Book I Chapter 5 The Little School-Mothers by L. T. Meade
Explained
After prayers that evening Mrs Burton, as she had arranged, had a talk with the girls of the third form in her own private sitting-room. She spoke very simply, and explained what she considered her view of the matter.
“My dears,” she said, “this is a very nice opportunity for you, for really to win the affection of a little fellow like Ralph is to achieve a victory; and I earnestly want you all to try, not so much for the sake of the prize as because the looking after a little fellow like that, who will be very spirited and, doubtless, also very exacting, will be good for your own character, teaching you forbearance, unselfishness, and much thought for others, which are qualities every girl ought to cultivate. These are essentially girls’ qualities, my dears; for all those girls who hope to be true women by-and-by ought to possess them. They are better and of greater value to the possessor than money or cleverness or beauty, for they mean beauty of the heart, and will last, my loves, when mere outward beauty fails, and, in short, even beyond this life, when time is no more. And now, dears, I am going to tell you my little plan.
“There are altogether seven of you, excluding Robina. Now, Robina has a special power with children, and has already captivated the affections of Ralph. It would not be fair that Robina should exercise her influence over him during the trial week, but each of the rest of you shall in turn take care of the little man for an entire day. I will give you no directions whatever with regard to how you will treat him. During that day the girl who has him in charge will be excused from lessons. She will look after him from morning till night, dress him and undress him, take him for a walk, and provide for his amusement generally. She will help him to learn his simple lessons; she will, in short, be his mother pro tem. I do not expect any one of you absolutely to fail, and at the end of the week Ralph is himself to choose his school-mother. Now, nothing can be fairer than this. Frederica, my dear, you, as the eldest girl in the form, will look after Ralph to-morrow. And now I think I have said all that is necessary.”
Mrs Burton asked the girls to leave the room, which they did in a body, and great was the discussion which took place in the third form parlour on that special evening.
Frederica was the first to speak.
“Of course, I will look after Ralph,” she said, “and I don’t believe I shall find it difficult. I have several brothers and sisters at home, and though I don’t know that I am especially good with children, I think, on the whole, I can manage them fairly well.”
“You are not to spoil him, you know,” said Harriet.
“Perhaps,” interrupted Frederica, “we had best each keep our own counsel as to the manner in which we are to treat Ralph. It is a great responsibility, and as something hangs on it—for I don’t pretend for a moment I should not like to get the pony—the less we say to each other the better.”
“There’s one thing,” said Rose Amberley at that moment. “Mrs Burton, I am sure, will not wish any of us to give Ralph sweeties or cakes, or the sort of things that might make him ill. Otherwise, I suppose each girl will manage him her own way. Now, let us see. To-morrow will be Wednesday. You are to look after him to-morrow, Frederica. I suppose Patience comes next, and then I; and then, I think, it is your turn, Harriet, isn’t it? I presume we’ll come according to our ages. You are next oldest to Rose, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” said Harriet.
“Very well then, Harriet. If I look after Ralph to-morrow,” said Frederica, “and Patience has him on Thursday, and Rose on Friday, Saturday will be your day.”
“Oh, I hate having him on Saturday,” said Harriet, “for that is our half-holiday, and there are such lots of things to be done.”
“Still, that can scarcely be helped,” said Frederica again, “for your turn comes on Saturday, so there is nothing to be said.”
“What a nuisance!” said Harriet. “And I suppose Jane will have him Sunday; I wish my day were Sunday.”
The other girls made no reply, and Harriet presently went out of the room, her hand linked in Jane’s.
“Now, Janie,” she said, “you understand, of course, that I mean to get that pony.”
“I know you mean it,” said Jane.
“What I mean I generally manage to do,” was Harriet’s response.
“You do, as a rule,” replied Jane.
“If I get the pony,” said Harriet, “I will let you ride him pretty often. You shall come over to our place, and you shall use my beautiful side-saddle; of course, my habit won’t fit you, you are such a round podge of a girl, but you can wear any old skirt. Shan’t I make that pony fly! I’ll give him beans! Oh, yes; I mean to have him.”
“But, after all,” said Jane, “that depends upon whether Ralph chooses you as his school-mother or not.”
“You leave that to me,” said Harriet.
“I am sure he won’t choose you,” said Jane. “He will choose Robina; he loves her now like anything.”
“He will choose me,” said Harriet. “I have a plan in my head, and he’s certain to.”
“But he hated you to-day,” said Jane. “If you really meant to win his heart, you shouldn’t have been so horridly cross to Curly Pate, and you shouldn’t have slapped him on the face.”
“I know,” said Harriet, in a contrite voice; “my passion got the better of me, but you may be certain I will be on my guard on Saturday. And look here, Jane: you have not the remotest chance on your own account of winning the prize, but if you help me to get it I won’t forget you in the matter of rides, and I will try and get Father and Mother to invite you over to our place very often during the holidays. You will like that, won’t you, Jane?”
“Love it,” said Jane, who, however, was by no means certain on that point, for, although Harriet had great power over her, she was a little afraid of her.
“Well, you shall come very often these holidays, and perhaps Mother might be coaxed to take you to the seaside with us; but everything depends on whether you help me to be school-mother to that boy. You will have to do your very best on Sunday. You’ll have to talk to him about me, and tell him all the wonderful things that I will do for him when I have him to look after, and you will have—whatever you do—to frighten him about the others, and most especially frighten him about Robina. Now, I think that is all. I shan’t bother about him, you may be sure, until Saturday. I think I know my way at last how to spite Robina, horrid thing! She is just mad to get that pony. I know life will be quite happy again if I can get it from her. Oh, she is sure of it—and Mrs Burton is so sure she’ll win, that she is not even going to be given a day to look after Ralph! Very unfair, I call it.”
Jane said nothing, but that night when she lay down in her little bed in the third form dormitory, her thoughts kept her awake. She did not much like the task she had undertaken. Harriet certainly was a tyrannical friend, and Harriet was growing less good each minute. Now that naughtiness was coming so terribly to the fore, poor little Jane felt in her heart of hearts that she did not enjoy it. It was all very well to burst out laughing during lessons and to play a practical joke on another girl, and to hide behind doors and spring out upon a frightened servant or a still more timid schoolfellow, and it was delicious to make apple-pie beds and to set booby traps and all those sort of things, but this sort of naughtiness, somehow, was different.
Jane had been impressed by Mrs Burton’s words:—“You must be unselfish, and forbearing, and thoughtful for others, and all these attributes will be good for your character, and will help you to be true women by-and-by.” Above all, Jane was struck with what Mrs Burton had said about these things being better than beauty, or riches, or talent, for these things were the best of all, and would stay with a girl and would help her through her life, and—and—help her after death. Jane was very frightened of death. The thought of it came to her sometimes in the middle of the night, but she always pushed it out of sight. Now, however, Mrs Burton spoke of something which would help her even after that had taken place. She shivered in her little bed. She did not at all like the task which was put upon her.
Meanwhile, things went apparently well in the school. Robina was as bright as ever on the next morning, and just as clever over her lessons, and just as apparently indifferent to her fellow-pupils. She had to all appearance forgotten the words she said to Harriet on the previous night. She talked cheerfully to Harriet. Harriet was forced to reply in the same tone. Afterwards the girls played in the garden, as they had done on the day before; but Harriet and Jane did not meet as they had previously arranged in the paddock. It was not necessary to meet, they both felt, for something had occurred since then, and their course was in a measure plain. Curly Pate was with them, too, and so were the other little children. The only one who was absent was Frederica; she and Ralph were not to be seen.
Late that night Frederica came up to the dormitory, and went to bed as usual. All the others clustered round her.
“Well—well,” they said, “could you manage? Aren’t you dead tired? What sort is he, really? Oh, do say if you think you have any chance of getting the pony!”
“I can say nothing—it wouldn’t be fair,” said Frederica. “Mrs Burton doesn’t wish any one of the girls on her trial to help the others by saying things. I have had a good day, I think, and am tired, and should like to go to sleep. Patience, you are to go to Ralph’s nursery at seven o’clock to-morrow morning.”
The next day was Thursday, and Thursday was Patience Chetwold’s day. It passed very much as Wednesday had done, only that Jane looked rather miserable, and Harriet took no notice of her at all. Friday was Rose Amberley’s day, and on that day the girls heard—or fancied they heard—peals of laughter in the distance. They were all rather anxious, for Rose was so remarkably nice, and had quite a way with little children. Before Robina came she had shared the honours with her elder sister, Constance, of being the babies’ favourite. The girls began to say amongst themselves that Rose would carry off the prize, and that, on the whole, they would like her to have it, for she was so kind and nice, and so remarkably pretty.
It was on the evening of Friday that Jane ran up to Harriet, pulled her by her arm, and said in a low tone:—
“I want to walk with you in the paddock.”
“Now, what’s up?” said Harriet crossly.
“Come,” said Jane.
Jane’s black eyes were shining, and her short black hair resembled a mop more than ever, and her little round figure seemed rounder. There was quite an agitation about Jane which made her roundness and queer short hair and round black eyes look too comical for words; at least, this was what Harriet said, when she found herself with her friend in the paddock. Harriet was such a contrast to Jane, and looked more lanky and more pale than ever on this occasion.
“Now—what is up?” she said. “You do look precisely like a fat Christmas goose just before he is going to be killed for Christmas dinner. What is up with you now?”
“Only that—I—I—mean—I don’t want to be the school-mother.”
Harriet burst into a peal of laughter. “Isn’t it a case of sour grapes?” she said. “You just know you can’t be the school-mother, so you think you’ll cover your defeat by saying that sort of thing.”
“I want to say more,” whispered Jane. “I am frightened to do what you want; I mean I am frightened to say what isn’t true about the others—and, particularly, about Robina. I don’t want to do it; I thought I would tell you.”
“I always knew you were a sneak,” said Harriet, “but please yourself, of course. It won’t be very nice for you when I send you to Coventry.”
“What do you mean by sending to Coventry?” asked Jane.
“You are a silly! You are frightfully ugly, and you have no brains at all. Coventry means that I won’t speak to you; and what’s more, I’ll get a lot more girls in the school not to speak to you. Perhaps you won’t enjoy that—but please yourself, I don’t care.”
“Harriet, you are cross! You know, you know quite well that I would please you if I could. But—but I do want to be the sort of girl Mrs Burton spoke about.”
“Oh, you are turning goody-goody!” said Harriet. “Then, indeed, I have no further use of you. I am going to take up Vivian Amberley. She is quite a nice little thing—very different from you.”
Jane gave utterance to a very quick sigh. Vivian was perhaps the girl in the third form who had the weakest character. She was not like her two elder sisters: she could be very good with good girls and quite naughty with girls who were not good. Jane had always known this fact, and had always been terribly afraid that Harriet would make use of Vivian, and turn her to her own purposes. In that case, of course, Harriet would never speak to poor Jane again; and Jane did care for her and could be intensely jealous about her. So now she said:—
“I know you are very clever, Harriet, and I suppose you do know best; only I wish that little voice inside of me wouldn’t talk so loud. It keeps me awake at nights, and I get frightened; but if you really, really think—”
“I think nothing!” said Harriet crossly. “Please yourself. Vivian will help me, if you won’t. I will know what you have done by Monday morning. You can do exactly as you please; and now don’t keep me, for I have got to finish learning my piece to recite on Sunday afternoon.”