“I will talk to you girls on the subject of little Ralph this evening after prayers,” said the headmistress. Then she turned away with Mr Durrant, who, however, first of all shook hands with the girls of the third form, and said a few words to the sixth form girls, and, in short, charmed everyone.
Harriet was the person selected now to find the king and queen.
“Bring them both to the house, dear,” said Mrs Burton, and Harriet, well pleased, ran off to obey. Nowhere within sight could the little pair be found, and Harriet, after running for a few minutes, paused to consider.
She wondered if this unexpected state of affairs would in any way promote her own interest. As a matter of fact, she hated small children. There was no small girl at the school who was ever seen to interrupt Harriet’s work, or to fling herself against Harriet’s knees, or to look into Harriet’s face with that childish petition: “Oh! do tell us a story, please.” The little ones left Harriet wisely alone, and Harriet never concealed her aversion to them.
“Horrid little sticky things,” she was heard to say, “with their lollipops in their hands and their faces wanting washing, and their clothes so grubby!” These statements were quite false, for the small children were kept by their kind teacher, Miss Ford, in the most immaculate order. But Harriet was well-known in the school not to stick to the truth when she wished to give vent to her sentiments. Now, however, her feelings were changed. She must, of course, find the king and queen at once.
“Ridiculous name!” she murmured. “That little tiresome, fat baby girl and that small boy, dressed for all the world as though he were a peacock! But still—but still—a pony with a side-saddle and habit, and his keep provided for, is worth struggling to win. And then it would be such fun to get the prize over Robina’s head. She is certain sure of it already, I see by her smug face. I am sure I am clever enough to get this from her, and I will.”
Harriet now spied both children standing much too near the edge of a round pond which ornamented part of the grounds.
“Oh, Curly Pate!” she shrieked. “Come back this minute, you naughty child, from the edge of the water!”
Curly Pate, who had been gazing at her own little image in the pond, looked up. Her fair face was flushed with passion, and seizing Ralph’s hand, she said imperiously:
“Turn away, king. Curly Pate hates that howwid dirl.”