“Still, one little boy—my dear friend—one little motherless boy, not six years of age—”
“He is a baby,” said Mrs Burton, “and we all love him. I will think it over.”
“Do, my dear friend. I can scarcely tell you what a weight of care will be lifted from my mind if you will allow me to send Ralph back here at the end of the holidays. But in the meantime, what is this talk about several school-mothers, and in especial about two; one naughty—one whom he loves very dearly, and one good—one whom he also seems to adore? Am I really to give two ponies, two side-saddles, two habits, and provide for the keep of two of these little animals for many years? If you can prove to me that such an action on my part is necessary, I will gladly give not two, but twenty, ponies to Ralph’s little mothers in this school.”
“You are so generous, Mr Durrant, that you would really spoil all my little girls if you were allowed to have your own way,” said the headmistress. “The fact is, this your proposal with regard to the pony was so tempting and so unlooked for, that it very nearly turned the head and the heart of one child in this school. That child—your little boy will tell you her name, so there is no use in my withholding it—is called Harriet Lane. She behaved as she ought not to have done; and although circumstances occurred—which I will also tell you later on—that so terrified her and so appealed to her conscience that she is very much improved now; nevertheless it would never do to give her a pony. You must keep to your decision, Mr Durrant, one pony for one girl, and one school-mother for little Ralph.”
“Very well,” said Mr Durrant. “But I suppose I may do something else for the would-be school-mothers.”
He talked a little longer with Mrs Burton, and the result of this conference was that just before break-up on that lovely summer’s day, the great African explorer made a proposal to the school. It was this:
“I have heard a great deal,” said Mr Durrant, standing on a platform and looking at all the eager faces, “about your goodness to my little boy. I have further heard that the girls of the third form have each in turn acted as his school-mother.”
“Oh yes—oh yes!” said Ralph, coming forward now, and speaking with great eagerness: “I has got eight mothers, and I don’t want to lose one of them. My bestest mothers are my naughty one and my goodest one. Robina is my goodest one, and Harriet is my naughtiest one: I love them best, but I love all the others too.”
“You, I think, are Robina Starling,” said Mr Durrant, fixing his eyes on Robina’s face.
“Yes, sir;” she answered.