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, _your_ thoughts! as if they signified," said Harriet. "Look here,
Jane; do let's walk up and down in front of the house. Of _course_
we'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 2--CHAPTER SIX.