L. Meade - The Little School-Mothers

Ralph coloured. All the girls noticed how a flame of red swept over his little face. His eyes grew dark. He looked full at Harriet, as though she fascinated him.

“And this is Jane Bush. And now we come to Cecil Amberley. I am sure Cecil would be kind to any little boy.”

“Yes, oh, yes,” said Ralph.

“And last but not least, here is Vivian. You were with Vivian yesterday, don’t you remember?”

“I remember,” said Ralph.

“Then, my dear little boy, you are acquainted with every girl in the third form. Now, listen to me. It is your dear father’s wish that one of these girls should take, as far as possible, the place of a mother to you during the remainder of the term. For three weeks, Ralph, until your father returns, you will be given over to the special care of one of these girls; and your father wishes you, as being, he considers, a very wise little boy, to choose your school-mother yourself. Having made a choice, you must abide by it, unless I personally interfere. That I shall not do except under extreme circumstances. Now, my boy, you have no cause to be afraid. Choose boldly the girl you like best, the girl with whom you will be happiest. Remember, Robina was your oldest friend, and Vivian your newest friend; the others came between. Look well at them all, and make your choice, as a wise little boy should.”

Again Ralph looked full at Robina, and again Robina knew that her eyes had but to say: “Come,” and not all the gipsies in all the world, nor all the picnic teas and breakfasts and boxes of matches in a little boy’s pocket, and possible knives – the temptation to possess which a little boy might succumb to – could have influenced Ralph in the very least. But alack and alas! for all that was to follow: those eyes still were dumb. So Ralph’s own brown eyes wandered past Robina and rested, without any special desire or longing in them, on Frederica’s face, and past Frederica to Patience, and then they lingered and seemed to dilate, and the whole little face trembled as the boy gazed at Harriet. But even now he was wise, and would not make his choice too hastily; for, past Harriet, his eyes travelled to Jane, who looked down, and turned white and pink, and from Jane he gazed at Cecil, who was all unconscious and looked full back at him, being quite certain in her heart of hearts that she would not be the one chosen; and then he looked at Vivian, who, as a matter of fact, counted nothing at all to him.

His heart beat. He thought of a hundred things, but most of all at that moment of not learning to read much, of not troubling himself with figures, of being the manly sort of boy who would play with fire and not be burnt, and have knives and not be cut, and, above all things, of a certain gipsy caravan which was called a house on wheels. Once again, his eyes sought those of Harriet; and now she looked boldly at him, and Ralph looked boldly back at her, and smiled, and, loosing his hold of Mrs Burton’s hand, he said in a loud voice:

“I choose Harriet for my school-mother, because I love her the best of all.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought – I thought – that – if you were my school-mother, there would not be sums and things.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is the matter, you little troublesome thing?” she said.

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

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

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

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