Book Two—Chapter Four.

Book Two—Chapter Four.The Pony Conquers.The pony was a beauty. He was a glossy chestnut, with a white star on his forehead. He had gentle and wonderful eyes, and a way of raising his feet from the ground, which showed his high breeding. His different points were pronounced first-rate. In short, Bo-peep was a success. He took not only Robina herself, but the entire family of Starlings by storm. The very moment he arrived, he walked straight into their hearts. But his most marvellous conquest was that of Miss Felicia Jennings. That lady would not admit it for the world, but the fact was, that Malcolm Durrant was her hero of heroes. For years she had followed his career with the deepest and most absorbing interest. She had lived in his adventures; she had read every word he ever wrote; her maiden heart had thrilled through and through over his dangers and wild adventures, and, in short, she could deny nothing to the person who had so captivated her fancy.She pretended, it is true, to be snappish and disagreeable about Bo-peep; but when alone with this captivating little animal, she fed him on apples, carrots, and stroked his nose, and even said foolish nothings into his ear. Bo-peep also look a fancy to her, and trotted up to her when she came in view, and thrust his nose into her hand.Robina was not more tolerated than usual, but that was of small consequence; for Bo-peep could do what he liked with the household. The first day of his arrival passed in a sort of universal rejoicing. Robina rode him with much majesty, and a lofty expression of face. Her little sisters in turn sat before her on the side-saddle. Her friends from the nearest house came to see, wonder, and congratulate.The groom, Peter by name, was very nearly as much admired as was Bo-peep himself. Mr Starling openly announced that he had never enjoyed himself so much before. Peter was likely to prove a most valuable acquisition to the family, and the only thing that was regretted was the groom’s determination never to eat food in the kitchen.“Your tea will be always ready for you in case you wish for it,” Miss Felicia was heard to say.But Peter replied stoutly that he had his orders, and that, in fact, he had already secured for himself a room over the saddler’s shop in the village.“But suppose Bo-peep should be ill in the night,” said Miss Felicia.At this the man smiled.“’Tain’t likely, madam,” he said. “The ’oss is a strong ’oss, and when I leave him, after grooming him down and giving him his mash, he won’t want no one else to interfere with him until the morning.”Thus the arrival of Bo-peep was one of the happiest things that could have happened to Robina. The horse had, however, been two days at Heather House before Mrs Starling heard of the event. It was Robina who broke the news to her. She was busily engaged now getting ready her wardrobe for her delightful visit to Sunshine Lodge. Mrs Starling sent her a message to come to see her. The good lady was lying on a conch by the window.“Come in very gently, Robina,” she said, “and try to make as little noise as possible.”Robina advanced as quietly as she could. She sank down by her mother’s sofa, put one firm hand over the invalid’s tremulous one, and said, in a broken sort of voice:“Oh, mummy!”“Don’t be so intense, my dear; it makes my heart flutter.”“But aren’t you better, mummy dear? I have such a lot of things to talk over with you.”“I cannot bear them, Robina; that is, if they are exciting. Since you came, I don’t know how it is, but I have felt as though the whole house was in a flutter. This state of things is exceedingly bad for me, and my palpitations are much worse in consequence.”“That is because you don’t know,” said Robina. She leaned out of the window. There was a struggle in her heart. If there was one thing more than another that she pined and longed for, it was to take possession of that poor, weak, suffering, nervous mother of hers, and give her some of her own strength, some of her own life. It was one of Robina’s hidden, unspoken griefs that her mother never understood her, and that she turned away from her child to Aunt Felicia for sympathy. Now Robina thought and wondered.“Mummy,” she said, “I am going to speak in a very low voice, and you need not get a bit excited. But you see I am very happy.”“Ah, yes;” said Mrs Starling, still speaking almost in a whisper. “I understand, and I am not envious. Happiness is very far from me, but I am glad my children enjoy it—my children and my husband.”“But we want you to have it too.”“It is the will of Providence that I should lie here very weak and suffering. I must submit without a murmur,” said the invalid.“Mummy, let me talk to you. I know you sent me away to school—”“I cannot go into those things now, Robina. I did not manage it; it was your aunt.”“If Aunt Felicia were not here, you would depend on me; you know you would, mummy.”“If your aunt were not here, I should die—if I had not her to comfort me.”“Well, darling; she is here, and she does comfort you, I know; and we are glad—father and I and Violet and Rose.”“Oh, the dear little children, they are quite sweet,” said Mrs Starling: “they are never strong and individual like you, Robin.”“But I can’t help being individual, as you call it, mummy; and I am so much older than the others.”“Yes; that is it: if you could only alway’s stay a baby.”“Well, I cannot;” said Robina, losing some of her patience; “and what is more, I don’t wish to. God meant me to be strong and to have, as you call it, a personality. Now listen. I have got a pony—oh! I have such a pretty story to tell you about it, and how I won it.”“I can’t listen to any story to-day.”“Well, anyhow, it is here; and even Aunt Felicia loves Bo-peep and I want you to see him.”“Really, this is most extraordinary,” said Mrs Starling. “You have got a pony? Such a very great expense! Who bought it for you?”“Not father, mother. I won him as a prize at school. He has been sent here by a good gentleman who gave the prize, but he costs nobody else anything at all, and his name is Bo-peep: and what father and I think is this: that we might presently have a basket chair got and Bo-peep could draw you about the grounds. Then you would get better, my own mummy; and—and—I should be so happy!”Robina waited tremblingly. She wondered how her mother would take her proposal.“I am much too weak,” said the invalid, after a pause, “even to go downstairs, much less to venture outside to be drawn about by your pony. But I always was interested in horses; we had a great many at my old home; and if the pony could be brought where I could see him from this window, it would—well—gratify me. Can we manage it?”“Oh yes, yes; I will go this minute.”“Don’t rush wildly across the room and slam the door after you, I beg of you.”“Oh, no, no. I won’t leave you at all. I mean, I will just go downstairs and give directions, and come back again myself.”“Do, my dear: I am really interested in horses.” Robina came back after a minute or two, and by and by, there was a little commotion on the badly kept lawn outside the house, for Bo-peep was led forward by Peter the groom. He wore his side-saddle, and perched on his back were both little girls, who looked perfectly radiant, and who waved their hands frantically to their mother. Mr Starling stood by, so that the poor nervous woman was not afraid of any accident happening; and lo! and behold! also belonging to the group was Miss Jennings, and she held a bunch of carrots in her hand. This temptingbonne bouchewas far too much for the greedy Bo-peep, who marched boldly up to the lady, rubbing his nose against her, and requesting, as clearly as pony could speak, more and more of his favourite dainties.“What a pretty creature!” exclaimed Mrs Starling. “Really, he reminds me of my old favourite horse, Prince. How happy and strong I was—as strong as you are now, Robina—when I rode Prince.”“Shall we open the window, mummy? You will see him better then.”Robina did so, and Mrs Starling came quite close, and bent a little out of the window, and called Bo-peep once or twice in her faint voice.“Oh, don’t catch cold, dear!” screamed Miss Jennings from below.“Don’t interfere, dear?” responded Mrs Starling from above.“Isn’t he a beauty, mummy? Isn’t he a darling?” called Violet.“He’s Wobbin’s and mine too!” cried Rose, bending her little body forward, and clasping her arms round the pony’s neck.“Robina,” said her mother, turning to her, “put on your habit, go downstairs at once, and let me see you mount Bo-peep. I do hope you know how to spring properly into your saddle: I should like to see how you manage it.”Robina did manage it, and to her mother’s satisfaction. The invalid was better that evening, and the next day requested once again that Bo-peep should be brought round for inspection.And now an extraordinary thing happened: for from seeing the horse at a distance, the good lady took an unreasonable desire—at least so it seemed to Miss Jennings—to see him near: and as this could only be accomplished by coming downstairs: downstairs she came, Bo-peep was then led up to the dining-room window, and graciously received a carrot from Mrs Starling’s own hand. By and by, she too was stroking his face, and looking into his eyes, and murmuring his name in tones of the deepest affection. In short, Bo-peep was bidding fair to cure Mrs Starling.But the fortnight which Robina was to spend at home was drawing to an end, and the day was approaching when she, Bo-peep, and Peter, were to leave Heather House en route for Sunshine Lodge. Mrs Starling was unreasonable about this. She wanted Bo-peep to remain behind, and Robina was quite willing that it should be so.“I have got so much,” she said; “and mother loves my little horse, and I can think of him as a delightful creature to return to before I go back to school.”But on this occasion, it was no less a person than Miss Felicia Jennings who interfered.“No, Robina,” she said: “youdon’tdo anything of the sort. That great man, Malcolm Durrant, has given his orders, and I for one should be the very last person to have them disregarded. He wishes you to go to him. A command from him is like a command from Royalty, my child, and must not for a moment be disregarded. He wishes that precious little animal, Bo-peep, to accompany you, and the animal is to go. Your mother did without the pony for years, and can do so still. If indeed we could afford to have a little carriage made for her, I believe we could induce her to drive out daily with Bo-peep as her steed. But as your father can barely afford to pay your school expenses, that is not to be thought of. Now, my dear, you go in the morning: I trust you will behave well. By the way, you have offered to you, Robina, a marvellous chance in life. You have won the goodwill and esteem of no less a person than Malcolm Durrant. Oh! if only the chance were mine! If sometime you have the opportunity, tell him, my dear, how a dull old maid in a country house in England revels in his work, and admires his character. Tell him that, if you like; and endeavour, Robina, to keep down those faults which will very naturally, if he perceives them, turn him against you. For you are headstrong, and rough, and self-reliant, and above all things, you need the grace of humility.”“Thank you, Aunt Felicia,” said Robina. “I know you are exceedingly kind, and you mean well, but perhaps Mr Durrant understands me a little better than you do.”“Now, there you are!” said her aunt; “as impertinent as ever! Don’t—I beseech of you—make speeches of that sort to Malcolm Durrant. Now go up to your mother: she wants to see you. She thinks you are improved. I don’t; but the opinion of an old maid never signifies.”“Oh, Aunt Felicia!”

The pony was a beauty. He was a glossy chestnut, with a white star on his forehead. He had gentle and wonderful eyes, and a way of raising his feet from the ground, which showed his high breeding. His different points were pronounced first-rate. In short, Bo-peep was a success. He took not only Robina herself, but the entire family of Starlings by storm. The very moment he arrived, he walked straight into their hearts. But his most marvellous conquest was that of Miss Felicia Jennings. That lady would not admit it for the world, but the fact was, that Malcolm Durrant was her hero of heroes. For years she had followed his career with the deepest and most absorbing interest. She had lived in his adventures; she had read every word he ever wrote; her maiden heart had thrilled through and through over his dangers and wild adventures, and, in short, she could deny nothing to the person who had so captivated her fancy.

She pretended, it is true, to be snappish and disagreeable about Bo-peep; but when alone with this captivating little animal, she fed him on apples, carrots, and stroked his nose, and even said foolish nothings into his ear. Bo-peep also look a fancy to her, and trotted up to her when she came in view, and thrust his nose into her hand.

Robina was not more tolerated than usual, but that was of small consequence; for Bo-peep could do what he liked with the household. The first day of his arrival passed in a sort of universal rejoicing. Robina rode him with much majesty, and a lofty expression of face. Her little sisters in turn sat before her on the side-saddle. Her friends from the nearest house came to see, wonder, and congratulate.

The groom, Peter by name, was very nearly as much admired as was Bo-peep himself. Mr Starling openly announced that he had never enjoyed himself so much before. Peter was likely to prove a most valuable acquisition to the family, and the only thing that was regretted was the groom’s determination never to eat food in the kitchen.

“Your tea will be always ready for you in case you wish for it,” Miss Felicia was heard to say.

But Peter replied stoutly that he had his orders, and that, in fact, he had already secured for himself a room over the saddler’s shop in the village.

“But suppose Bo-peep should be ill in the night,” said Miss Felicia.

At this the man smiled.

“’Tain’t likely, madam,” he said. “The ’oss is a strong ’oss, and when I leave him, after grooming him down and giving him his mash, he won’t want no one else to interfere with him until the morning.”

Thus the arrival of Bo-peep was one of the happiest things that could have happened to Robina. The horse had, however, been two days at Heather House before Mrs Starling heard of the event. It was Robina who broke the news to her. She was busily engaged now getting ready her wardrobe for her delightful visit to Sunshine Lodge. Mrs Starling sent her a message to come to see her. The good lady was lying on a conch by the window.

“Come in very gently, Robina,” she said, “and try to make as little noise as possible.”

Robina advanced as quietly as she could. She sank down by her mother’s sofa, put one firm hand over the invalid’s tremulous one, and said, in a broken sort of voice:

“Oh, mummy!”

“Don’t be so intense, my dear; it makes my heart flutter.”

“But aren’t you better, mummy dear? I have such a lot of things to talk over with you.”

“I cannot bear them, Robina; that is, if they are exciting. Since you came, I don’t know how it is, but I have felt as though the whole house was in a flutter. This state of things is exceedingly bad for me, and my palpitations are much worse in consequence.”

“That is because you don’t know,” said Robina. She leaned out of the window. There was a struggle in her heart. If there was one thing more than another that she pined and longed for, it was to take possession of that poor, weak, suffering, nervous mother of hers, and give her some of her own strength, some of her own life. It was one of Robina’s hidden, unspoken griefs that her mother never understood her, and that she turned away from her child to Aunt Felicia for sympathy. Now Robina thought and wondered.

“Mummy,” she said, “I am going to speak in a very low voice, and you need not get a bit excited. But you see I am very happy.”

“Ah, yes;” said Mrs Starling, still speaking almost in a whisper. “I understand, and I am not envious. Happiness is very far from me, but I am glad my children enjoy it—my children and my husband.”

“But we want you to have it too.”

“It is the will of Providence that I should lie here very weak and suffering. I must submit without a murmur,” said the invalid.

“Mummy, let me talk to you. I know you sent me away to school—”

“I cannot go into those things now, Robina. I did not manage it; it was your aunt.”

“If Aunt Felicia were not here, you would depend on me; you know you would, mummy.”

“If your aunt were not here, I should die—if I had not her to comfort me.”

“Well, darling; she is here, and she does comfort you, I know; and we are glad—father and I and Violet and Rose.”

“Oh, the dear little children, they are quite sweet,” said Mrs Starling: “they are never strong and individual like you, Robin.”

“But I can’t help being individual, as you call it, mummy; and I am so much older than the others.”

“Yes; that is it: if you could only alway’s stay a baby.”

“Well, I cannot;” said Robina, losing some of her patience; “and what is more, I don’t wish to. God meant me to be strong and to have, as you call it, a personality. Now listen. I have got a pony—oh! I have such a pretty story to tell you about it, and how I won it.”

“I can’t listen to any story to-day.”

“Well, anyhow, it is here; and even Aunt Felicia loves Bo-peep and I want you to see him.”

“Really, this is most extraordinary,” said Mrs Starling. “You have got a pony? Such a very great expense! Who bought it for you?”

“Not father, mother. I won him as a prize at school. He has been sent here by a good gentleman who gave the prize, but he costs nobody else anything at all, and his name is Bo-peep: and what father and I think is this: that we might presently have a basket chair got and Bo-peep could draw you about the grounds. Then you would get better, my own mummy; and—and—I should be so happy!”

Robina waited tremblingly. She wondered how her mother would take her proposal.

“I am much too weak,” said the invalid, after a pause, “even to go downstairs, much less to venture outside to be drawn about by your pony. But I always was interested in horses; we had a great many at my old home; and if the pony could be brought where I could see him from this window, it would—well—gratify me. Can we manage it?”

“Oh yes, yes; I will go this minute.”

“Don’t rush wildly across the room and slam the door after you, I beg of you.”

“Oh, no, no. I won’t leave you at all. I mean, I will just go downstairs and give directions, and come back again myself.”

“Do, my dear: I am really interested in horses.” Robina came back after a minute or two, and by and by, there was a little commotion on the badly kept lawn outside the house, for Bo-peep was led forward by Peter the groom. He wore his side-saddle, and perched on his back were both little girls, who looked perfectly radiant, and who waved their hands frantically to their mother. Mr Starling stood by, so that the poor nervous woman was not afraid of any accident happening; and lo! and behold! also belonging to the group was Miss Jennings, and she held a bunch of carrots in her hand. This temptingbonne bouchewas far too much for the greedy Bo-peep, who marched boldly up to the lady, rubbing his nose against her, and requesting, as clearly as pony could speak, more and more of his favourite dainties.

“What a pretty creature!” exclaimed Mrs Starling. “Really, he reminds me of my old favourite horse, Prince. How happy and strong I was—as strong as you are now, Robina—when I rode Prince.”

“Shall we open the window, mummy? You will see him better then.”

Robina did so, and Mrs Starling came quite close, and bent a little out of the window, and called Bo-peep once or twice in her faint voice.

“Oh, don’t catch cold, dear!” screamed Miss Jennings from below.

“Don’t interfere, dear?” responded Mrs Starling from above.

“Isn’t he a beauty, mummy? Isn’t he a darling?” called Violet.

“He’s Wobbin’s and mine too!” cried Rose, bending her little body forward, and clasping her arms round the pony’s neck.

“Robina,” said her mother, turning to her, “put on your habit, go downstairs at once, and let me see you mount Bo-peep. I do hope you know how to spring properly into your saddle: I should like to see how you manage it.”

Robina did manage it, and to her mother’s satisfaction. The invalid was better that evening, and the next day requested once again that Bo-peep should be brought round for inspection.

And now an extraordinary thing happened: for from seeing the horse at a distance, the good lady took an unreasonable desire—at least so it seemed to Miss Jennings—to see him near: and as this could only be accomplished by coming downstairs: downstairs she came, Bo-peep was then led up to the dining-room window, and graciously received a carrot from Mrs Starling’s own hand. By and by, she too was stroking his face, and looking into his eyes, and murmuring his name in tones of the deepest affection. In short, Bo-peep was bidding fair to cure Mrs Starling.

But the fortnight which Robina was to spend at home was drawing to an end, and the day was approaching when she, Bo-peep, and Peter, were to leave Heather House en route for Sunshine Lodge. Mrs Starling was unreasonable about this. She wanted Bo-peep to remain behind, and Robina was quite willing that it should be so.

“I have got so much,” she said; “and mother loves my little horse, and I can think of him as a delightful creature to return to before I go back to school.”

But on this occasion, it was no less a person than Miss Felicia Jennings who interfered.

“No, Robina,” she said: “youdon’tdo anything of the sort. That great man, Malcolm Durrant, has given his orders, and I for one should be the very last person to have them disregarded. He wishes you to go to him. A command from him is like a command from Royalty, my child, and must not for a moment be disregarded. He wishes that precious little animal, Bo-peep, to accompany you, and the animal is to go. Your mother did without the pony for years, and can do so still. If indeed we could afford to have a little carriage made for her, I believe we could induce her to drive out daily with Bo-peep as her steed. But as your father can barely afford to pay your school expenses, that is not to be thought of. Now, my dear, you go in the morning: I trust you will behave well. By the way, you have offered to you, Robina, a marvellous chance in life. You have won the goodwill and esteem of no less a person than Malcolm Durrant. Oh! if only the chance were mine! If sometime you have the opportunity, tell him, my dear, how a dull old maid in a country house in England revels in his work, and admires his character. Tell him that, if you like; and endeavour, Robina, to keep down those faults which will very naturally, if he perceives them, turn him against you. For you are headstrong, and rough, and self-reliant, and above all things, you need the grace of humility.”

“Thank you, Aunt Felicia,” said Robina. “I know you are exceedingly kind, and you mean well, but perhaps Mr Durrant understands me a little better than you do.”

“Now, there you are!” said her aunt; “as impertinent as ever! Don’t—I beseech of you—make speeches of that sort to Malcolm Durrant. Now go up to your mother: she wants to see you. She thinks you are improved. I don’t; but the opinion of an old maid never signifies.”

“Oh, Aunt Felicia!”

Book Two—Chapter Five.Harriet’s Jealousy is Rekindled.It is all very well for a little girl to repent as Harriet Lane repented on that night when she followed Ralph to the gipsies’ hiding-place. Such repentances make a deep impression in life. They are never, as a rule, forgotten. They influence the character, and if they are followed by earnest resolve and patient determination to conquer in the battle, they in the end lead to victory. But let no one suppose who reads this story that a girl with such a nature as Harriet possessed could easily overcome her various faults. It is true she was now really attached to Ralph. She had never cared for a little child before; but there was something about Ralph that won her heart. At the same time this very affection of hers for the little boy added to her feelings of dislike and envy towards Robina. In her first agony of remorse for what she had done; in her terror with regard to little Ralph, and her fear that he was lost to her and to all her friends forever, she even thought gently and kindly of Robina. When Robina was made Ralph’s school-mother, and when she obtained the pony as her prize, Harriet submitted to her fate. Nevertheless, the thought of Robina rankled in her mind, and when the little girls met at Sunshine Lodge, it was Robina who was the first thorn in Harriet’s side.Outwardly, it would have been impossible to find a merrier group than those eight girls when they arrived in a waggonette at Sunshine Lodge. Ample preparations had been made for their welcome. Arches of evergreen and flowers were put up over the gates and along the avenue; and over the front door “Welcome, Welcome” appeared in letters of flowers. In every direction smiling faces were to be seen—smiling faces at the lodge gates, smiling faces at the front door; and Mr Durrant, strong, self-reliant, holding Ralph by the hand, was the most delightful sight of all.“Now, my children, you have come,” he said. “Ralph, greet all your little mothers. Ralph, my son, do the honours of the occasion. There are servants, my children, to show you to your rooms. We shall meet at tea-time. You will be best alone with Ralph for the time being.”“Oh, my naughty, naughty, darling school-mother!” cried Ralph, flinging himself into Harriet’s arms. He did go to her first, he did cling round her neck, he did press his kisses to her thin cheek. Before anyone else, he was hers; her heart swelled with triumph. But the next minute, it sank with a feeling of ugly jealousy; for was not his clasp still tighter round Robina’s neck, and did he not whisper something into Robina’s ear, and did not Robina flush with pleasure? The other mothers also came in for a share of his rapture: but Harriet, keen to notice and observe, felt that notwithstanding the fact that he had come to her first of all, Robina must be his favourite.The first couple of hours, however, spent at Sunshine Lodge were too brilliantly, intoxicatingly happy for even jealousy to find much scope. Harriet was hurried along with her companions from one room to another, from one point of enjoyment to another.When they had examined the house and expressed themselves satisfied with their sweet little bedrooms, and when they had glanced at the tea-table, and observed the numbers of cakes which it contained, and the vast piles of bread and butter and the dishes full of jam and the plates of fruit and the combs of honey, and all the other imaginable good things that go to make up that meal of all meals—an English nursery tea, they were hurried off to the stables.Here were donkeys; donkeys enough for each girl to select one as her special property; and here was Bo-peep, and Ralph’s own lovely little pony, Bluefeather. Bluefeather was black as ink, and was only called blue because Ralph liked the colour, and because the pony’s mane was so thick and strong and waved so in the wind.Now at the sight of Bo-peep and Bluefeather standing side by side and eyeing each other with considerable appreciation, Harriet’s smouldering jealousy woke into a fierce flame. She felt a sudden sense almost of sickness stealing over her. Jane Bush was standing not far off.“Come, Janie,” she said, all of a sudden, speaking harshly and with something of her old tone. “I am tired of looking at stupid donkeys; I don’t want to choose my donkey this evening; come and let us take a walk all by ourselves before we have to go in to tea.”“I say,” called Ralph, “naughty school-mother, we are going to tea almost immediately.”“Well, you can call me when you are ready for me,” said Harriet, “I shan’t be far away.”She tugged at Jane’s arm. Now Jane was not in the least jealous; she was charmed to possess a donkey. A pony was, of course, preferable, but to have a donkey all her own to call any name she liked for the whole of the rest of the holidays was quite enough to fill her heart with rejoicing.“I shall call mine Thistle,” she said. “Don’t you think that is a good name, Harriet?”“Oh, I am sure I don’t care,” said Harriet. “Call it Thistle or Nettle, or anything else you fancy; I am not interested in donkeys.”“Well, I am,” said Jane, a little stoutly. “Why should we go away, Harriet?”“Aren’t you going to be friends with me any more, Jane?”“Of course, only I thought—”“Oh,yourthoughts! as if they signified,” said Harriet. “Look here, Jane; do let’s walk up and down in front of the house. Ofcoursewe’re going to have a jolly time; but I want to have a little chat with you, with you—my old, my oldest friend—all by ourselves.”“Oh, well,” said Jane, mollified at once, “if you are going to make me your friend, like we used to be before that dreadful day when Ralph ran away, of course I shall be glad. But I thought you were quite changed, that you were the good-girl-for-evermore sort. You know you did repent—everyone in the school knew it, and on the whole, I was glad, although you gave me up.”While Jane was speaking, the two girls had left the yard, and had entered a little bowery path which led round to the left side of the house. Here they could be seen from the house, but could not be heard. Harriet looked full at Jane when they found themselves in this bowery retreat.“Look here,” she said, “I must out with it.”“Well?” said Jane, expectantly. Jane looked stouter and rounder and broader than ever. “Well?” she repeated, fixing her black eyes on Harriet’s face.“I am not a good-for-evermore sort of girl,” said Harriet. Then she stood very still, and waited for Jane to reply.Jane could not tell at that moment whether she was most glad or sorry. Harriet had always rather frightened her, and since the date of Harriet’s repentance she, Jane, had had what might be expressed as a very good and comfortable time. She had got into no scrapes, she had had of course no adventures; but then she had worked at her studies, and had made such admirable progress that she even won a small prize at the break-up.Nevertheless, Jane had her own little jealousies, and although they were not so marked as Harriet’s—for her character was nothing like as strong as the character of her friend—they did rankle in her breast. To be even the one confidante of the naughty girl of the third form was better than to be no one’s confidante at all; and from the moment of Harriet’s repentance, Jane had been feeling very safe, but just a little dull, and just a tiny bit forsaken. Now, therefore, to receive the old confidence back again, to notice the daring look in Harriet’s light blue eyes, and to hear the old ring in her voice, awoke a certain very naughty pleasure in Jane.“Oh well,” she said; “I thought your good fit couldn’t last forever. But what is it now?”“I am just madly jealous of that Robina,” whispered Harriet.“Oh,” said Jane; “it’s the old thing! But why can’t you leave poor Robina alone?”“I can’t: she has got Bo-peep.”“Well; of course she has,” said Jane. “You knew quite well she would get Bo-peep from the moment that you made such a mess of things with poor little Ralph, and he was handed over to Robina to mother him. That is no news, surely you ought to have got over that by now.”“I ought; but I haven’t,” said Harriet; “so where’s the good of ‘oughting’ me about it?”“I see you are the same as ever,” said Jane in a low tone in which satisfaction and perplexity were mingled.“I am,” said Harriet, “and what is more, if they think I am going to ride one of those horrid donkeys, they are very much mistaken. You can mount on your Thistle, or your Nettle all by yourself, as far as I am concerned. If I can’t have a pony like Bo-peep or Bluefeather, I shan’t ride at all.”“Oh, Harriet; you will make us all so unhappy, and it will look so bad, and dear Mr Durrant won’t like it.”“Dear Mr Durrant!” echoed Harriet in a tone of great contempt. “He ought not to expect a girl like me to ride a donkey; it is a sort of reproach to me, that it is!”“Oh, Harriet! I never knew anyone quite so kind as Mr Durrant; and then you will vex little Ralph; think of that; you do love Ralph.”“Yes,” said Harriet, thoughtfully. “On the whole, I love him very much. I never cared for a little boy before; he is quite the nicest child I have ever come across, but there are some things even about him that I cannot bear. I want him to stop calling me his naughty school-mother. It is like for ever and for ever bringing up my little adventure with him. I am going to speak to him about that. He shan’t go on with it; I mean to put a stop to it.”“Oh, but he does it so innocently,” said Jane.“It vexes me,” interrupted Harriet, “and he shan’t go on with it. Then I do want him not to show such a marked preference for Robina when I am by. I wish—I do wish—”“What?” said Jane.“That I could yet get him really to love me best. The fact is this, Janie. I don’t like Robina one little scrap more than I ever liked her; and if I could open Ralph’s eyes, and get him to see that she is not a bit nice really; why—that would be something worth living for.”“I don’t know how you are to manage it,” said Jane; “and I think,” she added, “even if you could do it, it would be a very horrid thing to do.”“Oh! what a goody you are turning into!” was Harriet’s response. “Well, I am going to put my wits in soak; I generally think out a way when I have pondered it long enough. Oh, trust me, Janie; and all I want from you is this—”“What?” asked Janie.“Your help when the time comes.”“Oh, dear!” said Jane. “That means something wicked!”“You have a nice opinion of me, Jane.”“But it does, doesn’t it?” said Jane. “I cannot tell you how mean I felt when I had to praise you all day long that day when I was Ralph’s school-mother. I got positively sick of the feeling: I don’t want to have to do that again.”“You won’t,” said Harriet. “It will be something quite different now. But there’s the tea-bell, and I am hungry. I am so thankful that we need not stand any longer in that yard looking at those hideous donkeys. Let us run to the house; let’s see who’ll be there first!”The tea was quite as delightful as healthy appetites and cheerful faces round the board, and merry laughter and gay young voices could make it. Mr Durrant himself was present at the tea-table, but he did not preside. It was Robina who on this occasion was given the position of tea-maker.“I am going to be fed and petted and fussed over,” said Mr Durrant. “I say, you eight little mothers, you have got to mother me a bit; you have got to keep my plate well supplied. I have a ravening wolf inside me, and he must be well fed. I am good for any amount of cakes, and jam, and bread and butter; so see you feed me. Don’t keep me waiting an instant when my plate gets empty; and I am a whale on tea, I can tell you; cup after cup I shall want. The little mothers must keep me going with fresh cups of tea. Yes, Robina shall preside to-day—she is the good school-mother—and Harriet to-morrow, and so on, and so on. Now then, let us fall into place. Ralph, my son, take the lead; you are the gentleman of the house on this occasion.”

It is all very well for a little girl to repent as Harriet Lane repented on that night when she followed Ralph to the gipsies’ hiding-place. Such repentances make a deep impression in life. They are never, as a rule, forgotten. They influence the character, and if they are followed by earnest resolve and patient determination to conquer in the battle, they in the end lead to victory. But let no one suppose who reads this story that a girl with such a nature as Harriet possessed could easily overcome her various faults. It is true she was now really attached to Ralph. She had never cared for a little child before; but there was something about Ralph that won her heart. At the same time this very affection of hers for the little boy added to her feelings of dislike and envy towards Robina. In her first agony of remorse for what she had done; in her terror with regard to little Ralph, and her fear that he was lost to her and to all her friends forever, she even thought gently and kindly of Robina. When Robina was made Ralph’s school-mother, and when she obtained the pony as her prize, Harriet submitted to her fate. Nevertheless, the thought of Robina rankled in her mind, and when the little girls met at Sunshine Lodge, it was Robina who was the first thorn in Harriet’s side.

Outwardly, it would have been impossible to find a merrier group than those eight girls when they arrived in a waggonette at Sunshine Lodge. Ample preparations had been made for their welcome. Arches of evergreen and flowers were put up over the gates and along the avenue; and over the front door “Welcome, Welcome” appeared in letters of flowers. In every direction smiling faces were to be seen—smiling faces at the lodge gates, smiling faces at the front door; and Mr Durrant, strong, self-reliant, holding Ralph by the hand, was the most delightful sight of all.

“Now, my children, you have come,” he said. “Ralph, greet all your little mothers. Ralph, my son, do the honours of the occasion. There are servants, my children, to show you to your rooms. We shall meet at tea-time. You will be best alone with Ralph for the time being.”

“Oh, my naughty, naughty, darling school-mother!” cried Ralph, flinging himself into Harriet’s arms. He did go to her first, he did cling round her neck, he did press his kisses to her thin cheek. Before anyone else, he was hers; her heart swelled with triumph. But the next minute, it sank with a feeling of ugly jealousy; for was not his clasp still tighter round Robina’s neck, and did he not whisper something into Robina’s ear, and did not Robina flush with pleasure? The other mothers also came in for a share of his rapture: but Harriet, keen to notice and observe, felt that notwithstanding the fact that he had come to her first of all, Robina must be his favourite.

The first couple of hours, however, spent at Sunshine Lodge were too brilliantly, intoxicatingly happy for even jealousy to find much scope. Harriet was hurried along with her companions from one room to another, from one point of enjoyment to another.

When they had examined the house and expressed themselves satisfied with their sweet little bedrooms, and when they had glanced at the tea-table, and observed the numbers of cakes which it contained, and the vast piles of bread and butter and the dishes full of jam and the plates of fruit and the combs of honey, and all the other imaginable good things that go to make up that meal of all meals—an English nursery tea, they were hurried off to the stables.

Here were donkeys; donkeys enough for each girl to select one as her special property; and here was Bo-peep, and Ralph’s own lovely little pony, Bluefeather. Bluefeather was black as ink, and was only called blue because Ralph liked the colour, and because the pony’s mane was so thick and strong and waved so in the wind.

Now at the sight of Bo-peep and Bluefeather standing side by side and eyeing each other with considerable appreciation, Harriet’s smouldering jealousy woke into a fierce flame. She felt a sudden sense almost of sickness stealing over her. Jane Bush was standing not far off.

“Come, Janie,” she said, all of a sudden, speaking harshly and with something of her old tone. “I am tired of looking at stupid donkeys; I don’t want to choose my donkey this evening; come and let us take a walk all by ourselves before we have to go in to tea.”

“I say,” called Ralph, “naughty school-mother, we are going to tea almost immediately.”

“Well, you can call me when you are ready for me,” said Harriet, “I shan’t be far away.”

She tugged at Jane’s arm. Now Jane was not in the least jealous; she was charmed to possess a donkey. A pony was, of course, preferable, but to have a donkey all her own to call any name she liked for the whole of the rest of the holidays was quite enough to fill her heart with rejoicing.

“I shall call mine Thistle,” she said. “Don’t you think that is a good name, Harriet?”

“Oh, I am sure I don’t care,” said Harriet. “Call it Thistle or Nettle, or anything else you fancy; I am not interested in donkeys.”

“Well, I am,” said Jane, a little stoutly. “Why should we go away, Harriet?”

“Aren’t you going to be friends with me any more, Jane?”

“Of course, only I thought—”

“Oh,yourthoughts! as if they signified,” said Harriet. “Look here, Jane; do let’s walk up and down in front of the house. Ofcoursewe’re going to have a jolly time; but I want to have a little chat with you, with you—my old, my oldest friend—all by ourselves.”

“Oh, well,” said Jane, mollified at once, “if you are going to make me your friend, like we used to be before that dreadful day when Ralph ran away, of course I shall be glad. But I thought you were quite changed, that you were the good-girl-for-evermore sort. You know you did repent—everyone in the school knew it, and on the whole, I was glad, although you gave me up.”

While Jane was speaking, the two girls had left the yard, and had entered a little bowery path which led round to the left side of the house. Here they could be seen from the house, but could not be heard. Harriet looked full at Jane when they found themselves in this bowery retreat.

“Look here,” she said, “I must out with it.”

“Well?” said Jane, expectantly. Jane looked stouter and rounder and broader than ever. “Well?” she repeated, fixing her black eyes on Harriet’s face.

“I am not a good-for-evermore sort of girl,” said Harriet. Then she stood very still, and waited for Jane to reply.

Jane could not tell at that moment whether she was most glad or sorry. Harriet had always rather frightened her, and since the date of Harriet’s repentance she, Jane, had had what might be expressed as a very good and comfortable time. She had got into no scrapes, she had had of course no adventures; but then she had worked at her studies, and had made such admirable progress that she even won a small prize at the break-up.

Nevertheless, Jane had her own little jealousies, and although they were not so marked as Harriet’s—for her character was nothing like as strong as the character of her friend—they did rankle in her breast. To be even the one confidante of the naughty girl of the third form was better than to be no one’s confidante at all; and from the moment of Harriet’s repentance, Jane had been feeling very safe, but just a little dull, and just a tiny bit forsaken. Now, therefore, to receive the old confidence back again, to notice the daring look in Harriet’s light blue eyes, and to hear the old ring in her voice, awoke a certain very naughty pleasure in Jane.

“Oh well,” she said; “I thought your good fit couldn’t last forever. But what is it now?”

“I am just madly jealous of that Robina,” whispered Harriet.

“Oh,” said Jane; “it’s the old thing! But why can’t you leave poor Robina alone?”

“I can’t: she has got Bo-peep.”

“Well; of course she has,” said Jane. “You knew quite well she would get Bo-peep from the moment that you made such a mess of things with poor little Ralph, and he was handed over to Robina to mother him. That is no news, surely you ought to have got over that by now.”

“I ought; but I haven’t,” said Harriet; “so where’s the good of ‘oughting’ me about it?”

“I see you are the same as ever,” said Jane in a low tone in which satisfaction and perplexity were mingled.

“I am,” said Harriet, “and what is more, if they think I am going to ride one of those horrid donkeys, they are very much mistaken. You can mount on your Thistle, or your Nettle all by yourself, as far as I am concerned. If I can’t have a pony like Bo-peep or Bluefeather, I shan’t ride at all.”

“Oh, Harriet; you will make us all so unhappy, and it will look so bad, and dear Mr Durrant won’t like it.”

“Dear Mr Durrant!” echoed Harriet in a tone of great contempt. “He ought not to expect a girl like me to ride a donkey; it is a sort of reproach to me, that it is!”

“Oh, Harriet! I never knew anyone quite so kind as Mr Durrant; and then you will vex little Ralph; think of that; you do love Ralph.”

“Yes,” said Harriet, thoughtfully. “On the whole, I love him very much. I never cared for a little boy before; he is quite the nicest child I have ever come across, but there are some things even about him that I cannot bear. I want him to stop calling me his naughty school-mother. It is like for ever and for ever bringing up my little adventure with him. I am going to speak to him about that. He shan’t go on with it; I mean to put a stop to it.”

“Oh, but he does it so innocently,” said Jane.

“It vexes me,” interrupted Harriet, “and he shan’t go on with it. Then I do want him not to show such a marked preference for Robina when I am by. I wish—I do wish—”

“What?” said Jane.

“That I could yet get him really to love me best. The fact is this, Janie. I don’t like Robina one little scrap more than I ever liked her; and if I could open Ralph’s eyes, and get him to see that she is not a bit nice really; why—that would be something worth living for.”

“I don’t know how you are to manage it,” said Jane; “and I think,” she added, “even if you could do it, it would be a very horrid thing to do.”

“Oh! what a goody you are turning into!” was Harriet’s response. “Well, I am going to put my wits in soak; I generally think out a way when I have pondered it long enough. Oh, trust me, Janie; and all I want from you is this—”

“What?” asked Janie.

“Your help when the time comes.”

“Oh, dear!” said Jane. “That means something wicked!”

“You have a nice opinion of me, Jane.”

“But it does, doesn’t it?” said Jane. “I cannot tell you how mean I felt when I had to praise you all day long that day when I was Ralph’s school-mother. I got positively sick of the feeling: I don’t want to have to do that again.”

“You won’t,” said Harriet. “It will be something quite different now. But there’s the tea-bell, and I am hungry. I am so thankful that we need not stand any longer in that yard looking at those hideous donkeys. Let us run to the house; let’s see who’ll be there first!”

The tea was quite as delightful as healthy appetites and cheerful faces round the board, and merry laughter and gay young voices could make it. Mr Durrant himself was present at the tea-table, but he did not preside. It was Robina who on this occasion was given the position of tea-maker.

“I am going to be fed and petted and fussed over,” said Mr Durrant. “I say, you eight little mothers, you have got to mother me a bit; you have got to keep my plate well supplied. I have a ravening wolf inside me, and he must be well fed. I am good for any amount of cakes, and jam, and bread and butter; so see you feed me. Don’t keep me waiting an instant when my plate gets empty; and I am a whale on tea, I can tell you; cup after cup I shall want. The little mothers must keep me going with fresh cups of tea. Yes, Robina shall preside to-day—she is the good school-mother—and Harriet to-morrow, and so on, and so on. Now then, let us fall into place. Ralph, my son, take the lead; you are the gentleman of the house on this occasion.”

Book Two—Chapter Six.An Eventful Morning.The tea came to an end without any special adventure and afterwards the children disported themselves to their hearts’ content in the gardens.The gardens were very extensive. There were paddocks and lawns, and running streams where some of the little mothers declared they could see tiny minnows and other minute fish darting about; and there was a round pond with water-lilies on it and there were many swings, and hammocks in the trees. Besides these delights, there were walled-in fruit gardens, and great glass-houses inside which grew those rarest and most fascinating flowers, orchids.The children were allowed to explore all the houses on condition that they picked nothing and invariably shut the doors behind them. They all had a great deal to see and to talk over, and even Harriet forgot her jealousy and laughed and joked with the others. Bed-time came all too soon. Eight sleepy little girls went up to their different rooms and laid their heads on their pillow’s, and fell sound asleep, and eight very happy little girls, thoroughly refreshed and full of joyful anticipation, awoke on the following morning.They awoke to the fact that the sun was shining, that the sky was blue, and that the sea in the distance was one dazzling blaze of sparkling waves and exquisite colour.At breakfast-time, Mr Durrant arranged that the entire party should ride down to the beach, where those who wished could bathe, and those who did not could play on the sands until it was time for early dinner. Dinner was to be at one o’clock, and this was to be followed by a long drive, which was to terminate in a vast picnic tea, where real tea was to be made, and cakes, bread and butter and other things consumed. The party were to return to Sunshine Lodge rather late, and then Mr Durrant would amuse them with a marvellous magic lantern which he possessed, and would show them, as he expressed it, some of his adventures in South Africa.“Father doesn’t often do that sort of thing,” whispered Ralph to his school-mother Robina. “He doesn’t even like to talk ’bout his ’ventures, ’cept when he’s special pleased. So you’re all in good luck, I can tell you.”“Oh, we are just too happy for anything!” said Robina.“Now then, children,” called Mr Durrant’s voice from the other end of the table; “if you have had sufficient breakfast, will you disperse, please, and shall we all meet in the porch in a quarter of an hour? Our different steeds will be waiting for us, and we can each mount and ride away.”It was at this moment that Jane cast a fearful, half-admiring, half-beseeching glance at Harriet. Now but for this glance of Jane’s it is quite possible that Harriet might have thought better of her conversation of the previous day, and might have even mounted on her donkey’s back and ridden off, a happy, laughing child to the sea-shore. Harriet adored the sea, having been brought up there when quite a little child. She could bathe; and swim like a little fish; and it did dart through her mind how very superior she would be to her companions when she was swimming about and they had to content themselves with simply ducking up and down in the water. Mr Durrant would be sure to admire her when he saw what a good swimmer she was. Harriet craved more for admiration than for anything else in the world. But now that look of Jane’s recalled her to her remark of the previous evening.She had vowed that nothing would induce her to mount a donkey. At any sacrifice, therefore, she must keep her word. If Jane thought little of her, the world would indeed be coming to an end.Accordingly, she sat very still, munching her bread and butter slowly, and looking straight before her. Robina, on the other hand, was in great excitement. She talked openly and, as Harriet said to herself, in the most abominable taste, of the delicious ride she would have on Bo-peep’s back to the sea-shore.“You will ride with me on Bluefeather; won’t you, Ralph?” she said to the little boy.“In course I will!” he said.In his white drill sailor-suit Ralph made the most lovely little picture. Harriet looked up at that moment, and caught his eye. Ralph, quick to perceive when anyone was in trouble, immediately left Robina, and flew to Harriet’s side.“What can I do for you, naughty school-mother?” he said.“Look here, Ralph; I won’t be called by that name,” said Harriet. “I dislike it very much. If you think me naughty, you ought not to speak to me.”“Oh—I—I love you!” said Ralph.“Then show it in some less unpleasant way,” said Harriet, who now that she had given tongue to some of her grievance, flew in a regular passion; “and,” she added, rising as she spoke, “I don’t know what the rest of you mean to do, but I shan’t ride this morning. I don’t like riding donkeys, so that’s all about it.” She got up and marched from the room. Mr Durrant had already gone. The eyes of the rest of the school-mothers followed her, and Jane’s face grew first white and then pink.“Oh Jane,” said Robina, the minute Harriet had gone, “whatisthe matter now? I am sure I don’t mind riding one of the donkeys and Harriet can have Bo-peep. Do run after her and tell her so; do, please, Jane. It’ll spoil all our fun if she doesn’t come down; please get her to come.”“But,” said Ralph, “I know father will want you to ride Bo-peep, Robina; for he said so last night. He said he had not seen you yet on Bo-peep, and he was ever so anxious to, and ’sides—your habit wouldn’t fit Harriet: Harriet is much thinner than you.”“Yes; I never thought of that,” replied Robina. “Well, I do wish she wouldn’t be so troublesome. Shall I go and find her, and try and bring her round to a proper sense of things; it is too hard that she should spoil all the fun.”“No, don’t; there is no use in it,” said Jane.“But I will,” said Robina; “she must not be so inconsiderate. Think what dear Mr Durrant will say. Ralph, my darling, come with me and coax poor Harriet. You know she loves you very much.”“Yes; let’s coax her,” said Ralph.He took Robina’s hand and they left the dining-room. As they were going upstairs Ralph said, still clinging hard to Robina’s hand:“I love Harriet, but I love you much, much,muchthe best.”“Love us both,” said Robina, “and don’t say which of us you love best.”“Oh, I can’t help it,” said Ralph. “Harriet’s nice sometimes, but you are nice always, and I am very glad you have got Bo-peep.”“Well, we must do our very best to make Harriet come with us to-day,” said Robina, and she knocked as she spoke at that young lady’s door.A sulky voice from within murmured something, and Robina opened the door. Harriet was standing with her back to the door. She was pretending to gaze out of the window. When the knock came, she imagined that it was Jane, coming to expostulate with her. Had this happened, she would probably have given vent to her feelings in no measured language; but when she turned and saw Robina, the smouldering fire in her breast rose to white heat.“Go away!” she said, just glancing at Robina and Ralph and then resuming her position with her back to them. “I am busy at present: go away.”“You aren’t busy, Harriet,” said Ralph, laughing; “why, you’re doing nothing at all.”“Yes I am; I am thinking; go away, both of you, I don’t wish to talk to you.”“Oh, Harriet!” said Ralph. There was a cry of pain in his voice, and just for a minute Harriet’s resolve to be intensely disagreeable wavered; but Robina’s voice recalled her to her worst self.“Ralph, I must!” she whispered. Then she said aloud: “I do want you to ride Bo-peep this morning, Harriet. And you can easily wear my habit, although it may be a little big for you. Please, Harriet, do come downstairs and be nice and jolly with us all. You shall ride Bo-peep, and I will ride whichever donkey you have selected. I love riding a donkey, it is such fun.”“Oh!” said Harriet; “oh!—before I’d demean myself to tell such lies! You love to ride on a donkey, do you? Then ride one, I am sure I don’t care. But as to my demeaning myself by getting on your pony’s back—I may be small, but I’m not as small as all that! No: go, both of you; I hate and detest you both. Ralph, you need not consider me your mother any more. I am not your school-mother—I am nothing at all to you. I am just a very cross, angry girl and oh, do go away, please!”“Come, Ralph,” said Robina.She took the little boy to the door. She opened the door; she pushed Ralph outside.“You are just angry, Harriet,” she said then; “but I know you will be sorry by and by; and indeed, indeed, neither Ralph nor I are what you think us.”“Oh go—go!” said Harriet; and Robina went.The moment this happened, Harriet flew to the door, and locked it.“Now am I to be left in peace?” she thought. She was in a white heat of rage. At that moment, there was no bitter, angry, nor desperate thing she would not say. She knew perfectly well that she had injured her own cause; that now Ralph could never love her. Had she not told him to his face that she hated him?—little Ralph, who had never from his birth had one harsh word addressed to him. Had she not said—oh, with such vehemence, such hot, angry rage, that she detested him, that she could not bear him in her presence? Well, she did not care. She was in too great a fury at present to regret her own words. Robina and Ralph had taken her at her word: they had gone away. There was absolute stillness upstairs. Sunshine Lodge was a big house, and to Harriet’s bedroom not a sound penetrated. She could not even hear the merry voices of the gay cavalcade that must even now be starting for the sea-shore.They would have to ride quite three miles to that part of Eastbourne where Mr Durrant had arranged that bathing tents were to be erected on the beach. Harriet sat down on the low window-sill, clasped her hands and looked out. Why was she here? She might have been as jolly as the others. Oh, no; of course she could not possibly be merry and gay like the rest of the children; it was not in her nature. Nevertheless, she had looked forward to her time at Sunshine Lodge. She had made a great boast to her brothers and sisters and to her home companions, of the gay and delightful time she was about to have. Well, why was not she having it? The sun was shining, the sky was blue, the distant sea looked, oh! so inviting. The crisp waves were even now coming up on the sands and retreating again with their everlasting ‘I wish, I wish’ sort of sound. There were the donkeys for the contented children to ride, and there was the kindest of all hosts to give them every happiness. Why was she out of it?“Because I am so mad, and bad!” she thought; and then she covered her face with her hands and burst into angry tears.Harriet was neither sorry nor repentant, as she had been on that occasion when little Ralph was lost. She was furious at once with herself and with Robina, and even with Ralph. Why did Robina come prying and spying to her room? and why did she dare to bring Ralph with her? and then why did she make that detestable, hypocritical offer to her? Harriet, indeed, to be seen riding Robina’s pony!—the pony given to Robina by Mr Durrant because she had been so kind to his little son! What a martyr Robina would look on one of the donkeys! and what a monster of selfishness she, Harriet, would appear riding on Bo-peep’s back! Oh, yes: Robina wanted to serve her own ends when she would bestow on Harriet the favour of letting her ride her pony.“She thinks she is not sure of Ralph: she thinks she is not quite sure of Mr Durrant. She meant to clinch matters with both of them by her pretended unselfishness this morning,” thought the furious girl.“But I have circumvented her: I am glad I have.” However angry one may be; however furious one’s passions may become, it is difficult to keep up the anger and the commotion and the fierce storm within the breast when there is no one to listen, no one to watch, no one, either, to sympathise or to blame. In the stillness of her little room Harriet’s angry heart cooled down. Her cheeks no longer blazed with fury, her eyes no longer flashed. After her time of storm, she felt a sort of reaction which made her cold and dull and miserable. She was not a bit repentant, except in as far as regarded her own pleasure. But she was weary, and came to the conclusion that her life at Sunshine Lodge would not be such a happy one after all.When she had reached this stage of discomfort and depression, there came a tap at her room door, and one of the maids tried to turn the handle. Harriet then remembered that she had locked the door. She went and opened it. The girl asked with a smiling face if she could arrange the young lady’s room.“Certainly,” said Harriet. “I am going out.”She took a big straw hat from a peg on the door and put it on her head.“I made sure, miss, that you were away to the shore with the others.”“I did not go with them,” said Harriet.“I hope, miss,” said the girl, glancing at Harriet, and observing the red rims round her eyes, “I hope that you ain’t ill, miss.”“No, I am quite well, thank you; but the fact is, I don’t care for donkey rides. I am going out now, so you can arrange my room as soon as you like.”“Thank you, miss,” replied the girl.Harriet ran downstairs. The hall door stood wide open: a little gentle breeze came in and fluttered the leaves of some books on the hall table. The air was sun-laden, and Harriet was glad to get out-of-doors. The little place seemed still and undisturbed; but by and by she came to a gardener’s boy, and then to the gardener himself. They both touched their hats to her. She wandered on and on. Presently, she reached the round pond. Here the water-lilies grew in profusion—great yellow cups, and still larger white ones. Harriet felt that desire which comes to almost every child to possess herself of some of the great waxen blossoms. She bent forward and tried to pick one. She could not manage it, however, for the flowers with their thick stems were hard to gather, and she knew that were she to try any harder she might fall into the pond. This she had no wish to do, and contented herself with standing by the bank.As she was thus standing, wondering what she should do next, she heard a clear little voice say:“Hallo there!” and Ralph bounded out of a thick undergrowth close by.“Ralph?” said Harriet. She felt herself colouring. Shame absolutely filled her eyes. She did not want to look at the boy, and yet, in spite of every effort, her heart bounded with delight at seeing him.“Did you want some of those?” said Ralph, eagerly.“I will pick them for you. I know quite well how I can manage. See,” he added eagerly, “do you notice that willow tree growing right over the pond? I will climb along that branch, just where it dips so near the water, and I’ll put my hand out, and cut off some of the beautiful blossoms for you. Aren’t they just lovely?”“Yes,” said Harriet, “but I don’t want them. Don’t endanger your precious life for me, Ralph, it isn’t worth while.”As Harriet spoke, she turned away, marching with her head in the air in the opposite direction. She heard a cry, or fancied she heard one; and a minute afterwards, eager steps followed her.“Harriet,” said Ralph’s little voice. He slipped his hand inside her arm. “What has I done? Why do you hate me, Harriet? What has I done?”Harriet looked round. Then for a minute she stood quite still. Then, all of a sudden, her eyes fell; they fell until they reached the brown beseeching eyes of Ralph. Over her whole heart there rushed such a sensation of love for the boy that she could not restrain herself another moment.“Oh, Ralph!” she said, with a sob. “I am about the nastiest girl in all the world. But I do, I do love you! Oh Ralph, Ralph!”She flung her arms around him, dropping on her knees to come nearer to him. Just for a minute, she gave him a fierce kiss; then she let him go.“It is Robina I hate,” she said; “it is not you.” Ralph gave a sigh.“I am glad you don’t hate me,” he said, “’cause you see I love you.”“And why aren’t you with the others?” said Harriet, suddenly.“Couldn’t,” said Ralph, shaking his head. “Stayed a-hint ’cause of you; wanted to be with you—couldn’t go.”“Then you do really love me?”“I has said so,” answered Ralph.A warm glow such as a fire might make entered Harriet’s heart. She sank down on the mossy turf and drew Ralph to sit near her.“You are very nice,” she said. “I am very, very glad you stayed. But what did your father—what did he do?”“Father?” said Ralph, in a surprised tone. “Nothing, in course.”“But he wanted you to go, surely?”“I said to father I must stay home this morning ’cause of one of my school-mothers.”“And then?” said Harriet.“Father—he said, ‘Send Bluefeather back to the stables.’”“Then, Ralph?—and was that all?” asked Harriet.“’Course,” said Ralph. “Father don’t question ’less at something very naughty.”“Oh,” answered Harriet. After a pause, she said: “He didn’t ask you which of your school-mothers?”“No,” said Ralph. “Think he guessed, though.”“Did your father go with the others to the sea-shore?”“Oh, yes: he went in the governess cart. He drove the donkey that drew the governess cart his own self.”“You must have been very sorry to give up your fun,” said Harriet.“’Course,” said Ralph.“But you did it for me?”“’Course,” said Ralph again. He concealed nothing, denied nothing. He looked full now into Harriet’s face.“What is the matter?” she asked.“You said you hated Robina and me; then you said afterwards that you did not hate me—you loved me, but you hated Robina. I want you to love us both. By the time Robina comes back, I want you to be a-loving of her as hard as you’re a-loving of me.”“Well, I can’t do that,” said Harriet, “so there is no use wishing it.”Ralph sighed. “She is very, very good,” he said. “Ralph,” said Harriet, suddenly; “there are some things I cannot bear.”“What?” asked the little boy.“I love you, and I can’t bear you to be fondest of Robina.”“Very sorry,” said Ralph, shaking his curly head.“Don’t you think,” said Harriet, drawing him close to her and fondling his chubby hand, “that you could manage to love me best? I want your love more than Robina does.”“Sorry,” said Ralph again.“Then you do love her best?”“’Course,” said Ralph, “much best.”Harriet pushed him away.“Then I don’t want to sit with you,” she said, “nor talk to you. Go to Robina altogether. I—I suppose I am jealous; it is a horrid thing to be, but I suppose I am. You needn’t have stayed at home for me this morning. I don’t hate you; I was in a passion when I said I did; I love you very much but—I can’t stand a love like yours, the greater part of which is given to Robina.”“Shall I tell you why I love her?” said Ralph. “’Cause she is strong and good and brave, and she teaches I lots of things; and she lets I look into her face; and she tells stories—wonderful stories!”“Yes,” said Harriet. She was gazing intently at the child.“Now you doesn’t,” said Ralph. “You did one day when I was with you, one day when you gave me picnic breakfast and we went to town and bought things for a picnic tea. But Robina does it every day; and I feel that she is strong, and—and—I can’t help it—I have to love her best.”“I will tell you what I am,” said Harriet; “you had best know me for what I really am. I don’t like Robina just for the simple reason that she is stronger than me, and she can tell better stories, and she has got Bo-peep and I have not; and she is cleverer than me and has taken my place in the form. I was happy enough before she came to school, but I am not happy now.”“I amsosorry,” said Ralph. “It seems an awfu’ pity, ’cause she can’t help being clever. My father’s clever: he can’t help it. Does you hate him ’cause of his big, big brains?”“Oh, no, no—it’s quite different. You don’t understand what friendship means, Ralph.”“Yes, I do: Robina tells me. When your friend isn’t happy, you’re not happy; that’s one thing ’bout friendship. And you would do anything for your friend—anything: that’s another. I heard father once speak of that. He did a wonderful big thing for a friend of his. I am always wanting to do a big thing for Robina, and a big thing for you. I know it isn’t much, but I did stay home for you this morning.”“So you did; and you are a dear little boy; and I wish I wasn’t such a horror myself,” said Harriet suddenly. “Leave me, now. Ralph: after all, there is nothing you can do for me. I am cross, I suppose, but I’ll be better by-and-by.”Ralph went away very sadly. He could not understand Harriet. His beautiful morning was wasted. Suddenly, he found himself back again by the round pond. The lilies were looking more lovely than ever in the sun. A dragon fly had just got out of his chrysalis, and Ralph watched him for a moment as he poised for flight.All of a sudden, the wish to pick some water-lilies for Harriet returned to him. He would show her by this means how truly he loved her. She did want the lilies, he knew it, for he had seen her tugging so hard at one. “And she just lost her balance,” he said to himself. “Poor, poor Harriet: It would have been horrid if she had falled into the pond!”The thought of getting some lilies for Harriet restored the little boy’s sense of happiness. He was his father’s own son, and knew no fear. Harriet was one of his school-mothers—the school-mother he loved second best. He made up his mind quickly to pluck three yellow lilies for her, and four white ones. That would be seven in all. Someone had told him that seven made a perfect number. He could easily reach the lilies if he climbed the willow tree, and gently pushed himself along that branch which bent over the pond.No sooner did the thought come than he proceeded to put it into action. The supple bough, however, bent very low beneath his weight. Ralph was but a little boy, however, and the bough would undoubtedly hold him if he did not go too far along its slender stem. He had plucked one lily, and his little hand had grasped a second, when all of a sudden there was an ominous crack at the further end of the bough. It bent so low into the water now that Ralph’s balance was upset, and he found himself struggling in the deep pond. Ralph was not a minute in the water before Harriet, who was really not far off, rushed to the spot. Into the pond she plunged, seized the boy by his collar and dragged him with some slight difficulty to the shore. They were both very wet, but neither of them in the least hurt. Harriet stood by, dripping from head to foot.“Oh, Ralph, Ralph!” she cried. “Did you do that to show that you loved me?”“Yes; oh yes;” said Ralph. “Why, I nearly died for you, and you nearly died for me!”“We must be the best and greatest of friends now,” said Harriet, quick to seize the opportunity. “But come into the house at once; you must get all your things off, or you will catch cold. Oh, and Ralph; promise me one thing—this shall be a secret between you and me. You will never tell anybody that you risked your life to get me the flowers, and I will never tell a soul that I risked mine to save you.”“Oh—but you are splendid!” said Ralph. “Why, I should be dead now but for you, Harriet.”“Of course you would, Ralph,” she answered; but she took care not to tell him that she was an excellent swimmer and had not risked her life in the very least when she sprang into the pond to save the little boy.

The tea came to an end without any special adventure and afterwards the children disported themselves to their hearts’ content in the gardens.

The gardens were very extensive. There were paddocks and lawns, and running streams where some of the little mothers declared they could see tiny minnows and other minute fish darting about; and there was a round pond with water-lilies on it and there were many swings, and hammocks in the trees. Besides these delights, there were walled-in fruit gardens, and great glass-houses inside which grew those rarest and most fascinating flowers, orchids.

The children were allowed to explore all the houses on condition that they picked nothing and invariably shut the doors behind them. They all had a great deal to see and to talk over, and even Harriet forgot her jealousy and laughed and joked with the others. Bed-time came all too soon. Eight sleepy little girls went up to their different rooms and laid their heads on their pillow’s, and fell sound asleep, and eight very happy little girls, thoroughly refreshed and full of joyful anticipation, awoke on the following morning.

They awoke to the fact that the sun was shining, that the sky was blue, and that the sea in the distance was one dazzling blaze of sparkling waves and exquisite colour.

At breakfast-time, Mr Durrant arranged that the entire party should ride down to the beach, where those who wished could bathe, and those who did not could play on the sands until it was time for early dinner. Dinner was to be at one o’clock, and this was to be followed by a long drive, which was to terminate in a vast picnic tea, where real tea was to be made, and cakes, bread and butter and other things consumed. The party were to return to Sunshine Lodge rather late, and then Mr Durrant would amuse them with a marvellous magic lantern which he possessed, and would show them, as he expressed it, some of his adventures in South Africa.

“Father doesn’t often do that sort of thing,” whispered Ralph to his school-mother Robina. “He doesn’t even like to talk ’bout his ’ventures, ’cept when he’s special pleased. So you’re all in good luck, I can tell you.”

“Oh, we are just too happy for anything!” said Robina.

“Now then, children,” called Mr Durrant’s voice from the other end of the table; “if you have had sufficient breakfast, will you disperse, please, and shall we all meet in the porch in a quarter of an hour? Our different steeds will be waiting for us, and we can each mount and ride away.”

It was at this moment that Jane cast a fearful, half-admiring, half-beseeching glance at Harriet. Now but for this glance of Jane’s it is quite possible that Harriet might have thought better of her conversation of the previous day, and might have even mounted on her donkey’s back and ridden off, a happy, laughing child to the sea-shore. Harriet adored the sea, having been brought up there when quite a little child. She could bathe; and swim like a little fish; and it did dart through her mind how very superior she would be to her companions when she was swimming about and they had to content themselves with simply ducking up and down in the water. Mr Durrant would be sure to admire her when he saw what a good swimmer she was. Harriet craved more for admiration than for anything else in the world. But now that look of Jane’s recalled her to her remark of the previous evening.

She had vowed that nothing would induce her to mount a donkey. At any sacrifice, therefore, she must keep her word. If Jane thought little of her, the world would indeed be coming to an end.

Accordingly, she sat very still, munching her bread and butter slowly, and looking straight before her. Robina, on the other hand, was in great excitement. She talked openly and, as Harriet said to herself, in the most abominable taste, of the delicious ride she would have on Bo-peep’s back to the sea-shore.

“You will ride with me on Bluefeather; won’t you, Ralph?” she said to the little boy.

“In course I will!” he said.

In his white drill sailor-suit Ralph made the most lovely little picture. Harriet looked up at that moment, and caught his eye. Ralph, quick to perceive when anyone was in trouble, immediately left Robina, and flew to Harriet’s side.

“What can I do for you, naughty school-mother?” he said.

“Look here, Ralph; I won’t be called by that name,” said Harriet. “I dislike it very much. If you think me naughty, you ought not to speak to me.”

“Oh—I—I love you!” said Ralph.

“Then show it in some less unpleasant way,” said Harriet, who now that she had given tongue to some of her grievance, flew in a regular passion; “and,” she added, rising as she spoke, “I don’t know what the rest of you mean to do, but I shan’t ride this morning. I don’t like riding donkeys, so that’s all about it.” She got up and marched from the room. Mr Durrant had already gone. The eyes of the rest of the school-mothers followed her, and Jane’s face grew first white and then pink.

“Oh Jane,” said Robina, the minute Harriet had gone, “whatisthe matter now? I am sure I don’t mind riding one of the donkeys and Harriet can have Bo-peep. Do run after her and tell her so; do, please, Jane. It’ll spoil all our fun if she doesn’t come down; please get her to come.”

“But,” said Ralph, “I know father will want you to ride Bo-peep, Robina; for he said so last night. He said he had not seen you yet on Bo-peep, and he was ever so anxious to, and ’sides—your habit wouldn’t fit Harriet: Harriet is much thinner than you.”

“Yes; I never thought of that,” replied Robina. “Well, I do wish she wouldn’t be so troublesome. Shall I go and find her, and try and bring her round to a proper sense of things; it is too hard that she should spoil all the fun.”

“No, don’t; there is no use in it,” said Jane.

“But I will,” said Robina; “she must not be so inconsiderate. Think what dear Mr Durrant will say. Ralph, my darling, come with me and coax poor Harriet. You know she loves you very much.”

“Yes; let’s coax her,” said Ralph.

He took Robina’s hand and they left the dining-room. As they were going upstairs Ralph said, still clinging hard to Robina’s hand:

“I love Harriet, but I love you much, much,muchthe best.”

“Love us both,” said Robina, “and don’t say which of us you love best.”

“Oh, I can’t help it,” said Ralph. “Harriet’s nice sometimes, but you are nice always, and I am very glad you have got Bo-peep.”

“Well, we must do our very best to make Harriet come with us to-day,” said Robina, and she knocked as she spoke at that young lady’s door.

A sulky voice from within murmured something, and Robina opened the door. Harriet was standing with her back to the door. She was pretending to gaze out of the window. When the knock came, she imagined that it was Jane, coming to expostulate with her. Had this happened, she would probably have given vent to her feelings in no measured language; but when she turned and saw Robina, the smouldering fire in her breast rose to white heat.

“Go away!” she said, just glancing at Robina and Ralph and then resuming her position with her back to them. “I am busy at present: go away.”

“You aren’t busy, Harriet,” said Ralph, laughing; “why, you’re doing nothing at all.”

“Yes I am; I am thinking; go away, both of you, I don’t wish to talk to you.”

“Oh, Harriet!” said Ralph. There was a cry of pain in his voice, and just for a minute Harriet’s resolve to be intensely disagreeable wavered; but Robina’s voice recalled her to her worst self.

“Ralph, I must!” she whispered. Then she said aloud: “I do want you to ride Bo-peep this morning, Harriet. And you can easily wear my habit, although it may be a little big for you. Please, Harriet, do come downstairs and be nice and jolly with us all. You shall ride Bo-peep, and I will ride whichever donkey you have selected. I love riding a donkey, it is such fun.”

“Oh!” said Harriet; “oh!—before I’d demean myself to tell such lies! You love to ride on a donkey, do you? Then ride one, I am sure I don’t care. But as to my demeaning myself by getting on your pony’s back—I may be small, but I’m not as small as all that! No: go, both of you; I hate and detest you both. Ralph, you need not consider me your mother any more. I am not your school-mother—I am nothing at all to you. I am just a very cross, angry girl and oh, do go away, please!”

“Come, Ralph,” said Robina.

She took the little boy to the door. She opened the door; she pushed Ralph outside.

“You are just angry, Harriet,” she said then; “but I know you will be sorry by and by; and indeed, indeed, neither Ralph nor I are what you think us.”

“Oh go—go!” said Harriet; and Robina went.

The moment this happened, Harriet flew to the door, and locked it.

“Now am I to be left in peace?” she thought. She was in a white heat of rage. At that moment, there was no bitter, angry, nor desperate thing she would not say. She knew perfectly well that she had injured her own cause; that now Ralph could never love her. Had she not told him to his face that she hated him?—little Ralph, who had never from his birth had one harsh word addressed to him. Had she not said—oh, with such vehemence, such hot, angry rage, that she detested him, that she could not bear him in her presence? Well, she did not care. She was in too great a fury at present to regret her own words. Robina and Ralph had taken her at her word: they had gone away. There was absolute stillness upstairs. Sunshine Lodge was a big house, and to Harriet’s bedroom not a sound penetrated. She could not even hear the merry voices of the gay cavalcade that must even now be starting for the sea-shore.

They would have to ride quite three miles to that part of Eastbourne where Mr Durrant had arranged that bathing tents were to be erected on the beach. Harriet sat down on the low window-sill, clasped her hands and looked out. Why was she here? She might have been as jolly as the others. Oh, no; of course she could not possibly be merry and gay like the rest of the children; it was not in her nature. Nevertheless, she had looked forward to her time at Sunshine Lodge. She had made a great boast to her brothers and sisters and to her home companions, of the gay and delightful time she was about to have. Well, why was not she having it? The sun was shining, the sky was blue, the distant sea looked, oh! so inviting. The crisp waves were even now coming up on the sands and retreating again with their everlasting ‘I wish, I wish’ sort of sound. There were the donkeys for the contented children to ride, and there was the kindest of all hosts to give them every happiness. Why was she out of it?

“Because I am so mad, and bad!” she thought; and then she covered her face with her hands and burst into angry tears.

Harriet was neither sorry nor repentant, as she had been on that occasion when little Ralph was lost. She was furious at once with herself and with Robina, and even with Ralph. Why did Robina come prying and spying to her room? and why did she dare to bring Ralph with her? and then why did she make that detestable, hypocritical offer to her? Harriet, indeed, to be seen riding Robina’s pony!—the pony given to Robina by Mr Durrant because she had been so kind to his little son! What a martyr Robina would look on one of the donkeys! and what a monster of selfishness she, Harriet, would appear riding on Bo-peep’s back! Oh, yes: Robina wanted to serve her own ends when she would bestow on Harriet the favour of letting her ride her pony.

“She thinks she is not sure of Ralph: she thinks she is not quite sure of Mr Durrant. She meant to clinch matters with both of them by her pretended unselfishness this morning,” thought the furious girl.

“But I have circumvented her: I am glad I have.” However angry one may be; however furious one’s passions may become, it is difficult to keep up the anger and the commotion and the fierce storm within the breast when there is no one to listen, no one to watch, no one, either, to sympathise or to blame. In the stillness of her little room Harriet’s angry heart cooled down. Her cheeks no longer blazed with fury, her eyes no longer flashed. After her time of storm, she felt a sort of reaction which made her cold and dull and miserable. She was not a bit repentant, except in as far as regarded her own pleasure. But she was weary, and came to the conclusion that her life at Sunshine Lodge would not be such a happy one after all.

When she had reached this stage of discomfort and depression, there came a tap at her room door, and one of the maids tried to turn the handle. Harriet then remembered that she had locked the door. She went and opened it. The girl asked with a smiling face if she could arrange the young lady’s room.

“Certainly,” said Harriet. “I am going out.”

She took a big straw hat from a peg on the door and put it on her head.

“I made sure, miss, that you were away to the shore with the others.”

“I did not go with them,” said Harriet.

“I hope, miss,” said the girl, glancing at Harriet, and observing the red rims round her eyes, “I hope that you ain’t ill, miss.”

“No, I am quite well, thank you; but the fact is, I don’t care for donkey rides. I am going out now, so you can arrange my room as soon as you like.”

“Thank you, miss,” replied the girl.

Harriet ran downstairs. The hall door stood wide open: a little gentle breeze came in and fluttered the leaves of some books on the hall table. The air was sun-laden, and Harriet was glad to get out-of-doors. The little place seemed still and undisturbed; but by and by she came to a gardener’s boy, and then to the gardener himself. They both touched their hats to her. She wandered on and on. Presently, she reached the round pond. Here the water-lilies grew in profusion—great yellow cups, and still larger white ones. Harriet felt that desire which comes to almost every child to possess herself of some of the great waxen blossoms. She bent forward and tried to pick one. She could not manage it, however, for the flowers with their thick stems were hard to gather, and she knew that were she to try any harder she might fall into the pond. This she had no wish to do, and contented herself with standing by the bank.

As she was thus standing, wondering what she should do next, she heard a clear little voice say:

“Hallo there!” and Ralph bounded out of a thick undergrowth close by.

“Ralph?” said Harriet. She felt herself colouring. Shame absolutely filled her eyes. She did not want to look at the boy, and yet, in spite of every effort, her heart bounded with delight at seeing him.

“Did you want some of those?” said Ralph, eagerly.

“I will pick them for you. I know quite well how I can manage. See,” he added eagerly, “do you notice that willow tree growing right over the pond? I will climb along that branch, just where it dips so near the water, and I’ll put my hand out, and cut off some of the beautiful blossoms for you. Aren’t they just lovely?”

“Yes,” said Harriet, “but I don’t want them. Don’t endanger your precious life for me, Ralph, it isn’t worth while.”

As Harriet spoke, she turned away, marching with her head in the air in the opposite direction. She heard a cry, or fancied she heard one; and a minute afterwards, eager steps followed her.

“Harriet,” said Ralph’s little voice. He slipped his hand inside her arm. “What has I done? Why do you hate me, Harriet? What has I done?”

Harriet looked round. Then for a minute she stood quite still. Then, all of a sudden, her eyes fell; they fell until they reached the brown beseeching eyes of Ralph. Over her whole heart there rushed such a sensation of love for the boy that she could not restrain herself another moment.

“Oh, Ralph!” she said, with a sob. “I am about the nastiest girl in all the world. But I do, I do love you! Oh Ralph, Ralph!”

She flung her arms around him, dropping on her knees to come nearer to him. Just for a minute, she gave him a fierce kiss; then she let him go.

“It is Robina I hate,” she said; “it is not you.” Ralph gave a sigh.

“I am glad you don’t hate me,” he said, “’cause you see I love you.”

“And why aren’t you with the others?” said Harriet, suddenly.

“Couldn’t,” said Ralph, shaking his head. “Stayed a-hint ’cause of you; wanted to be with you—couldn’t go.”

“Then you do really love me?”

“I has said so,” answered Ralph.

A warm glow such as a fire might make entered Harriet’s heart. She sank down on the mossy turf and drew Ralph to sit near her.

“You are very nice,” she said. “I am very, very glad you stayed. But what did your father—what did he do?”

“Father?” said Ralph, in a surprised tone. “Nothing, in course.”

“But he wanted you to go, surely?”

“I said to father I must stay home this morning ’cause of one of my school-mothers.”

“And then?” said Harriet.

“Father—he said, ‘Send Bluefeather back to the stables.’”

“Then, Ralph?—and was that all?” asked Harriet.

“’Course,” said Ralph. “Father don’t question ’less at something very naughty.”

“Oh,” answered Harriet. After a pause, she said: “He didn’t ask you which of your school-mothers?”

“No,” said Ralph. “Think he guessed, though.”

“Did your father go with the others to the sea-shore?”

“Oh, yes: he went in the governess cart. He drove the donkey that drew the governess cart his own self.”

“You must have been very sorry to give up your fun,” said Harriet.

“’Course,” said Ralph.

“But you did it for me?”

“’Course,” said Ralph again. He concealed nothing, denied nothing. He looked full now into Harriet’s face.

“What is the matter?” she asked.

“You said you hated Robina and me; then you said afterwards that you did not hate me—you loved me, but you hated Robina. I want you to love us both. By the time Robina comes back, I want you to be a-loving of her as hard as you’re a-loving of me.”

“Well, I can’t do that,” said Harriet, “so there is no use wishing it.”

Ralph sighed. “She is very, very good,” he said. “Ralph,” said Harriet, suddenly; “there are some things I cannot bear.”

“What?” asked the little boy.

“I love you, and I can’t bear you to be fondest of Robina.”

“Very sorry,” said Ralph, shaking his curly head.

“Don’t you think,” said Harriet, drawing him close to her and fondling his chubby hand, “that you could manage to love me best? I want your love more than Robina does.”

“Sorry,” said Ralph again.

“Then you do love her best?”

“’Course,” said Ralph, “much best.”

Harriet pushed him away.

“Then I don’t want to sit with you,” she said, “nor talk to you. Go to Robina altogether. I—I suppose I am jealous; it is a horrid thing to be, but I suppose I am. You needn’t have stayed at home for me this morning. I don’t hate you; I was in a passion when I said I did; I love you very much but—I can’t stand a love like yours, the greater part of which is given to Robina.”

“Shall I tell you why I love her?” said Ralph. “’Cause she is strong and good and brave, and she teaches I lots of things; and she lets I look into her face; and she tells stories—wonderful stories!”

“Yes,” said Harriet. She was gazing intently at the child.

“Now you doesn’t,” said Ralph. “You did one day when I was with you, one day when you gave me picnic breakfast and we went to town and bought things for a picnic tea. But Robina does it every day; and I feel that she is strong, and—and—I can’t help it—I have to love her best.”

“I will tell you what I am,” said Harriet; “you had best know me for what I really am. I don’t like Robina just for the simple reason that she is stronger than me, and she can tell better stories, and she has got Bo-peep and I have not; and she is cleverer than me and has taken my place in the form. I was happy enough before she came to school, but I am not happy now.”

“I amsosorry,” said Ralph. “It seems an awfu’ pity, ’cause she can’t help being clever. My father’s clever: he can’t help it. Does you hate him ’cause of his big, big brains?”

“Oh, no, no—it’s quite different. You don’t understand what friendship means, Ralph.”

“Yes, I do: Robina tells me. When your friend isn’t happy, you’re not happy; that’s one thing ’bout friendship. And you would do anything for your friend—anything: that’s another. I heard father once speak of that. He did a wonderful big thing for a friend of his. I am always wanting to do a big thing for Robina, and a big thing for you. I know it isn’t much, but I did stay home for you this morning.”

“So you did; and you are a dear little boy; and I wish I wasn’t such a horror myself,” said Harriet suddenly. “Leave me, now. Ralph: after all, there is nothing you can do for me. I am cross, I suppose, but I’ll be better by-and-by.”

Ralph went away very sadly. He could not understand Harriet. His beautiful morning was wasted. Suddenly, he found himself back again by the round pond. The lilies were looking more lovely than ever in the sun. A dragon fly had just got out of his chrysalis, and Ralph watched him for a moment as he poised for flight.

All of a sudden, the wish to pick some water-lilies for Harriet returned to him. He would show her by this means how truly he loved her. She did want the lilies, he knew it, for he had seen her tugging so hard at one. “And she just lost her balance,” he said to himself. “Poor, poor Harriet: It would have been horrid if she had falled into the pond!”

The thought of getting some lilies for Harriet restored the little boy’s sense of happiness. He was his father’s own son, and knew no fear. Harriet was one of his school-mothers—the school-mother he loved second best. He made up his mind quickly to pluck three yellow lilies for her, and four white ones. That would be seven in all. Someone had told him that seven made a perfect number. He could easily reach the lilies if he climbed the willow tree, and gently pushed himself along that branch which bent over the pond.

No sooner did the thought come than he proceeded to put it into action. The supple bough, however, bent very low beneath his weight. Ralph was but a little boy, however, and the bough would undoubtedly hold him if he did not go too far along its slender stem. He had plucked one lily, and his little hand had grasped a second, when all of a sudden there was an ominous crack at the further end of the bough. It bent so low into the water now that Ralph’s balance was upset, and he found himself struggling in the deep pond. Ralph was not a minute in the water before Harriet, who was really not far off, rushed to the spot. Into the pond she plunged, seized the boy by his collar and dragged him with some slight difficulty to the shore. They were both very wet, but neither of them in the least hurt. Harriet stood by, dripping from head to foot.

“Oh, Ralph, Ralph!” she cried. “Did you do that to show that you loved me?”

“Yes; oh yes;” said Ralph. “Why, I nearly died for you, and you nearly died for me!”

“We must be the best and greatest of friends now,” said Harriet, quick to seize the opportunity. “But come into the house at once; you must get all your things off, or you will catch cold. Oh, and Ralph; promise me one thing—this shall be a secret between you and me. You will never tell anybody that you risked your life to get me the flowers, and I will never tell a soul that I risked mine to save you.”

“Oh—but you are splendid!” said Ralph. “Why, I should be dead now but for you, Harriet.”

“Of course you would, Ralph,” she answered; but she took care not to tell him that she was an excellent swimmer and had not risked her life in the very least when she sprang into the pond to save the little boy.

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