Ralph had a sweet little room to sleep in. It opened into Miss Ford’s, but the door between the two was shut; for Ralph’s whole endeavour was to be a very manly boy, and manly boys always liked best to sleep alone. He looked very pretty indeed, now, in his sleep, his mop of brown curls pushed back from his forehead, the long black lashes lying like a cloud on his rounded cheeks; his red, red lips slightly parted, a smile on his little face. But Harriet saw no beauty in the sleeping boy.
“Little tiresome thing!” she murmured under her breath. “If it wasn’t for that pony and my determination to win the prize over Robina, wouldn’t I give him a time to-day!”
But the pony was worth winning, and Harriet was clever. She bent down over Ralph, and touched him gently on his arm. He woke with a start, looked at Harriet, coloured brightly, and then said:—
“What’s up?”
“Time for you to rise,” said Harriet. “I am your school-mother for to-day.”
“Oh,” said Ralph. His face turned a little pale, but he did not start.
“You can lie in bed as long as ever you like,” said Harriet; “I don’t care; I’m not going to tell on you; you may be as naughty as you please to-day—you needn’t do any single thing except just what you like.”
“Needn’t I, really?” said the boy.
“Of course, you needn’t,” said Harriet. “Why should you bother to be good?”
“But Father likes me to be good,” said Ralph; “and—and—Mrs Burton does. I love Mrs Burton, don’t you?”