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? He was just dropping off to sleep when a brisk voice said in his ear: "What is the matter, Ralph?" He looked round, and there was Robina. "I am sleepy," said Ralph. "It's because I can't borrow ten. Will you lend it to me?" Robina bent down over the slate, where poor little Ralph was making a muddle of his sums. "This is the way you do it," she said. She explained so simply; the child understood. His eyes brightened. "Oh, thank you, thank you!" he answered. "Why, it's quite nice now, quite nice." "Well, you won't forget another time," said Robina. She had to go back to her own seat. She took care in doing so not to glance at Harriet. At last school time was over, and the young people went into the gardens. Ralph now felt happy once more. His idea was that Harriet-- dear, kind, fascinating Harriet, who had made him so intensely happy on the day when she had been his trial school-mother--would now take him all away by himself. She would sit somewhere under a tree, and get him to sit by her side, and tell him her plans. These plans must surely include a picnic tea and a visit to the gipsies. Ralph felt now that every desire in his life was centred round the gipsies.