one groom and factotum, Jim, sadly overworked.Nevertheless, Edward Starling managed on the whole to enjoy life. He was fond of golf, and spent nearly all his time over this fascinating and absorbing amusement. Had Robina been willing to take up golf, he would scarcely have induced himself to send her to school; but as it was, he did so for the sake of peace of mind.Robina was troublesome at home. She was too large and strong and determined for the invalid mother, and she was always rubbing the excellent, indefatigable aunt the wrong way. Mr Starling was, however, fond of Robina. He liked her bold, free, frank manners. He enjoyed her little tiffs with Aunt Felicia, and rather encouraged them than otherwise, and the very first thing he asked now when he entered the house was if his daughter had returned.“Yes;” said Miss Jennings, who made it an invariable rule to sit up for her brother-in-law, however late he returned home. “Yes,” she said, yawning, “Oh, dear me, Edward! Don’t leave that muddy mark in the hall; I have such trouble getting those flags kept in order: and oh—don’t putyour pipe down there! I can’t endure the smell of smoke. I am very sorry that I am so sensitive, but neither I nor my dear sister can abide tobacco.”Mr Starling slipped the pipe back into his pocket. “There!” said his sister-in-law, springing up. “It isn’t properly out, and will burn a hole, and then I shall have the trouble of mending it. Youwon’tconsider things, Edward. You are so thoughtless. Oh, I am the very last person to complain, but what was I saying?”“Talking about Robina. Is she home?”“Home?” said Miss Jennings. “Yes; thank goodness, hours ago, and in bed and asleep.”“I can’t take a peep at her, I suppose? How is the young monkey looking?”“Whatever you do, Edward—don’t disturb her! She is such a queer, excitable creature.”“She is well, I suppose?”“Yes; that is—her body is; I am by no means sure about her mind.”“Her mind?” said Starling. “Has anything gone wrong with that?”“You will find out for yourself when you talk to her. She certainly has the most frightful cock-and-bull stories to tell us. What an extraordinary school it must be! Robina is full of an invitation she has received from some impostor who has taken the name of the great Mr Durrant, and she also speaks of a pony arriving here to-morrow. Of course the child is dreaming, but if her lies are proved to be lies, I shall punish her severely. I am, however, just, before all things, and wait before I administer the rod. On the whole, Edward, I do not congratulate you on Robina’s return: we shall have a sorry time with her during these holidays, and so far, school has the reverse of improved her.”“You always were doleful, Felicia,” said her brother-in-law: “but as it is close on one o’clock, I will go to my room, and consider Robina’s iniquities in the morning—that is, if you have no objection.”“Objection?” cried Miss Jennings—“when I am just dying for my bed! You men have no heart and no consideration. Here have I been sitting up waiting for you all this long, weary time, with my eyes weighted as though there was lead on the lids, and my back bowed with aching. But much you care.”“I wish to goodness you would go to bed, and leave me alone,” said the irate man.“Not I;” she replied, “to have the house burgled in your absence, or set on fire when you return, with the careless way you manage that pipe of yours.”“Well: I’m off to bed now, Felicia. If you do choose to sit up, it isn’t my fault.” And the master of the house ran upstairs three steps at a time. Even his sister-in-law’s “Don’t make so much noise” failed to impress him in any way.He reached his bedroom, got rapidly into bed, and fell asleep chuckling over “that monkey Robina,” as he called her.By the first post the next morning, there arrived two letters, both of immense interest to Robina. She had got up early and was, if the truth must be known, eagerly watching for the post. She saw the letters when they arrived, and had a sort of intuition that they contained news which would be of vital interest to her. But as they were addressed to her father, she could do nothing towards gratifying her curiosity until he appeared.She was dressed that morning in one of her neat school frocks, and looked very bonny, and strong, and self-reliant. The two little sisters were eagerly clamouring round her.“Take my hand, Wobbin. Wobbin, let’s wun acwoss garden!” cried little Rose.“Oh, Robin! I don’t talk as badly as that,” said the more important Violet.Robina sat down on the window-sill, and played to her heart’s content with the two. In this attitude Miss Jennings found them.“Now, Robina—I forbid you to spoil those children. Violet don’t attempt to cry, or you shall leave the room. Rose, put on your pinafore at once, miss. Now come to the table, all three of you, and let us begin breakfast.”Miss Jennings seated herself by the tea-tray. She littered a short grace, and then porridge was dispensed. Little Rose could not bear porridge, and at once began to whimper.“Don’t cry!” said Miss Jennings. “If you do, you leave the room.”“Eat up just a little bit, darling,” whispered Robina. “I have such jolly things to tell you afterwards. Has father come home?” continued Robina, fixing her eyes on her aunt’s face.“Of course he has come home, my dear: why shouldn’t he come home?Don’t, I beg of you, Robina, ask silly questions. Your father has no other house to sleep in, therefore when he is sleepy, he comes home. He is in bed at the present moment, and goodness only knows when he will come down to breakfast.”“Oh, I hope he will come down soon!” said Robina, “for I want him to open his letters.”“Very impertinent and forward of you! Your father’s letters are not your concern.”“Not always,” replied Robina, calmly, and helping herself to strawberry jam: “but those two happen to be.”“Have you been trying to read them through the envelopes?”“No: but I looked at the postmarks.”Miss Jennings was silent for an awful moment. Then she said, impressively:“Little girls; listen to me.”The two children looked up expectantly.“Never at any time copy the ways of your elder sister unless you wish to be whipped.”Violet smiled rather vaguely. Rose’s little pale face grew paler. She nestled close to Robina.“I ’uv oo, Wobbin,” she said then, in a low, tremulous whisper.“Bravely spoken, darling,” whispered Robina back to her; and at that moment, to the relief of every one, Mr Starling entered the room.His big presence and bright personality made a pleasing diversion.“Hullo, monkey!” he said, the minute he saw Robina. “So you are back once more—the proverbial bad penny, eh?”He pinched her cheek. “’Pon my word, you are looking fine! And how do you like school, monkey? and how is every bit of you? Glad to have you back: expect we’ll have some fun now.”“Sit down, Edward, and don’t keep Robina standing any longer,” said Miss Jennings.Mr Starling winked solemnly at his daughter, and took his seat.“Hallo! What are these?” he said, as he saw his letters.“They are for you, father,” said Robina, eagerly: “but I think they are about me.”“About you, monkey! How can you know?”“Don’t encourage her. Edward, don’t read those letters at present,” said Miss Jennings.“Oh, please do, father,” said Robina.“Peese, farzer, peese!” said little Rose. And “Please, father!” came in a more pronounced voice from Violet.To the relief of everyone at that moment Miss Jennings received a hasty summons to run upstairs to her invalid sister. The moment she left the room, Mr Starling seized the first letter.“Here goes!” he said. “When the cat’s away—now then, monkey, and you two, listen to me.”He tore open Mr Durrant’s letter, glanced through the contents, uttered a hasty exclamation, and then proceeded to read it aloud.“My dear Sir:—I have a very great favour to ask of you. I want to know if you will spare your dear girl, Robina, to me for the greater part of these holidays. I have just secured a charming house at Eastbourne, quite above the town, and in a comparatively country place. I don’t know what its real name is, and what is more, I don’t care; but while Robina is with us, it is to be called Sunshine Lodge. I am expecting also a number of her young school-companions to visit me. Mine will be a bachelor’s establishment, but it will be enlivened by the presence of my little boy, who is Robina’s very great friend, and whom she has managed to be uncommonly kind to. She will doubtless herself tell you the story of her friendship for my little son. In consequence of that, I have the very great pleasure of awarding to her a prize which she has most justly won. It was open to the competition of all her form, and she out of the eight girls came first in the list. My little son, Ralph, himself decided the matter. This prize is a pony which I am forwarding to your residence, Heather House. I bought it at Tattersall’s yesterday, and believe that it is a thoroughly sound and well-trained animal, accustomed to carrying a lady in the saddle. It has no tricks, and is altogether safe, and also spirited. The animal is not too large, and at the same time, not too small, so that it can be made use of not only when your little girl is still a child, but by and by, when she reaches woman’s estate. A habit has been made for her, of the newest design, and safety pattern, and was forwarded yesterday from Poole’s, in London. It ought to reach her about the time when you receive this letter. A side-saddle, of the most comfortable make, accompanies the pony. I am sending the pony and saddle by a man of my own, whom I hope you will make arrangements to quarter either in your establishment or in rooms near. The man is part of the prize. He undertakes all the care of the pony, and is, of course, paid by me. His wages need not trouble you in any manner, for you, my dear sir, have nothing to do with them. I am well aware, that, delightful as ponies are, they may sometimes arrive at country houses where they are not welcome for reasons which need not be described. It would be a shabby present on my part, if I put you to any expense with regard to it. My man will provide the pony with all necessary provender, and will send me the bill monthly.“All these things, my dear sir, your daughter has earned by her most admirable conduct; and believe me, I am very much her debtor, and shall always remain so, for she has done for the dearest being on earth to me, more than money can ever repay.“Believe me, Dear Sir,—“Yours faithfully,—“Malcolm Durrant.”“Oh!” said Robina, when the long letter had come to an end.“Upon my word?” exclaimed her father.He took up the other letter. It was merely an announcement that a horse of the name of “Bo-peep” was about to be forwarded by rail from Paddington that evening, and would arrive with his groom at the nearest station to Heather House at eleven o’clock the following morning.“Why, the pony will be here in an hour!” said Mr Starling. “Dear! dear! dear! What a truly exciting, remarkable thing! Robina, monkey: what am I to make of you?”Just then, Miss Jennings came into the room.“Haven’t you done breakfast yet?” she said. “Oh, don’t make such confusion in the room, and don’t talk all of you at once.”“We have something to talk about,” said her brother-in-law. “This child—this monkey of mine, has made her mark in the world already. She has got a pony of her own.”“I have heard of it,” said Miss Jennings. “You do not intend to be such a fool as to keep it, Edward.”“Keep it? I have nothing to do with it. The pony, Bo-peep by name, arrives with his own special groom, and the groom is found food and lodging and paid wages by Mr Durrant—Malcolm Durrant, the great traveller and explorer. I have no expense whatever with the pony. He belongs to Robina, and she has won him by doing some extraordinarily kind action—what, I cannot make out. For goodness’ sake, my dear Felicia,don’tget so excited. It is my turn to say ‘don’t’ to you now. Keep out of the way, if the news is not welcome to you. The pony is coming, and we can’t prevent its coming; it will be here in no time, and the children and Robina will, if I am not greatly mistaken, spend a small part of to-day trying his paces.”“Then your two young children will be killed!” said Miss Felicia, folding her hands and standing stock-still for a minute and then preparing to leave the room.A timid laugh from Violet, and a shriek of dismay from Rose greeted this utterance. But Robina clasped Rose in her arms.“Oh, my pretty sweet!” she said. “Bo-peep won’t kill you. I will get into the side-saddle, and you shall sit in front of me, and I will put my arm round your waist, and you’ll be as steady and safe as old Time.”“As Ole Time!” echoed Rose, the tears arrested in her eyes.“There is another bit of news, and you may as well have it first as last,” said Miss Jennings’ brother-in-law. “Robina leaves us in less than a fortnight, to spend the rest of her holidays at a place called Sunshine Lodge.”“And you permit this?” said Miss Felicia.“Am I likely to refuse Malcolm Durrant?” was the response.Miss Felicia felt vanquished; for even she respected Malcolm Durrant. She left the room.
Late that night, Mr Starling returned home. He was a heavily built, rather dull looking man. He was a gentleman living on his private means, and as these means were small, and he was far too lazy to add to them, the young Starlings had to do without the good things of life.
His house was decidedly ramshackle; his grounds neglected; his stables in shocking disorder, and his one groom and factotum, Jim, sadly overworked.
Nevertheless, Edward Starling managed on the whole to enjoy life. He was fond of golf, and spent nearly all his time over this fascinating and absorbing amusement. Had Robina been willing to take up golf, he would scarcely have induced himself to send her to school; but as it was, he did so for the sake of peace of mind.
Robina was troublesome at home. She was too large and strong and determined for the invalid mother, and she was always rubbing the excellent, indefatigable aunt the wrong way. Mr Starling was, however, fond of Robina. He liked her bold, free, frank manners. He enjoyed her little tiffs with Aunt Felicia, and rather encouraged them than otherwise, and the very first thing he asked now when he entered the house was if his daughter had returned.
“Yes;” said Miss Jennings, who made it an invariable rule to sit up for her brother-in-law, however late he returned home. “Yes,” she said, yawning, “Oh, dear me, Edward! Don’t leave that muddy mark in the hall; I have such trouble getting those flags kept in order: and oh—don’t putyour pipe down there! I can’t endure the smell of smoke. I am very sorry that I am so sensitive, but neither I nor my dear sister can abide tobacco.”
Mr Starling slipped the pipe back into his pocket. “There!” said his sister-in-law, springing up. “It isn’t properly out, and will burn a hole, and then I shall have the trouble of mending it. Youwon’tconsider things, Edward. You are so thoughtless. Oh, I am the very last person to complain, but what was I saying?”
“Talking about Robina. Is she home?”
“Home?” said Miss Jennings. “Yes; thank goodness, hours ago, and in bed and asleep.”
“I can’t take a peep at her, I suppose? How is the young monkey looking?”
“Whatever you do, Edward—don’t disturb her! She is such a queer, excitable creature.”
“She is well, I suppose?”
“Yes; that is—her body is; I am by no means sure about her mind.”
“Her mind?” said Starling. “Has anything gone wrong with that?”
“You will find out for yourself when you talk to her. She certainly has the most frightful cock-and-bull stories to tell us. What an extraordinary school it must be! Robina is full of an invitation she has received from some impostor who has taken the name of the great Mr Durrant, and she also speaks of a pony arriving here to-morrow. Of course the child is dreaming, but if her lies are proved to be lies, I shall punish her severely. I am, however, just, before all things, and wait before I administer the rod. On the whole, Edward, I do not congratulate you on Robina’s return: we shall have a sorry time with her during these holidays, and so far, school has the reverse of improved her.”
“You always were doleful, Felicia,” said her brother-in-law: “but as it is close on one o’clock, I will go to my room, and consider Robina’s iniquities in the morning—that is, if you have no objection.”
“Objection?” cried Miss Jennings—“when I am just dying for my bed! You men have no heart and no consideration. Here have I been sitting up waiting for you all this long, weary time, with my eyes weighted as though there was lead on the lids, and my back bowed with aching. But much you care.”
“I wish to goodness you would go to bed, and leave me alone,” said the irate man.
“Not I;” she replied, “to have the house burgled in your absence, or set on fire when you return, with the careless way you manage that pipe of yours.”
“Well: I’m off to bed now, Felicia. If you do choose to sit up, it isn’t my fault.” And the master of the house ran upstairs three steps at a time. Even his sister-in-law’s “Don’t make so much noise” failed to impress him in any way.
He reached his bedroom, got rapidly into bed, and fell asleep chuckling over “that monkey Robina,” as he called her.
By the first post the next morning, there arrived two letters, both of immense interest to Robina. She had got up early and was, if the truth must be known, eagerly watching for the post. She saw the letters when they arrived, and had a sort of intuition that they contained news which would be of vital interest to her. But as they were addressed to her father, she could do nothing towards gratifying her curiosity until he appeared.
She was dressed that morning in one of her neat school frocks, and looked very bonny, and strong, and self-reliant. The two little sisters were eagerly clamouring round her.
“Take my hand, Wobbin. Wobbin, let’s wun acwoss garden!” cried little Rose.
“Oh, Robin! I don’t talk as badly as that,” said the more important Violet.
Robina sat down on the window-sill, and played to her heart’s content with the two. In this attitude Miss Jennings found them.
“Now, Robina—I forbid you to spoil those children. Violet don’t attempt to cry, or you shall leave the room. Rose, put on your pinafore at once, miss. Now come to the table, all three of you, and let us begin breakfast.”
Miss Jennings seated herself by the tea-tray. She littered a short grace, and then porridge was dispensed. Little Rose could not bear porridge, and at once began to whimper.
“Don’t cry!” said Miss Jennings. “If you do, you leave the room.”
“Eat up just a little bit, darling,” whispered Robina. “I have such jolly things to tell you afterwards. Has father come home?” continued Robina, fixing her eyes on her aunt’s face.
“Of course he has come home, my dear: why shouldn’t he come home?Don’t, I beg of you, Robina, ask silly questions. Your father has no other house to sleep in, therefore when he is sleepy, he comes home. He is in bed at the present moment, and goodness only knows when he will come down to breakfast.”
“Oh, I hope he will come down soon!” said Robina, “for I want him to open his letters.”
“Very impertinent and forward of you! Your father’s letters are not your concern.”
“Not always,” replied Robina, calmly, and helping herself to strawberry jam: “but those two happen to be.”
“Have you been trying to read them through the envelopes?”
“No: but I looked at the postmarks.”
Miss Jennings was silent for an awful moment. Then she said, impressively:
“Little girls; listen to me.”
The two children looked up expectantly.
“Never at any time copy the ways of your elder sister unless you wish to be whipped.”
Violet smiled rather vaguely. Rose’s little pale face grew paler. She nestled close to Robina.
“I ’uv oo, Wobbin,” she said then, in a low, tremulous whisper.
“Bravely spoken, darling,” whispered Robina back to her; and at that moment, to the relief of every one, Mr Starling entered the room.
His big presence and bright personality made a pleasing diversion.
“Hullo, monkey!” he said, the minute he saw Robina. “So you are back once more—the proverbial bad penny, eh?”
He pinched her cheek. “’Pon my word, you are looking fine! And how do you like school, monkey? and how is every bit of you? Glad to have you back: expect we’ll have some fun now.”
“Sit down, Edward, and don’t keep Robina standing any longer,” said Miss Jennings.
Mr Starling winked solemnly at his daughter, and took his seat.
“Hallo! What are these?” he said, as he saw his letters.
“They are for you, father,” said Robina, eagerly: “but I think they are about me.”
“About you, monkey! How can you know?”
“Don’t encourage her. Edward, don’t read those letters at present,” said Miss Jennings.
“Oh, please do, father,” said Robina.
“Peese, farzer, peese!” said little Rose. And “Please, father!” came in a more pronounced voice from Violet.
To the relief of everyone at that moment Miss Jennings received a hasty summons to run upstairs to her invalid sister. The moment she left the room, Mr Starling seized the first letter.
“Here goes!” he said. “When the cat’s away—now then, monkey, and you two, listen to me.”
He tore open Mr Durrant’s letter, glanced through the contents, uttered a hasty exclamation, and then proceeded to read it aloud.
“My dear Sir:—I have a very great favour to ask of you. I want to know if you will spare your dear girl, Robina, to me for the greater part of these holidays. I have just secured a charming house at Eastbourne, quite above the town, and in a comparatively country place. I don’t know what its real name is, and what is more, I don’t care; but while Robina is with us, it is to be called Sunshine Lodge. I am expecting also a number of her young school-companions to visit me. Mine will be a bachelor’s establishment, but it will be enlivened by the presence of my little boy, who is Robina’s very great friend, and whom she has managed to be uncommonly kind to. She will doubtless herself tell you the story of her friendship for my little son. In consequence of that, I have the very great pleasure of awarding to her a prize which she has most justly won. It was open to the competition of all her form, and she out of the eight girls came first in the list. My little son, Ralph, himself decided the matter. This prize is a pony which I am forwarding to your residence, Heather House. I bought it at Tattersall’s yesterday, and believe that it is a thoroughly sound and well-trained animal, accustomed to carrying a lady in the saddle. It has no tricks, and is altogether safe, and also spirited. The animal is not too large, and at the same time, not too small, so that it can be made use of not only when your little girl is still a child, but by and by, when she reaches woman’s estate. A habit has been made for her, of the newest design, and safety pattern, and was forwarded yesterday from Poole’s, in London. It ought to reach her about the time when you receive this letter. A side-saddle, of the most comfortable make, accompanies the pony. I am sending the pony and saddle by a man of my own, whom I hope you will make arrangements to quarter either in your establishment or in rooms near. The man is part of the prize. He undertakes all the care of the pony, and is, of course, paid by me. His wages need not trouble you in any manner, for you, my dear sir, have nothing to do with them. I am well aware, that, delightful as ponies are, they may sometimes arrive at country houses where they are not welcome for reasons which need not be described. It would be a shabby present on my part, if I put you to any expense with regard to it. My man will provide the pony with all necessary provender, and will send me the bill monthly.“All these things, my dear sir, your daughter has earned by her most admirable conduct; and believe me, I am very much her debtor, and shall always remain so, for she has done for the dearest being on earth to me, more than money can ever repay.“Believe me, Dear Sir,—“Yours faithfully,—“Malcolm Durrant.”
“My dear Sir:—I have a very great favour to ask of you. I want to know if you will spare your dear girl, Robina, to me for the greater part of these holidays. I have just secured a charming house at Eastbourne, quite above the town, and in a comparatively country place. I don’t know what its real name is, and what is more, I don’t care; but while Robina is with us, it is to be called Sunshine Lodge. I am expecting also a number of her young school-companions to visit me. Mine will be a bachelor’s establishment, but it will be enlivened by the presence of my little boy, who is Robina’s very great friend, and whom she has managed to be uncommonly kind to. She will doubtless herself tell you the story of her friendship for my little son. In consequence of that, I have the very great pleasure of awarding to her a prize which she has most justly won. It was open to the competition of all her form, and she out of the eight girls came first in the list. My little son, Ralph, himself decided the matter. This prize is a pony which I am forwarding to your residence, Heather House. I bought it at Tattersall’s yesterday, and believe that it is a thoroughly sound and well-trained animal, accustomed to carrying a lady in the saddle. It has no tricks, and is altogether safe, and also spirited. The animal is not too large, and at the same time, not too small, so that it can be made use of not only when your little girl is still a child, but by and by, when she reaches woman’s estate. A habit has been made for her, of the newest design, and safety pattern, and was forwarded yesterday from Poole’s, in London. It ought to reach her about the time when you receive this letter. A side-saddle, of the most comfortable make, accompanies the pony. I am sending the pony and saddle by a man of my own, whom I hope you will make arrangements to quarter either in your establishment or in rooms near. The man is part of the prize. He undertakes all the care of the pony, and is, of course, paid by me. His wages need not trouble you in any manner, for you, my dear sir, have nothing to do with them. I am well aware, that, delightful as ponies are, they may sometimes arrive at country houses where they are not welcome for reasons which need not be described. It would be a shabby present on my part, if I put you to any expense with regard to it. My man will provide the pony with all necessary provender, and will send me the bill monthly.“All these things, my dear sir, your daughter has earned by her most admirable conduct; and believe me, I am very much her debtor, and shall always remain so, for she has done for the dearest being on earth to me, more than money can ever repay.“Believe me, Dear Sir,—“Yours faithfully,—“Malcolm Durrant.”
“Oh!” said Robina, when the long letter had come to an end.
“Upon my word?” exclaimed her father.
He took up the other letter. It was merely an announcement that a horse of the name of “Bo-peep” was about to be forwarded by rail from Paddington that evening, and would arrive with his groom at the nearest station to Heather House at eleven o’clock the following morning.
“Why, the pony will be here in an hour!” said Mr Starling. “Dear! dear! dear! What a truly exciting, remarkable thing! Robina, monkey: what am I to make of you?”
Just then, Miss Jennings came into the room.
“Haven’t you done breakfast yet?” she said. “Oh, don’t make such confusion in the room, and don’t talk all of you at once.”
“We have something to talk about,” said her brother-in-law. “This child—this monkey of mine, has made her mark in the world already. She has got a pony of her own.”
“I have heard of it,” said Miss Jennings. “You do not intend to be such a fool as to keep it, Edward.”
“Keep it? I have nothing to do with it. The pony, Bo-peep by name, arrives with his own special groom, and the groom is found food and lodging and paid wages by Mr Durrant—Malcolm Durrant, the great traveller and explorer. I have no expense whatever with the pony. He belongs to Robina, and she has won him by doing some extraordinarily kind action—what, I cannot make out. For goodness’ sake, my dear Felicia,don’tget so excited. It is my turn to say ‘don’t’ to you now. Keep out of the way, if the news is not welcome to you. The pony is coming, and we can’t prevent its coming; it will be here in no time, and the children and Robina will, if I am not greatly mistaken, spend a small part of to-day trying his paces.”
“Then your two young children will be killed!” said Miss Felicia, folding her hands and standing stock-still for a minute and then preparing to leave the room.
A timid laugh from Violet, and a shriek of dismay from Rose greeted this utterance. But Robina clasped Rose in her arms.
“Oh, my pretty sweet!” she said. “Bo-peep won’t kill you. I will get into the side-saddle, and you shall sit in front of me, and I will put my arm round your waist, and you’ll be as steady and safe as old Time.”
“As Ole Time!” echoed Rose, the tears arrested in her eyes.
“There is another bit of news, and you may as well have it first as last,” said Miss Jennings’ brother-in-law. “Robina leaves us in less than a fortnight, to spend the rest of her holidays at a place called Sunshine Lodge.”
“And you permit this?” said Miss Felicia.
“Am I likely to refuse Malcolm Durrant?” was the response.
Miss Felicia felt vanquished; for even she respected Malcolm Durrant. She left the room.