Peggy Stewart at School
by Gabrielle E. Jackson · English · Gutenberg #22113 · 357,697 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Peggy Stewart at School
Author: Gabrielle E. Jackson
Release date: July 20, 2007 [eBook #22113]
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Language: English
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PEGGY STEWART AT SCHOOL
by
GABRIELLE E. JACKSON
Author of "Peggy Stewart at Home," "Silver Heels,"
"Three Graces" Series, "Capt. Polly" Series, etc.
The Goldsmith Publishing Co.
New York N. Y.
Made in U.S.A.
Copyright, 1918 by Barse & Hopkins
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE BAROMETER FALLING 1
II. RECONSTRUCTION 16
III. HOSTILITIES SUSPENDED 32
IV. HOSTILITIES RESUMED 48
V. RUCTIONS! 64
VI. A NEW ORDER OF THINGS 81
VII. COLUMBIA HEIGHTS SCHOOL 97
VIII. A RIDING LESSON 114
IX. COMMON SENSE AND HORSE SENSE 131
X. TZARITZA AS DISCIPLINARIAN 149
XI. BEHIND SCENES 167
XII. CHRISTMAS AT SEVERNDALE 184
XIII. YULETIDE 202
XIV. AT SEVERNDALE 221
XV. IN SPRING TERM 239
XVI. A MIDNIGHT SENSATION 256
XVII. A SEND-OFF WITH FIREWORKS 274
CHAPTER I
THE BAROMETER FALLING
The September morning was warmer and more enervating than September
mornings in Maryland usually are, though the month is generally conceded
to be a trying one. Even at beautiful Severndale where, if at any point
along the river, a refreshing breeze could almost always be counted
upon, the air seemed heavy and lifeless, as though the intense heat of
the summer had taken from it every particle of its revivifying
qualities.
In the pretty breakfast room the long French windows, giving upon the
broad piazza, stood wide open; the leaves upon the great beeches and
maples which graced the extensive lawn beyond, hung limp and motionless;
the sunlight even at that early hour beat scorchingly upon the dry
grass, for there had been little rain during August and the vegetation
had suffered severely; every growing thing was coated like a dusty
miller. But within doors all looked most inviting. The room was
scrupulous; its appointments indicated refined taste and constant care;
the breakfast table, laid for two, was dainty and faultless in its
appointments; our old friend, Jerome, moved about noiselessly, giving
last lingering touches, lest any trifle be omitted which might add to
the comfort and sense of harmony which seemed so much a part of his
young mistress's life. As he straightened a fruit knife here, or set
right a fold of the snowy breakfast cloth, he kept up a low-murmured
monologue after the manner of his race. Very little escaped old Jerome's
sharp eyes and keen ears, and within the past forty-eight hours they had
found plenty to see or hear, for a guest had come to Severndale. Yes, a
most unusual type of guest, too. As a rule Severndale's guests brought
unalloyed pleasure to its young hostess and her servants, or to her
sailor father if he happened to be enjoying one of his rare leaves, for
Captain Stewart had been on sea-duty for many successive years,
preferring it to land duty since his wife's death when Peggy, his only
child, was but six years of age. Severndale had held only sad memories
for him since that day, nearly ten years ago, in spite of the little
girl growing up there, cared for by the old housekeeper and the
servants, some of whom had been on the estate as long as Neil Stewart
could remember.
But nine years had slipped away since Peggy's mother's death, and the
little child had changed into a very lovely young girl, with whom the
father was in reality just becoming acquainted. He had spent more time
with her during the year just passed than he had ever spent in any one
of the preceding nine years, and those weeks had held many startling
revelations for him. When he left her to resume command of his ship, his
mind was in a more or less chaotic state trying to grasp an entirely new
order of things, for this time he was leaving behind him a young lady of
fifteen who, so it seemed to the perplexed man, had jumped over at least
five years as easily as an athlete springs across a hurdle, leaving the
little girl upon the other side forever. When Neil Stewart awakened to
this fact he was first dazed, and then overwhelmed by the sense of his
obligations overlooked for so long, and, being possessed of a lively
sense of duty, he strove to correct the oversight.
Had he not been in such deadly earnest his efforts to make reparation
for what he considered his inexcusable short-sightedness and neglect,
would have been funny, for, like most men when confronted by some
problem involving femininity, he was utterly at a loss how to set about
"his job" as he termed it.
As a matter of fact, a kind fate had taken "his job" in hand for him
some time before, and was in a fair way to turn out a pretty good one
too. But Neil Stewart made up his mind to boost Old Lady Fate along a
little, and his attempts at so doing came pretty near upsetting her
equilibrium; she was not inclined to be hustled, and Neil Stewart was
nothing if not a hustler, once he got under way.
And so, alack! by one little move he completely changed Peggy's future
and for a time rendered the present a veritable storm center, as will be
seen.
But we will let events tell their own story.
Old Jerome moved about the sunny breakfast-room; at least it would have
been sunny had not soft-tinted awnings and East-Indian screens, shut out
the sun's glare and suffused the room in a restful coolness and calm, in
marked contrast to the vivid light beyond the windows.
Jerome himself was refreshing to look upon. The old colored man was
quite seventy years of age, but still an erect and dignified major-domo.
From his white, wool-fringed old head, to the toes of his white canvas
shoes, he was immaculate. No linen could have been more faultlessly
laundered than Jerome's; no serviette more neatly folded. All was in
harmony excepting the old man's face; that was troubled. A perplexed
pucker contracted his forehead as he spoke softly to himself.
"'Taint going to do _no_ how! It sure ain't. She ain't got de right
bran', no she ain't, and yo' cyant mate up no common stock wid a
tho'oughbred and git any sort of a span. No siree, yo' cyant. My Lawd,
what done possess Massa Neil fer ter 'vite her down hyer? _She_ cyant
'struct an' guide _our_ yo'ng mist'ess. Sho! She ain' know de very fust
_rudimints_ ob de qualities' ways an' doin's. Miss Peggy could show her
mo' in five minutes dan she ever is know in five years. She ain't,--she
ain't,--well I ain't jist 'zackly know how I'se gwine speechify it, but
she ain't like _we_ all," and Jerome wagged his head in deprecation and
forced his tongue against his teeth in a sound indicating annoyance and
distaste, as he moved his mistress' chair a trifle.
Just then Mammy Lucy stuck her white-turbaned head in at the door to
ask:
"Whar dat chile at? Ain't she done come in fer her breckfus yit? It's
nine o'clock and Sis Cynthia's a-stewin' an' a steamin' like her own
taters."
"She say she wait fer her aunt, an' her aunt say she cyant breckfus
befo' half-pas' nine, no how," answered Jerome.
"Huh, huh! An' ma chile gotter wait a hull hour pas' her breckfus time
jist kase Madam Fussa-ma-fiddle ain't choose fer ter git up? I bait yo'
she git up when she ter home, and I bait yo' she ain't gitting somebody
ter dress her, an' wait on her han' an' foot like Mandy done been
a-doin' sense yistiddy; ner she ain' been keepin' better folks a-waiting
fer dey meals. I'se pintedly put out wid de way things is been gwine in
dis hyer 'stablishmint fer de past two days, an' 's fur 's _I_ kin see
dey ain' gwine mend none neider. No, not fer a considerbul spell lessen
we has one grand, hifalutin' tornader. Yo' hyar me!"
"I sho' does hyar yo' Mis' Lucy, an' I sho' 'grees wid yo' ter de very
top notch. Dere's gwine ter be de very dibble--'scuse me please, ma'am,
'scuse me, but ma feelin's done got de better of ma breedin'--ter pay ef
things go on as dey've begun since de Madam--_an' dat dawg_--invest
deyselves 'pon Severndale. But yonder comin' our yo'ng mistiss," he
concluded as a clear, sweet voice was heard singing just beyond the
windows, and quick decisive footsteps came across the broad piazza, and
Peggy Stewart, only daughter and heiress of beautiful "Severndale,"
entered the room. By her side Tzaritza, her snowy Russian wolfhound,
paced with stately mien; a thoroughbred pair indeed.
"Oh, Jerome, I am just starved. That breakfast table is irresistible.
Mammy, is Aunt Katherine ready?"
"I make haste fer ter inquire, baby," answered the old nurse, hurrying
from the room.
"I trus' she is," was Jerome's comment, adding: "Sis Cynthia done make
de sallylun jist ter de perfection pint, an' she know dat pint too."
Peggy made no comment upon the implied reproach of her guest's
tardiness, but crossing the room to a big chair, whither Tzaritza had
already preceded her to rub noses with a magnificent white Persian cat,
she stooped to stroke Sultana, who graciously condescended to purr and
nestle her beautiful head against Peggy's hand. Sultana had only been a
member of the Severndale household since July, Mr. Harold having sent
her to Peggy as "a semi-annual birthday gift," he said. She had adapted
herself to her new surroundings with unusual promptitude and been
adopted by the other four-footed members of the estate as "a friend and
equal." The trio formed a picturesque group as they stood there.
The dark-haired, dark-eyed young girl of fifteen, with her rich, clear
coloring, her cheeks softly tinted from her brisk walk in the morning
sunshine was very lovely. She wore a white duck skirt, a soft nainsook
blouse open at the throat, the sailor collar knotted with a red silk
scarf. Her heavy braids were coiled about her shapely head and held in
place with large shell pins, soft little locks curling about her
forehead.
The past year had wrought wonderful changes in Peggy Stewart. The little
girl had vanished forever, giving place to the charming young girl
nearing her sixteenth milestone. The contact with the outer world which
the past three months had given, when she had made so many new friends
and seen so much of the service and social world, had done a great deal
towards developing her. Always exceptionally well poised and sure of
herself, the summer at Navy Bungalow in New London, at Newport, Boston,
and at other points at which the summer practice Squadron had touched,
had broadened her outlook, and helped her gauge things from a different
and wider viewpoint than Severndale or Annapolis afforded. Though
entirely unaware of the fact, Peggy had few rivals in the world of young
girls.
Presently a step sounded upon the polished floor of the broad hall and
Mrs. Peyton Stewart, Peggy's aunt by marriage, stood in the doorway.
Under one arm she carried her French poodle. Stooping she placed it upon
the floor with the care which suggested a degree of fragility entirely
belied by the bad-tempered little beast's first move, for as Peggy
advanced with extended hand to greet her aunt, Toinette made a wild dash
for the Persian cat, which onset was met by one dignified slap of the
Sultana's paw, which left its red imprint upon the poodle's nose and
promptly toppled the pampered thing heels-over-head. Tzaritza stood
watching the entire procedure with dignified surprise, and when the
yelping little beast rolled to her feet, she calmly gathered her into
her huge jaws and stalking across the room held her up to Peggy, as
though asking:
"What shall I do with this bad-mannered bit of dogdom? Turn her over to
your discipline, or crush her with one snap of my jaws?"
"Oh you horrible, savage beast! You great brute! Drop her! Drop her!
Drop her instantly! My precious Toinette. My darling!" shrieked
Toinette's doting mistress. "Peggy, how _can_ you have such a savage
creature near you? She has crushed every bone in my pet's body. Go away!
Go away!"
The scorn in Tzaritza's eyes was almost human. With a low growl, she
dropped the thoroughly cowed poodle at Peggy's feet and then turned and
stalked from the room, the very picture of scornful dignity. Mrs.
Stewart snatched the poodle to her breast. There was not a scratch upon
it save the one inflicted by Sultana, and richly deserved, as the tuft
of the handsome cat's fur lying upon the floor testified.
"I hardly think you will find her injured, Aunt Katherine. Tzaritza
never harms any creature smaller than herself unless bidden to. She
brought Toinette here as much for the little dog's protection as for
Sultana's."
"Sultana's! As though she needed protection from _this_ fairy creature.
Horrible, vicious cat! Look at poor Toinette's nose."
"And at poor Sultana's fur," added Peggy, pointing to the tuft upon the
floor and slightly shrugging her shoulders.
"She deserved it for scratching Toinette's nose."
"I'm afraid the scratch was the second move in the onslaught."
"We will not argue the point, but in future keep that great hound
outside of the house, and the cat elsewhere than in the dining-room, I
beg of you--I can't have Toinette's life endangered, or my nerves
shocked in this manner again."
For a moment Peggy looked at her aunt in amazement. Keep Tzaritza out of
the house and relegate the Sultana to the servant's quarters? What had
become of the lady of smiles and compliments whom she had known at New
London, and who had been at such infinite pains to ingratiate herself
with Neil Stewart that she had been invited to spend September at
Severndale? And, little as Peggy suspected it, with the full
determination of spending the remainder of her days there could she
contrive to do so. Madam Stewart had blocked out her campaign most
completely, only "the best laid plans," etc., and Madam had quite
forgotten to take Mrs. Glenn Harold, Peggy's stanchest champion and
ally, into consideration. Mrs. Harold had been Peggy's "guide,
philosopher and friend" for one round year, and Mrs. Harold's niece,
Polly Howland, was Peggy's chum and crony.
Mrs. Stewart felt a peculiar sensation pass over her as she met the
girl's clear, steady gaze. Very much the sensation that one experiences
upon looking into a clear pool whose depth it is impossible to guess
from merely looking, though one feels instinctively that it is much
deeper, and may prove more dangerous than a casual glance would lead one
to believe. Peggy's reply was:
"Of course if you wish it, Aunt Katherine, Tzaritza shall not come into
the house during your visit here. I do not wish you to be annoyed, but
on the contrary, quite happy, and, Jerome, please see that Sultana is
taken to Mammy, and ask her to keep her in her quarters while Mrs.
Stewart remains at Severndale. Are you ready for your breakfast, Aunt
Katherine?"
"Quite ready," answered Mrs. Stewart, taking her seat at the table.
Peggy waited until she had settled herself with the injured poodle in
her lap, then took her own seat. Jerome had summoned one of the maids
and given Sultana into her charge, while Tzaritza was bidden "Guard"
upon the piazza. Never in all her royal life had Tzaritza been elsewhere
than upon the rug before the fireplace while her mistress' breakfast was
being served, and it seemed as though the splendid wolfhound, with a
pedigree unrivalled in the world, stood as the very incarnation of
outraged dignity, and a protest against insult. Perhaps some vague sense
of having overstepped the bounds of good judgment, if not good breeding,
was beginning to impress itself upon Mrs. Peyton Stewart. Certainly she
had not so thoroughly ingratiated herself in the favor of her niece, or
her niece's friends during that visit in New London the previous summer,
as to feel entirely sure of a cordial welcome at Severndale, and to make
a false start at the very outset of her carefully formed plans was a far
cry from diplomatic, to say the least. During those weeks at New
London, when a kind fate had brought her again in touch with her
brother-in-law after so many years, Mrs. Stewart had done a vast deal of
thinking and planning. There was beautiful Severndale without a mistress
excepting Peggy, a mere child, who, in Madam's estimation, did not
count. Neil Stewart was a widower in the very prime of life and, from
all Madam had observed, sorely in need of someone to look after him and
keep him from making some foolish marriage which might end in--well, in
_not_ keeping Severndale in the family; "the family" being strongly in
evidence in Mrs. Peyton. Her first step had been to secure an invitation
to visit there. That done, the next was to remain there indefinitely
once she arrived upon the scene. To do this she must make herself not
only desirable but indispensable.
Certainly, the preceding two days had not promised much for the
fulfillment of her plan. So being by no means a fool, but on the
contrary, a very clever woman in her own peculiar line of cleverness,
she at once set about dispelling the cloud which hung over the horizon,
congratulating herself that she had had sufficient experience to know
how to deal with a girl of Peggy's age. So to that end she now smiled
sweetly upon her niece and remarked:
"I am afraid, dear, I almost lost control of myself. I am so attached to
Toinette that I am quite overcome if any harm threatens her. You know
she has been my inseparable companion in my loneliness, and when one is
so utterly desolate as I have been for so many years even the devotion
of a dumb animal is valued. I have been very, very lonely since your
uncle's death, Peggy, dear, and you can hardly understand what a
paradise seems opening to me in this month to be spent with you. I know
we are going to be everything to each other, and I am sure I can relieve
you of a thousand burdens which must be a great tax upon a girl of your
years. I do not see _how_ you have carried them so wonderfully, or why
you are not old before your time. It has been most unnatural. But now we
must change all that. Young people were not born to assume heavy
responsibilities, whereas older ones accept them as a matter of course.
And that's just what _I_ have come way down here to try to do for my
sweet niece," ended Mrs. Stewart smiling with would-be fascinating
coyness. The smile would have been somewhat less complacent could she
have heard old Jerome's comment as he placed upon the pantry shelf the
fingerbowls which he had just removed from the table.
"Yas, yas, dat's it. Yo' needn't 'nounce it. We knows pintedly what yo's
aimin' ter do, an' may de Lawd have mussy 'pon us if yo' _suc_ceeds. But
dere's shorely gwine be ructions 'fore yo' does, er my name ain't Jerome
Randolph Lee Stewart."
CHAPTER II
RECONSTRUCTION
"I have to ride into Annapolis, this morning, Aunt Katherine. Would you
like to drive in?" asked Peggy, when the unpleasant breakfast was ended.
"I should be delighted to, dear," answered Mrs. Stewart sweetly,
striving to recover lost ground, for she felt that a good bit had been
lost. "At what time do you start?"
"Immediately. I will order the surrey."
She left the room, her aunt's eyes following her with a half-mystified,
half-baffled expression: Was the girl deeper than she had given her
credit for being? Had she miscalculated the depth of the pool after all?
All through the breakfast hour Peggy had been a sweet and gracious young
hostess, anticipating every want, looking to every detail of the
service, ordering with a degree of self-possession which secretly
astonished Mrs. Stewart, who felt that it would have been difficult for
her, even with her advantage of years, to have equaled the girl's
unassuming self-assurance and dignity, or have rivaled her perfect
ability to sit at the head of her father's table. A moment later Mrs.
Stewart went to her room to dress for the drive into town, her breakfast
toilet having been a most elaborate silk negligee. Twenty minutes later
the surrey stood at the door, but, contrary to Mrs. Stewart's
expectations, her niece was not in it: she was mounted upon her
beautiful black horse Shashai, at whose feet Tzaritza lay, her nose
between her paws, but her ears a-quiver for the very first note of the
low whistle which meant, "full speed ahead." On either side of Shashai,
a superb bodyguard, stood Silver Star, Polly Howland's saddle horse,
though he was still quartered at Severndale, and Roy, the colt that
Peggy had raised from tiny babyhood, and which had followed her as he
would have followed his dam, ever since the accident that had made him
an orphan.
Perhaps the reader of "Peggy Stewart" will recall Mrs. Stewart's horror
upon being met at the railway station by "the wild West show," as she
stigmatized her niece's riding and her horses, for rarely did Peggy
Stewart ride unless accompanied by her two beautiful horses and the
wolfhound, and her riding was a source of marvel to more than one, her
instructor having been Shelby, the veteran horse-trainer, who had been
employed at Severndale ever since Peggy could remember, and whose early
days had been spent upon a ranch in the far West where a man had to ride
anything which possessed locomotive powers. At the present moment a more
appreciative observer would have thrilled at the sight, for rarely is it
given to mortal eyes to look upon a prettier picture than Peggy Stewart
and her escort presented at that moment.
Given as a background a beautiful, carefully preserved estate, which for
generations has been the pride of its owners, a superb old mansion of
the most perfect colonial type, a sunny September morning, and as the
figures upon that background a charming young girl in a white linen
riding-skirt, her rich coloring at its best, her eyes shining, her seat
in her saddle so perfect that she seemed a part of her mount, and you
have something to look upon. To this add three thoroughbred horses and a
snowy dog, an old colored servitor, for Jerome had come out with a
message from Harrison, and it is a picture to be appreciated. Had the
tall woman standing upon the broad piazza been able to do so, many
things which happened later might never have happened at all.
Mrs. Stewart was elaborately gowned in a costume better suited for a
drive in Newport than Annapolis, especially Annapolis in September. It
was a striking creation of pale blue linen and Irish point lace, with a
large lace hat, heavy with nodding plumes and a voluminous white lace
veil floating out about it. She was a handsome woman in a certain
conspicuous way, and certainly knew how to purchase her apparel, though,
not above criticism in her selection of the toilet for the occasion, as
the present instance evinced. She now walked to the piazza steps, and
had anyone possessing a sense of humor been a witness of it, the
transformation which passed over the lady's face en transit would have
well nigh convulsed him, for the smile which had illumined her
countenance at the door had gradually faded as she advanced until, when
the steps were reached, it had been transformed into a most disapproving
frown.
To Peggy the reason was a mystery, for she had not overheard her aunt's
comments upon the occasion of the drive from the railway station three
days before. Of course Jess had, and they had been freely circulated and
keenly resented in the servants' quarters, but no whisper of them had
been carried to the young mistress. Nevertheless, Peggy was beginning to
discover that a good many of her actions, and also the order of things
at Severndale, had brought a cloud to her Aunt's brow, and a little
sigh escaped her lips as she wondered what the latest development would
prove. It seemed so easy for things to go amiss nowadays, when
heretofore nearly everything had seemed, as a matter of course, to go
right. Then the self-elected dictator spoke:
"Peggy, dear, are you not to drive with me?"
"Thank you, Aunt Katherine, but I always ride, and I have several
errands to do which I can better attend to if I am mounted."
"Well, it can hardly be necessary for you to have _three_ saddle horses
at once. It seems to me unnecessarily conspicuous, and in very bad taste
for a young girl to go tearing about the country, and especially into
Annapolis--the capital City of the State--in the guise of a traveling
circus."
A slight smile curved Peggy's lips as she answered:
"Annapolis is _not_ New York, Aunt Katherine. What might be out of place
in such a city would be regarded as a matter of course in a little town
where everybody knows everybody else, and they all know me, and the
Severndale horses. Nobody ever gives us a thought. Why should they? I'm
nothing but a girl riding into town on an errand."
"You are extremely modest, I must say. Is it quite native or well--we'll
dismiss the question, but I must ask you to do me the favor of leaving
your bodyguard behind today; it may not seem conspicuous for you to play
in a Wild West Show, but I must decline to be an actor. You are growing
too old for such mad pranks, and are far too handsome a girl to invite
observation."
Peggy turned crimson.
"Why, Aunt Katherine, I never regarded it as a prank in the least. I
have ridden this way all my life and no one has ever commented upon it.
Daddy Neil knows of it--he has ridden with me hundreds of times
himself--and never said one word against it. And you surely do not think
I do it to invite observation? Why, there isn't anything to _observe_. I
am certainly no better looking than hundreds of other girls; at least,
you are the only one who has ever commented upon my personal appearance.
But I beg your pardon; you are my guest. I am sorry. Bud, please call
Shelby to take Star and Roy back; I don't dare trust them to you."
The little negro boy who had brought Shashai to the doorstep, and who
had been staring popeyed during the conversation, dashed away toward the
paddock, to rush upon Shelby with a wild tale of "dat lady f'om de norf
was a-sassin' Missie Peggy jist scan'lous and orderin' Shelby fer to
come quick ter holp her."
"What you a-talking about, you little fool nigger?" demanded Shelby.
Then gathering that something was amiss with the little mistress whom
all upon the estate adored, he hastened to the house, his face somewhat
troubled, for hints of the doings up there had penetrated even to his
quarters.
"Shelby, please take Star and Roy back to the paddock and be sure to
fasten them in."
"Ain't they a-goin' with you, Miss Peggy?"
"Not this morning, Shelby."
The man looked from the girl to the lady now settling herself in the
carriage. Toinette still stood upon the piazza waiting to be lifted up
to her mistress, too fat and too foolish to even go down the steps
alone. As Shelby stepped toward the horses Mrs. Stewart waved her hand
toward the dog and said to him:
"Lift Toinette into the surrey."
Shelby paid no more attention to her than he paid to the quarreling jays
in the holly trees, and the order was sharply repeated.
"Oh, are you a-speakin' to me, ma'am?" he then said.
"Certainly. I wish my dog handed to me."
Shelby looked at the pampered poodle and then at its mistress. Then with
a guileless smile remarked:
"Now you don't sesso? Well, when I git back to the paddock with these
here horses what can't go 'long with Miss Peggy, I'll send a little
nigger boy up here for ter boost your dog up to you, but _I_ tend
_horses_ on this here place."
The man's dark skin grew several shades darker owing to the blood which
flooded his cheeks, and his eyes narrowed as he looked for one second
straight into Mrs. Stewart's. What possessed the woman to antagonize
everyone with whom she came in touch? Shelby had never laid eyes upon
her until that moment, but that moment had confirmed his dislike
conceived from the reports which had come to him. He now went up to the
horses. Knowing that neither of them had halters on, he had brought two
with him and now slipped them over his charges' heads, saying as he did
so:
"You've got to come 'long back with me and keep company manners, do you
know that, you disrepu'ble gad-abouts? You ain't never had no proper
eddicatin' an' now it's a-goin' to begin for fa'r. You-all are goin' ter
be larnt citified manners hot off the bat. So come 'long back to the
paddock an' git your fust lesson."
The horses toyed and played with him like a couple of children, but went
pacing away beside him, now and again pulling at his sleeve, poking at
him with their soft muzzles or mumbling at his cheeks with their velvety
lips, a pair of petted, peerless creatures and as beautiful as any God
had ever created. Now and again they stopped short to neigh a peremptory
call, as though asking the reason of this surprising conduct.
"Are you ready, Aunt Katherine?" asked Peggy.
"As soon as Jerome takes your hound in charge. I don't care to have
Toinette driven frantic with fear by the sight of her. She will grow so
excited that I shall be unable to hold her."
Now the past two hours had held a good many annoyances for Peggy Stewart
to whom annoyances had been almost unknown. Perhaps they constitute the
discipline of life, but thus far Peggy Stewart had apparently gotten on
pretty well without any radical chastening processes. Her life had been
simply, but well, ordered, and her naturally sunny soul had grown sweet
and wholesome in her little world. If correction had been necessary
Mammy's loving old heart had known how to order it during Peggy's
babyhood; Harrison had carefully watched her childhood, and her young
girlhood had been most beautifully developed by her guardian, good Dr.
Llewellyn, who loved her as a grand-daughter. Then had come Mrs. Harold,
who had done so much for the young girl. Why could it not have gone on?
Perhaps the ordering of Peggy's life had been too smooth to develop the
best in her character, so Kismet, or whatever it is which shapes the odd
happenings of our lives, had stepped in to lay a hurdle or two to test
her ability to meet obstacles. Since seven-thirty that morning she had
met little else in one form or another, and had taken them rather
gracefully, all things considered. Her breakfast had been delayed an
hour; the breakfast itself had been far from the pleasant meal it
usually proved; she had been needlessly criticised for her habit of
riding with her beloved horses; and now poor Tzaritza, after being
banished the house, was to be debarred from following her young
mistress; something unheard of, since the hound had acted as Peggy's
protectress ever since she could follow her. The blood flooded into the
girl's face, as turning to her Aunt she said very quietly, but with a
dignity which Mrs. Stewart dared not encroach upon:
"I am very sorry to seem in any way discourteous or disobliging, Aunt
Katherine, but Daddy Neil and Compadre, have always wished Tzaritza to
accompany me when I ride. I have never felt any fear but they feel
differently, as there are, of course, some undesirable characters
between Severndale and Annapolis, and they consider Tzaritza a great
protection against any possible annoyance. We will ride on ahead, since
it is likely to annoy you, but I must go into Annapolis this morning.
Another time I shall drive with you, but I can't ask you to drive where
I must ride today. When you see some of the Annapolitan streets you will
understand why. They have not been re paved since the first pavements
were laid generations ago, and you would be most uncomfortable. Be
careful where you drive, Jess. I will meet you at the Bank."
There was a graceful bow to Mrs. Stewart, a slight pressure of the knee
against Shashai, a low whistle to Tzaritza and she had whirled and was
away like the wind.
Madam Stewart drew a quick breath and compressed her thin lips until
they formed barely a line, and during that drive into Annapolis did some
rapid thinking. Evidently she had made another mistake.
As Peggy rode along the highway which led to Annapolis, the usual merry,
lilting songs, to which Shashai's hoofbeats kept time, were silenced,
and the girl rode in deep thought. Shashai tossed his head impatiently
as though trying to attract her attention, and now and again Tzaritza
bounded up to her with a deep, questioning bark. Peggy smiled a little
abstractedly and said:
"Your Missie is doing some hard thinking, my beauties and doesn't feel
songful this morning." Then after a moment she resumed:
"O Shashai, what _is_ the matter with everything? Am _I_ all wrong, or
is Aunt Katherine different from everybody else? I have never met anyone
just like her before, and I feel just exactly as though someone had
drawn a file across my teeth, and I dare say that's all wrong too. If
the Little Mother and Polly were only here they'd know how to make me
see things differently, but I seem to get in wrong at every turn. Aunt
Katherine has been here only two days, but what days they have been! And
ten times more to follow before the month ends!"
Shashai had gradually slowed down until he was walking with his own
inimitably dainty step, his hoofs falling upon the leaf-strewn road with
the lightness of a deer's. Presently they came to a pretty wood-road
leading almost at angles to the highway, but Peggy was again too
occupied to notice that Tzaritza had turned into it and that Shashai, as
a matter of course, had followed her. Annapolis could be reached by this
less frequented way but it made a wide detour, leading past Nelly
Bolivar's home. As they struck the refreshing coolness of the byway
Shashai broke into what Peggy called his "rocking-chair gait," though
she was so much a part of him that she was hardly aware of the more
rapid motion. Her first clear intimation that her route had changed
occurred when a cheerful voice called out:
"And she wandered away and away into the land o' dreams, my princess."
Peggy raised her head quickly and the old light flashed back into her
eyes, the old smile curved her lips as she cried:
"Why, Nelly Bolivar! How under the sun came I here?"
"In the usual way, I reckon, Miss Peggy. I don't often see you come in
any other. But this time you sure enough look as though you had been
dreaming," laughed Nelly, coming close to Shashai, who instantly
remembered his manners and neighed his greeting, while Tzaritza thrust
her head into the girl's arms with the gentlest insinuation. Nelly held
the big head close, rested her face against it a second, then took
Shashai's soft muzzle in both hands and planted a kiss just where it was
most velvety, saying softly:
"I can't imagine you three separated. The picture would not be complete.
But what is wrong, Miss Peggy? You look so sober you make me feel
queer," for the smile had gone from the girl's face and Nelly was quick
to feel the seriousness of her expression.
"Perhaps I'm cross and cranky, Nelly. At any rate I've no business to be
here this minute. I started for Annapolis, but my wits got
wool-gathering, I reckon, and I let Shashai turn in here without
noticing where he was going. Aunt Katherine will reach Annapolis before
I do and--then--" and Peggy stopped and wagged her head as though
pursuit of the subject would better be dropped. Nelly's face clouded. It
had not required the two days of Mrs. Stewart's visit to circulate a
good many reports concerning her. Indeed both Jerome and old Mammy had
described her at length, and the description had lost nothing upon their
African tongues, nor had the experiences of the three months spent up
north: Madam Stewart had figured rather conspicuously in their pictures
of the "doin's up yander." Had she suspected how accurately the old
colored people had gauged her, or how great an influence their gauging
was likely to have upon the plans she had so carefully laid, she might
have been a little more circumspect in her conduct toward them. But to
her they were "just black servants" and she was entirely incapable of
weighing their influence in the domestic economy, or of understanding
their shrewd judgment as to the best interests of the young girl whom
each, in common with all the other old servants upon the estate, loved
with a devotion absolutely incomprehensible to most northern-born
people. And another potent fact, entirely absent from the
characteristics of the northern negro, is the fact that the southern
negro servants' "kinnery" instantly adopts and maintains the viewpoint
of those "nearest the throne." It is a survival of the old feudal
system, unknown in the cosmopolitan North, but which even in this day,
so remote from the days of slavery, makes itself very distinctly felt in
many parts of the South.
And many of the servants upon the Severndale estate had been there for
three generations. Hence Peggy was their "chile," and her joys or
sorrows, happiness or unhappiness, were theirs, and all their kin's, to
be talked over, remedied if possible, but shared if not, or made a part
of their own delight in living, as the case might demand. And the
ramifications of their kinship were amazing. No wonder the report that
"an aunt-in-law ob de yo'ng mistress yonder at Severndale, had done come
down an' ondertuck fer ter run de hull shebang _an'_ Miss Peggy inter de
bargain, what is never been run by nobody," had circulated throughout
the whole community, and met with a resolute, though carefully concealed
opposition--subtle, intangible, but sure to prove overwhelming in the
end--the undertow, so hidden but so irresistible. All this had stolen
from one pair of lips to another and, of course, been related with
indignant emphasis to Jim Bolivar, Nelly's father, one of the tenants of
Severndale's large estate. And he, in turn, had discussed it with Nelly,
who worshipped the very ground Peggy chose to stand upon, for to Peggy
Stewart Nelly owed restored health, her home rescued when ruin seemed
about to claim everything her father owned, and all the happiness which
had come into her lonely life.
No wonder she now looked up to the deep brown eyes with her own blue
ones troubled and distressed.
CHAPTER III
HOSTILITIES SUSPENDED
During her drive into Annapolis Madam Stewart did more deep thinking
than it was generally given to her shallow brain to compass. Like most
of her type, she possessed a certain shrewdness, which closely touched
upon cunning when she wished to gain her ends, but she had very little
real cleverness, and practically no power of logical deduction.
Today, however, she had felt antagonism enveloping her as a fog, and
would have been not a little surprised to realize that its most potent
force lay in Peggy's humble servitors rather than in Peggy herself. From
the old darkey driving her, so deferentially replying to her questions,
and at such pains to point out everything of interest along the way, she
felt it radiate with almost tangible scorn and hostility, and yet to
have saved her life she could not have said: "He is remiss in this or
that."
They drove into Annapolis by the bridge which crosses the Severn just
above the Naval Hospital, and from which the whole Academy is seen at
its best, with the wide sweep of the beautiful Chesapeake beyond. Jess
pointed out everything most carefully. Then on they went across College
Creek bridge, up College Avenue, by historic old St. Ann's and drew up
at the Bank to meet Peggy. Mrs. Stewart looked about her in undisguised
disappointment and asked:
"Is _this_ the capital city of the State of Maryland? _This_ little
town?"
Jess' mouth hardened. He loved the quaint old town and all its
traditions. So did his young mistress. It had always meant home to her,
and to many, many generations of her family before her. The old "Peggy
Stewart" house famous in history, though no longer occupied by her own
family, still stood, a landmark, in the heart of the town and was
pointed to with pride by all.
"Dis sho' is de capital city ob de State, Ma'am. Yonder de guv'nor's
mansion, jist over dar stan' de co't house, an' yonder de Cap'tal an'
all de yether 'ministrashum buildin's, an' we'all's powerful proud ob
'em."
Mrs. Stewart smiled a superior smile as she replied:
"I have heard that the South is not progressive and is perfectly
apathetic to conditions. It _must_ be. Heavens! Look at these streets!
They are perfectly disgusting, and the odor is horrible. I shall be
glad to drive home."
"De town done been pave all mos' all new," bridled Jess. "Dis hyar
pavement de bes' ob brick. Miss Peggy done tole me ter be keerful whar I
drive yo' at, an' I tecken yo' on de very be's."
"And what, may I inquire, is your very worst then? Have you no street
cleaning department in your illustrious city?"
"We suttenly _has_! Dey got six men a-sweeping de hull endurin' time."
"What an overwhelming force!" and Mrs. Stewart gave way to mirth.
It was fortunate that Peggy should have arrived at that opportune
moment, for there is no telling what might have occurred: Jess's
patience was at the snapping-point. But Peggy's talk with Nelly Bolivar
had served to restore her mental equilibrium to a certain degree--and
her swift ride into Annapolis had completed the process. It was a sunny,
smiling face which drew up to the surrey and greeted Mrs. Stewart. Peggy
had made up her mind that she would not let little things annoy her, and
was already reproaching herself for having done so. She had resolved to
keep her temper during her aunt's visit if a whole legion of tormenting
imps were let loose upon her.
Three weeks of Mrs. Stewart's visit passed. Upon her part, three weeks
of striving to establish a firmer foothold in the home of her
brother-in-law; to obtain the place in it she so ardently coveted--that
of mistress and absolute dictator. But each day proved to her that she
was striving against some vaguely comprehended opposition. It did not
lie in Peggy, that she had the grace to concede, for Peggy had complied
with every wish, which she had graciously or otherwise, expressed,
except the one debarring Tzaritza from following Shashai when she rode
abroad, and be it said to Peggy's credit that she had held to her
resolution in spite of endless aggravations, for Madam was a past
mistress of criticism either spoken or implied. Never before in all her
sunny young life had Peggy been forced to live in such an atmosphere.
Little by little during those weeks Mrs. Stewart had pre-empted Peggy's
position as mistress of the household; a position held by every claim of
right, justice and natural development, for Peggy had grown into it, and
its honors and privileges rested upon her young shoulders by right of
inheritance. She had not rushed there, or forced her claim to it, hence
had it been gradually given into her hands by old Mammy, her nurse,
Harrison, the trusty housekeeper, and at length, as she had more and
more clearly demonstrated her ability to hold it, by Dr. Llewellyn, her
guardian, who regarded it as an essential part of a Southern
gentlewoman's education.
Then had come Mrs. Harold, whose tact and affection seemed to supply
just the little touch which the young girl required to round out her
life, and fit her to ultimately assume the entire control of her
father's home.
But all this was entirely beyond Mrs. Stewart's comprehension. Her own
early life had been passed in a small New Jersey village in very humble
surroundings. She had been educated in the little grammar school, going
later to an adjoining town for a year at high-school. In her home,
domestic help of any sort had been unknown, she and her mother, an
earnest, hard-working woman, having performed all the household work.
There were no traditions connected with that simple home; it was just an
everyday round of commonplace duties, accepted as a matter of course.
Then Mrs. Stewart, at that time "pretty Kitty Snyder," went as a sort of
"mother's helper" to a lady residing in Elizabeth, whose brother was in
a New Jersey College. Upon one of his visits to his sister he had
brought Peyton Stewart home for a visit: Peyton, the happy-go-lucky,
irresponsible madcap. Kitty Snyder's buxom beauty had turned all that
was left to be turned of his shallow head and she had become Mrs. Peyton
Stewart within a month.
The rest has been told elsewhere. For a good many years she had "just
lived around" as she expressed it, her income from her husband's share
of the very comfortable little fortune left him by his father, being a
vast deal more than she had ever dreamed of in her youthful days. She
felt very affluent. All things considered, it was quite as well that
Peyton had quit this earthly scene after two years of married life for
"Kitty" had rapidly developed extravagant tastes and there were many
"scenes." Her old associates saw her no more, and later the new ones
often wondered why the dashing young widow did not marry again.
They did not suspect how often her plans laid to that end had
misscarried, for her ambitions were entirely out of proportion to her
qualifications.
Now, however, chance had brought her once more in touch with her
husband's family, and she was resolved to make hay while the sun shone.
If Neil Stewart had not been an odd mixture of manly strength and
child-like simplicity, exceptional executive ability and credulity,
kindliness and quick temper, he would never in the wide world have
become responsible for the state of affairs at present turning his old
home topsy-turvy, and in a fair way to undo all the good works of
others, and certainly make Peggy extremely unhappy.
But he had "made a confounded mess of the whole job," he decided upon
receiving a letter from Peggy. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say
upon reading between the lines, because it was not so much what Peggy
had _said_ as that which she left unsaid, which puzzled him, and to
which puzzle Harrison supplied the key in her funny monthly report.
Never in all the ten years of her stewardship had she failed to send her
monthly letter.
Harrison was a most conscientious old body if somewhat below par in
educational advantages. Nevertheless, she had filled her position as
nurse, maid and housekeeper to Peggy's mother for over thirty years,
and to Peggy for ten more and her idea of duty was "Peggy first, Martha
Harrison second." Her letter to Neil Stewart, which he read while his
ship was being overhauled in the Boston Navy Yard, set him thinking. It
ran:
Severndale, Maryland.
September 21, 19--
Captain Neil Stewart,
U. S. N.
Respected Sir:--
As has been my habit these many years, I take my pen in hand to
make my monthly report concerning the happenings and the events of
the past month. Most times there isn't many of either outside the
regular accounts which, praises be, ain't never got snarled up none
since I've had the handling of them.
As to the past three weeks considerable has took place in this
quiet, peaceful (most times, at least) home, and I ain't quite sure
where I stand at, or am likely to. Things seem sort of stirred
round. Like enough we-all are old-fashioned and considerable sot in
our ways and can't rightly get used to new-fangled ones. Then, too,
we--I speak for everybody--find it kinder hard to take our orders
from anybody but Miss Peggy, who has got the right to give them,
which we can't just see that anybody else _has got_. Howsoever,
some folks seem to think they have, and what I am trying to get at
is, _have they_? If I have got to take them from other folks, why,
of course I have got to, but it has got to be _you_ that tells me I
must.
Up to the present time I seem to have been pretty capable of
running things down here, though I am free to confess I was right
glad when Mrs. Harold come along as she done, to give me a hint or
two where Miss Peggy was concerned, for that child had taken to
growing up in a way that was fair taking the breath out of my body,
and was a-getting clear beyond _me_ though, praises be, she didn't
suspicion the fact. If she had a-done it _my_ time would a-come for
sure. But the good Lord sent Mrs. Harold to us long about that time
and she was a powerful help and comfort to us all. _He_ don't make
no mistakes as a rule and I reckon we would a done well to let well
enough alone and not go trying to improve on his plans for us. When
we do that the _other one_ is just as likely as not for to take a
hand in the job and if he ain't a-kinder stirring round on these
premises right this very minute I'm missing my guess and sooner or
later there is going to be ructions.
Cording to the way _we_-all think down here Miss Peggy's mighty
close to the angels, but maybe we are blinded by the light o'love,
so to speak. Howsoever and nevertheless, we have got along pretty
comfortable till _lately_ when we have begun to discover that our
educasyons has been terribl neglected and we have all got to be
took in hand. _And we are being took powerful strong, let me tell
you!_ It is some like a Spanish fly blister: It may do good in the
end but the means thereto is some harrowing to the flesh and the
spirit.
I don't suppose there is no hope of your a-visiting your home
before the ship is ordered South for the fall target practice, more
is the pity. Tain't for me to name nothing but I wish to the Lord
Mrs. Harold was here. SHE is a lady--Amen.
Your most humble and obedient housekeeper,
Martha Harrison.
The day after this letter was written Dr. Llewellyn 'phoned to Peggy
that he would return at the end of the week and if quite agreeable would
like to pass a few days at Severndale with her, as his own housekeeper
had not yet returned from her holiday.
Peggy was in an ecstasy of joy. To have Compadre under her own roof from
Saturday to Monday would be too delightful. Brimful of her pleasurable
anticipations, and more like the natural, joyous girl of former days
than she had been since leaving Mrs. Harold and Polly, she flew to the
piazza where her aunt, arrayed in a filmy lingerie gown, reclined in one
of the big East India chairs. For a moment she forgot that she did not
hold her aunt's sympathies as she held Mrs. Harold's, and cried:
"Oh, Aunt Katherine, Compadre will be here on Friday evening and will
remain until Monday! Isn't that too good to believe?"
"Do you mean Dr. Llewellyn?" asked Mrs. Stewart, coldly.
"Yes, Aunt Katherine, you had no chance to know him before he went away,
but you will just love him."
"Shall I?" asked Mrs. Stewart with a smile which acted like a wet
blanket upon poor Peggy.
"But why do you call him by that absurd name? Why not call him Dr.
Llewellyn?"
"Call him Dr. Llewellyn?" echoed Peggy. "Why, I have never called him
anything else since he taught me to call him by that dear name when I
was a wee little thing."
"And do you expect to cling to childish habits all your days, Peggy
dear? Isn't it about time you began to think about growing up? Sit here
upon this cushion beside me. I wish to have a serious talk with you and
this seems a most opportune moment. I have felt the necessity of it ever
since my arrival, but have refrained from speaking because I feared I
might be misjudged and do harm rather than good. Sit down, dear."
Mrs. Stewart strove to bring into her voice an element of deep interest,
affection was beyond her,--and Peggy was sufficiently intuitive to feel
it. Nevertheless, if anything could have appealed to this self-centered
woman's affection it ought surely to have been the young girl who
obediently dropped upon the big Turkish cushion, and clasping her hands
upon the broad arm of the chair, looked up into the steely, calculating
eyes with a pair so soft, so brown, so trustful yet so perplexed, that
an ordinary woman would have gathered her right into her arms and
claimed all the richness and loyalty of affection so eager to find an
outlet. If it could only have been Mrs. Harold, or Polly's mother, how
quick either would have been to comprehend the loving nature of the girl
and reap the reward of it.
Mrs. Stewart merely smiled into the wild-rose face in a way which she
fondly believed to accentuate her own charms, and tapping the pretty
brown hands with her fan, said:
"I am growing extremely proud of my lovely niece. She is going to be a
great credit to me, and, also, I foresee, a great responsibility."
"A responsibility, Aunt Katherine?" asked Peggy, a perplexed pucker upon
her forehead. "Have I been a responsibility to you since you came here?
I am sorry if I have. Of course I know my life down here in the old home
is quite different from most girls' lives. I didn't realize that until I
met Mrs. Harold and Polly and then, later, went up to New London and saw
more of other girls and the way they live. But I have been very happy
here, Aunt Katherine, and since I have known Mrs. Harold and Polly a
good many things have been made pleasanter for me. I can never repay
them for their kindness to me."
Peggy paused and a wonderfully sweet light filled her eyes, for her love
for her absent friends was very true and deep, and speaking of them
seemed to bring them back to the familiar surroundings which she knew
they had grown to love so well, and where she and Polly had passed so
many happy hours.
Mrs. Stewart was not noted for her capacity for deep feeling and was
more amused than otherwise affected by Peggy's earnest speech,
classifying it as "a girl's sentimentality." Finer qualities were wasted
upon that lady. So she now smiled indulgently and said:
"Of course I can understand your appreciation of what you consider Mrs.
Harold's and her niece's kindness to you, but, have you ever looked upon
the other side of the question? Have you not done a great deal for them?
It seems to me you have quite cancelled any obligation to them. It must
have been some advantage to them to have such a lovely place as this to
visit at will, and, if I can draw deductions correctly, to practically
have the run of. It seems to me there was considerable advantage upon
_their_ side of the arrangement. You, naturally, can not see this, but
I'll venture to say Mrs. Harold was not so unsophisticated," and a pat
upon Peggy's hand playfully emphasized the lady's charitable view.
Peggy felt bewildered and her hands fell from the arm of the chair to
her lap, though her big soft eyes never changed their gaze, which proved
somewhat disconcerting to the older woman who had the grace to color
slightly. Peggy then rallied her forces and answered:
"Aunt Katherine, I am sure neither Mrs. Harold nor Polly ever had the
faintest idea of any advantage to themselves in being nice to me. Why in
this world should they? They have ten times more than _I_ could ever
give to them. Why think of how extensively Mrs. Harold has traveled and
what hosts of friends she has! And Polly too. Goodness, they let me see
and enjoy a hundred things I never could have seen or enjoyed
otherwise."
Mrs. Stewart laughed a low, incredulous laugh, then queried:
"And you the daughter of Neil Stewart and a little Navy girl? Really,
Peggy, you are deliciously _ingenue_. Well, never mind. It is of more
intimate matters I wish to speak, for with each passing day I recognize
the importance of a radical reconstruction in your mode of living. That
is what I meant when I said I foresaw greater responsibilities ahead.
You are no longer a child, Peggy, to run wild over the estate,
but--well, I must not make you vain. In a year or two at most, you will
make your _début_ and someone must provide against that day and be
prepared to fill properly the position of chaperone to you. Meantime,
you must have proper training and as near as I can ascertain you have
never had the slightest. But it can not be deferred a moment longer. It
is absolutely providential that I, the only relative you have in this
world, should have met you as I did, though I can hardly understand how
your father overlooked the need so long. Perhaps it was from motives of
unselfishness, though he must have known that I stood ready to make any
sacrifice for my dear dead Peyton's brother." Just here Mrs. Peyton's
feelings almost overcame her and a delicate handkerchief was pressed to
her eyes for a moment.
Ordinarily tender and sympathetic to the last degree, Peggy could not
account for her strange indifference to her aunt's distress. She simply
sat with hands clasped about her knees and waited for her to resume the
conversation. Presently Madam emerged from her temporary eclipse and
said:
"Forgive me, dear, my feelings quite overcame me for a moment. To
resume: I know dear Neil would never ask it of me, but I have been
thinking very seriously upon the subject and have decided to forget
self, and my many interests in New York, and devote my time to you. I
shall remain with you and relieve you of all responsibility in this
great household, a responsibility out of all proportion to your years.
Indeed, I can not understand how you have retained one spark of girlish
spontaneity under such unnatural conditions. Such cares were meant for
older, more experienced heads than your pretty one, dear. It will be a
joy to me to relieve you of them and I can not begin too soon. We will
start at once. I shall write to your father to count upon me for
everything and, if he feels so disposed, to place everything in my
hands. Furthermore, I shall suggest that he send you to a fine school
where you will have the finishing your birth and fortune entitle you to.
You know absolutely nothing of association, with other girls,--no,
please let me finish," as Peggy rose to her feet and stood regarding her
aunt with undisguised consternation, "I know of a most excellent school
in New York, indeed, it is conducted by a very dear friend of mine,
where you would meet only girls of the wealthiest families" (Mrs.
Stewart did not add that the majority had little beside their wealth to
stand as a bulwark for them; they were the daughters of New York City's
newly rich whose ancestry would hardly court inspection) "and even
during your school days you would get a taste of New York's social
advantages; a thing utterly impossible in this dull--ahem!--this remote
place. I shall strongly advise dear Neal to consider this. You simply
cannot remain buried here. _I shall_, of course, since I feel it my duty
to do so, but I can have someone pass the winter with me, and can make
frequent trips to Washington."
Mrs. Stewart paused for breath. Peggy did not speak one word, but with a
final dazed look at her aunt, turned and entered the house.
CHAPTER IV
HOSTILITIES RESUMED
As Peggy left the piazza her aunt's eyes followed her with an expression
which held little promise for the girl's future happiness should it be
given into Mrs. Stewart's keeping. A more calculating, triumphant one,
or one more devoid of any vestige of affection for Peggy it would have
been hard to picture. As her niece disappeared Mrs. Stewart's lips
formed just two words, "little fool," but never had she so utterly
miscalculated. She was sadly lacking in a discrimination of values.
Peggy had chosen one of two evils; that of losing her temper and saying
something which would have outraged her conception of the obligations of
a hostess, or of getting away by herself without a moment's delay. She
felt as though she were strangling, or that some horrible calamity
threatened her. Hurrying to her own room she flung herself upon her
couch and did that which Peggy Stewart was rarely known to do: buried
her head in the cushions and sobbed. Not the sobs of a thwarted, peevish
girl, but the deeper grief of one who feels hopeless, lonely and
wretched. Never in her life had she felt like this. What was the meaning
of it?
Those who were older and more experienced, would have answered at once:
Here is a girl, not yet sixteen years of age, who has led a lonely life
upon a great estate, remote from companions of her own age, though
adored by the servants who have been upon it as long as she can
remember. She has been regarded as their mistress whose word must be law
because her mother's was. Her education has been conducted along those
lines by an old gentleman who believes that the southern gentlewoman
must be the absolute head of her home.
About this time there enters her little world a woman whose every
impulse stands for motherhood at its sweetest and best, and who has
helped all that is best and truest in the young girl to develop, guiding
her by the beautiful power of affection. All has been peace and harmony,
and Peggy is rapidly qualifying in ability to assume absolute control in
her father's home.
Then, with scarcely a moment's warning, there is dropped into her home
and daily life a person with whom she cannot have anything in common,
from whom she intuitively shrinks and cannot trust.
Under such circumstances the present climax is not surprising.
Peggy's whole life had in some respects been a contradiction and a cry
for a girl's natural heritage--a mother's all-comprehending love. The
love that does not wait to be told of the loved one's needs and
happiness, but which lives only to foresee what is best for her and to
bring it to pass, never mind at what sacrifice to self. Peggy had missed
_that_ love in her life and not all the other forms combined had
compensated.
Until the previous year she had never felt this; nor could she have put
it into words even at the present moment. She only knew that in Polly's
companionship she had been very, very happy and that she was terribly
lonely without her. That in Mrs. Harold she had found a friend whom she
had learned to love devotedly and trust implicitly, and that in the
brief time Mrs. Howland, Polly's mother, had been in Annapolis and at
New London, she had caught a glimpse of a little world before undreamed
of; a world peculiarly Polly's and her mother's and which no other human
being invaded. Mrs. Howland had just such a little world for each of her
daughters and for the son-in-law whom she loved so tenderly. It was a
world sacred to the individual who dwelt therein with her. There was a
common world in which all met in mutual interests, but she possessed the
peculiar power of holding for each of her children their own "inner
shrine" which was truly "The Holy of Holies."
Although Peggy had known and loved Mrs. Harold longest, there was
something in Mrs. Howland's gentle unobtrusive sweetness, in her hidden
strength, which drew Peggy as a magnet and for the first time in her
life she longed for the one thing denied her: such a love as Polly
claimed.
But it seemed an impossibility, and her nearest approach to it lay in
Mrs. Harold's affection for her.
Peggy was not ungrateful, but what had befallen the usual order of
things? Was this aunt, with whom, try as she would, she could not feel
anything in common, about to establish herself in the home, every turn
and corner of which was so dear to her, and utterly disrupt it? For this
Peggy felt pretty sure she would do if left a free hand. Already she had
most of the old servants in a state of ferment, if not open hostility.
They plainly regarded her as an interloper, resented her assumption of
rule and her interference in the innumerable little details of the
household economy. Her very evident lack of the qualities which,
according to their standards, stood for "de true an' endurin' quality
raisin'," made them distrust her.
Now the "time was certainly out of joint" and poor little Peggy began to
wonder if she had to complete the quotation.
All that has been written had passed like a whirlwind through Peggy's
harassed brain in much less time than it has taken to put it on paper.
It was all a jumble to poor Peggy; vague, yet very real; understood yet
baffling. The only real evidences of her unhappiness and doubt were the
tears and sobs, and these soon called, by some telepathic message of
love and a life's devotion, the faithful old nurse who had been the
comforter of her childish woes. For days Mammy had been "as res'less an'
onsettled as a yo'ng tuckey long 'bout Thanksgivin' time," as she
expressed it, and had found it difficult to settle down to her ordinary
routine of work during the preceding two weeks. She prowled about the
house and the premises "fer all de 'roun worl' like yo' huntin'
speerits," declared Aunt Cynthia, the cook.
"Huh!" retorted Mammy, "I on'y wisht I could feel dat dey was frien'ly
ones, but I has a percolation dat dey's comin' from _below_ stidder
_above_."
So perhaps this explains why she went up to Peggy's room at an hour
which she usually spent in her own quarters mending. Long before she
reached the room she became aware of sounds which acted upon her as a
spark to a powder magazine, for Mammy's loving old ears lay very close
to her heart.
With a pious "Ma Lawd-God-Amighty, what done happen?" she flew down the
broad hall and, being a privileged character, entered the room without
knocking. The next second she was holding Peggy in her arms and almost
sobbing herself as she besought her to tell "who done hurt ma baby? Tell
Mammy what brecken' yo' heart, honey-chile."
For a few moments Peggy could not reply, and Mammy was upon the point of
rushing off for Harrison when Peggy laid a detaining hand upon her and
commanded:
"Stop, Mammy! You must not call Harrison or anyone else. There is really
nothing the matter. I'm just a silly girl to act like this and I'm
thoroughly ashamed of myself." Then she wiped her eyes and strove to
check a rebellious sob.
"Quit triflin'! Kingdom-come, is yo' think I'se come ter ma dotage? When
is I see you a cryin' like dis befo'? Not sense yo' was kitin' roun' de
lot an' fall down an' crack yo' haid. Yo' ain' been de yellin',
squallin' kind, an' when yo' begins at dis hyar day an' age fer ter
shed tears dar's somethin' pintedly wrong, an' yo' needn' tell me dar
ain't. Now out wid it."
Mammy was usually fiercest when she felt most deeply and now she was
stirred to the very depth of her soul.
"Why, Mammy, I don't believe I could tell you what I'm crying for if I
tried," and Peggy smiled as she rested her head upon the shoulder which
had never failed her.
"Well, den, tell me what yo' _ain't_ cryin' fo', kase ef yo' ain't
cryin' fer somethin' yo' _want_ yo' shore mus' be a-crying fo' somethin'
yo' _don't_ want," was Mammy's bewildering argument. "An' I bait yo' I
ain't gotter go far fer ter ketch de thing yo' _don'_ want neither," and
the old woman looked ready to deal with that same cause once it came
within her grasp.
Peggy straightened up. This order of things would never do. If she acted
like a spoiled child simply because someone to whom she had taken an
instinctive dislike had come into her home, she would presently have the
whole household demoralized.
"Mammy, listen to me."
Instinctively the blood of generations of servitude responded to Peggy's
tone.
"I have been terribly rude to a guest. I lost my temper and I'm ashamed
of myself."
"What did you say to her, baby?"
"I didn't say anything, I just acted outrageously."
"An' what _she_ been a-sayin' ter yo'?"
Peggy only colored.
Mammy nodded her bead significantly. "Ain't I _know_ dat! Yo' cyant tell
_me_ nothin' 'bout de Stewart blood. No-siree! I know it from Alphy to
Omegy; backards an' forrards. Now we-all kin look out fer trouble ahead.
But I'se got dis fer ter say: Some fools jist nachelly go a-prancin' an'
a-cavortin' inter places whar de angils outen heaven dassent no mo'n
peek. If yo' tells me I must keep ma mouf shet, I'se gotter keep it
shet, but Massa Neil is allers a projectin' 'bout ma safety-valve, an'
don' yo' tie it down too tight, honey, er somethin' gwine bus' wide open
'fore long. Now come 'long an' wash yo' purty face. I ain' like fer ter
see no tears-stains on _yo'_ baby. No, I don'. Den yo' go git on Shashai
an' call yo' body-gyard and 'Z'ritza an' yo' ride ten good miles fo' yo'
come back hyer. By _dat_ time yo' git yo' min' settle down an' yo'
stummic ready fo' de lunch wha' Sis' Cynthia gwine fix fo' yo'. I seen
de perjections ob it an' it fair mak' ma mouf run water lak' a dawg's.
Run 'long, honey," and Mammy led the way down the side stairs, and
watched Peggy as she took a side path to the paddock.
As she was in and out of her saddle a dozen times a day she wore a
divided skirt more than half the time--another of Mrs. Stewart's
grievances--and upon reaching the paddock her whistle soon brought her
pets tearing across it to her. Their greeting was warm enough to banish
a legion of blue imps, and a joyous little laugh bubbled to her lips as
she opened the paddock gate and let the trio file through. Then in the
old way she sprang upon Shashai's back and with a gay laugh cried:
"Four bells for the harness house."
Away they swept, as Peggy's voice and knees directed Shashai, Tzaritza,
who had joined Peggy as she stepped from the side porch, bounding on
ahead with joyous barks.
Peggy called for a bridle, which Shelby himself brought, saying as he
slipped the light snaffle into Shashai's sensitive mouth and the
headstall over his ears:
"So you've bruck trainin', Miss Peggy, an' are a-going for a real
old-time warm-up? Well, I reckon it's about time, an' the best thing you
can do, for you look sort o' pinin' an' down-in-the-mouth. Light out,
little girl, an' come back lookin' like you uster; the purtiest sight
God ever created for a man, woman or child ter clap eyes on. Take good
care of her, Shashai, and you too, Tzaritza, cause you won't get
another like her very soon."
Shelby's eyes were quick to discern the traces of Peggy's little storm,
and he was by no means slow in drawing deductions. Peggy blushed, but
said:
"I guess Daddy was right when he said I'd better go to school this year.
You-all will spoil me if I stay here. Good-by, dear old Shelby, I love
everyone on the place even if they do spoil me," and away she swept, as
bonny a little bareback rider as ever sat a horse.
Meanwhile, up at the house events were shaping with the rapidity of a
moving picture show.
When Peggy left her so abruptly Madam Stewart sat still for a few
moments, pondering her next step. She had arrived at some very definite
conclusions and intended carrying them out without loss of time. Her
first move in that direction led her into the library where she wrote a
letter to her brother-in-law. It was while she was thus occupied that
Mammy had found Peggy and sent her for her ride. Then Mammy sought
Harrison. Ordinarily, Mammy would have died before consulting Harrison
about anything concerning Peggy, but here was a common issue, and if
Mammy did not know that a house divided against itself must fall, she
certainly felt the force of that argument. In Harrison she found a
sympathetic listener, for the old housekeeper had been made to feel
Mrs. Stewart's presence in the house in hundreds of irritating little
ways. Mammy told of finding Peggy in tears, though she could not, of
course, tell their cause. But Harrison needed no cause: the tears in
themselves were all the cause she required to know.
Their conversation took place in the pantry and at the height of
Harrison's protest against the new order of things a footfall was heard
in the dining-room beyond. Thinking it Jerome's and quite ready to add
one more to their league of defenders of Peggy's cause, Harrison pushed
open the swinging door and stepped into the dining-room with all of her
New England-woman's nervous activity. Mrs. Stewart stood in the room
surveying with a critical, calculating eye, every detail of its stately,
chaste appointments, for nothing had ever been changed.
Mrs. Stewart looked up as Harrison bounced in.
"O Harrison, you are exactly the person I wished to speak with," she
said. "There are to be a few changes made in Mr. Stewart's domestic
arrangements. In future I shall assume control of his home and relieve
Miss Peggy of all responsibility. You may come to me for all orders."
She paused, and for the moment Harrison was too dumbfounded to reply,
while Mammy in the pantry, having overheard every word, was noiselessly
clapping her old hands together and murmuring: "Ma Lawd! Ma Lawd! _Now_
I knows de sou'ce ob dat chile's tears." Before Harrison could recover
herself Mrs. Stewart continued:
"Dr. Llewellyn will be here tomorrow for the weekend, and as I am to be
mistress of the household it is more seemly that I preside at the head
of the table. Tell Jerome that I shall sit there in future. And now I
wish you to take me through the house that I may know more of its
appointments than I have thus far been able to learn."
Without a word Harrison led the way into the hall, and up the beautiful
old colonial stairway.
Peggy's sitting-room and bed-room were situated at the south-east corner
of the house overlooking the bay. Back of her bath and dressing-rooms
were two guest rooms. A broad hall ran the length of the second story
and upon the opposite side of it had been Mrs. Neil Stewart's pretty
sitting-room, which corresponded with Peggy's and her bed-room separated
from her husband's by the daintiest of dressing and bath-rooms. Neil
Stewart's "den" was at the rear. Beyond were lavatories, linen-room,
house-maid's room and every requirement of a well-ordered home.
Mrs. Peyton began by entering Peggy's sitting-room, a liberty she had
not hitherto taken, but she felt pretty sure Peggy was not in the house.
At any rate she had made her plunge and did not mean to be diverted from
her object now. Martha Harrison was simply boiling with wrath at the
intrusion.
"You are a wonderfully capable woman, Martha. I see I shall have very
light duties," was Mrs. Peyton's patronizing comment.
"_Harrison_, if you please, ma'am," emphasized that person.
"Oh, indeed? As you prefer. Now let me see the rooms on the opposite
side of the hall."
Perhaps had Mrs. Peyton asked Harrison to lead her into the little
mausoleum, built generations ago in the whispering white pine grove upon
the hill back of the house, it could not have been a greater liberty or
sacrilege. Not so great, possibly. In all the nine years nothing had
been changed. They were sacred to the entire household and especially
sacred to Harrison who had held it her especial privilege to keep them
immaculate. In the bed-room the toilet and dressing tables held the same
articles Mrs. Neil had used; her work-table stood in the same sunny
window. In the sitting-room the books she loved and had read again and
again were in the case, or lying upon the tables where she had left
them. It seemed as though she might have stepped from the room barely
ten minutes before. There was nothing depressing about it. On the
contrary, it impressed upon the observer the near presence of a sweet,
cultivated personality. The sitting-room was a shrine for both Peggy and
her father, and it was his wish that it be kept exactly as he had known
and loved it during the ideal hours he had spent in it with wife and
child. He and Peggy had spent many a precious one there since its
radiant, gracious mistress had slept in the pine grove. Harrison crossed
the hall and opened the door, still mute as an oyster. Mrs. Stewart
swept in, Toinette, who had followed her, tearing across the room ahead
of her and darting into every nook and corner. At that moment the
obnoxious poodle came nearer her doom than she had ever come in all her
useless life, for Harrison was a-quiver to hurl her through the open
window.
"What charming rooms," exclaimed Madam, trailing languidly from one to
the other, touching a book here, some exquisite curio there, the carved
ivory toilet articles on the dresser. The morning sunlight, tempered by
the green and white awnings at the great bowed-windows filled the
tastefully decorated rooms with a restful glow. They were beautiful
rooms in every sense of the word.
"Very charming indeed and very useless apparently. They seem not to have
been occupied in months. They are far more desirable than those assigned
to me at the North side of the house. The view of the bay is perfect. As
I am to be here indefinitely, instead of one month only, you may have my
things moved over to this suite, Harrison. I shall occupy it in future."
"Occupy _this_ suite?" Harrison almost gasped the words.
"Certainly. Why not? You need not look as though I had ordered you to
build a fire in the middle of the floor," and Mrs. Peyton laughed half
scornfully.
"Excuse me, ma'am, but when _Mr. Neil_ gives the order to move your
things into this suite, I'll move them here. These was his wife's rooms
and his orders to me was never to change 'em and I never shall 'till
_he_ tells me to. There's some things in this world that can't be
tampered with. Please call your dog, ma'am; she's scratchin' that couch
cover to ribbons."
The enemy's guns were silenced for the time being. She picked up her
poodle and swept from the room. Harrison paused only long enough to
close all the doors, lock them and place the keys in her little hand
bag. Then she departed to her own quarters to give vent to her pent-up
wrath.
Mrs. Stewart retired to her own room.
The next evening Dr. Llewellyn arrived and when he took his seat at the
table his gentle face was troubled: Mrs. Peyton had usurped Peggy's
place at the head. Peggy sat opposite to him. She had accepted the
situation gracefully, not one word of protest passing her lips and she
did her best to entertain her guests. But poor old Jerome's soul was so
outraged that for the first time in his life he was completely
demoralized. Only one person in the entire household seemed absolutely
and entirely satisfied and that was Harrison, and her self-satisfaction
so irritated Mammy that the good old creature sputtered out:
"Kingdom come, is yo' gittin' ter de pint when yo' kin see sich
gwines-on an' not r'ar right spang up an' _sass_ dat 'oman?"
"Just wait!" was Harrison's cryptic reply.
CHAPTER V
RUCTIONS!
Jerome had just passed a silver platter to Madam Stewart, his hands
trembling so perceptibly as to provoke from her the words: "Have you a
chill, Jerome?" as she conveyed to her plate some of Cynthia's
delicately fried chicken.
Jerome made no answer, but started toward Peggy's chair. He never
reached it, for at that moment a deep voice boomed in from the hall:
"Peggy Stewart, ahoy!"
With the joyous, ringing cry of:
"Daddy Neil! Oh, Daddy Neil!" Peggy sprang from the table to fling
herself into her father's arms, and to startle him beyond words by
bursting into tears. Never in all of his going to and fro, however long
his absences from his home, had he met with such a reception as this.
Invariably a smiling Peggy had greeted him and the present outbreak
struck to the very depth of his soul, and did more in one minute to
reveal to him the force of Harrison's letter than a dozen complaints.
The tears betrayed a nervous tension of which even Peggy herself had
been entirely unaware, and for Peggy to have reached a mental condition
where nerves could assert themselves was an indication that chaos was
imminent. For a moment she could only sob hysterically, while her father
held her close in his arms and said in a tone which she had never yet
heard:
"Why, Peggy! My little girl, my little girl, have you needed Daddy Neil
as much as this?"
Peggy made a gallant rally of her self-control and cried:
"Oh, Daddy, and everybody, please forgive me, but I am so surprised and
startled and delighted that I don't know what I'm doing, and I'm so
ashamed of myself," and smiling through her tears she strove to draw
away from her father that he might greet the others, but he kept her
close within his circling left arm, as he extended his hand in response
to the effusive greeting of his sister-in-law.
With what she hoped would be an apologetic smile for Peggy's untoward
demonstration, Mrs. Stewart had risen to welcome him.
"We must make allowances for Peggy, dear Neil. You came so very
unexpectedly, you know. I hardly thought my letter would be productive
of anything so delightful for us all."
"I fear it was not wholly, Katherine. I had several others also. How
are you, Doctor? I see you haven't quite abandoned the ship. Well, I'm
glad of that; I need my executive officer and my navigator also."
At the concluding words Mrs. Peyton smiled complacently. Who but she
could fill that office? But Captain Stewart's next words dissipated that
smile as the removal of a lantern slide causes the scene thrown upon the
screen to vanish.
"Yes, indeed, my navigator must get busy. She's had a long leave, but I
need her now and she's never failed me in heavy weather. She'll report
for duty on the thirtieth, thank the powers which be. Hello, Jerome!
What's rattled you like this? Next time I set my course for home I'd
better send a wireless, or I'll demoralize the whole personnel," and
Neil Stewart's hearty laugh brought a sympathetic smile to Dr.
Llewellyn's and Peggy's lips.
And well it might, for in the background the minor characters in the
little drama had filled a rôle all their own. In the doorway stood
Harrison, bound to witness the outcome of her master-stroke and
experiencing no small triumph in it. Behind her Mammy, with
characteristic African emotion, was doing a veritable camp-meeting song
of praise, though it was a _voiceless_ song, only her motions indicating
that her lips were forming the words, "Praise de Lawd! Praise Him!" as
she swayed and clasped her hands.
But Jerome outdid them all: At his first glimpse of the master he was so
flustered that he nearly collapsed where he stood, and his platter had a
perilous moment. Then, crying, "Glory be!" he beat a hasty retreat
intending to place it upon his serving table, but growing bewildered in
his joy, inadvertently set it upon a large claw-foot sofa which stood at
the end of the dining-room, where Toinette, ever upon the alert, and
_not_ banished from the dining-room as poor Tzaritza had been, promptly
pounced upon the contents, and in the confusion of the ensuing ten
minutes laid the foundation for her early demise from apoplexy.
"Brace up, Jerome, I'm too substantial to be a ghost, and nothing short
of one should bowl you over like this," were Captain Stewart's hearty
words to the old man as he shook his hand.
"Asks yo' pardon, Massa Neil! I sho' does ask yo' pardon fer lettin'
mysef git so flustrated, but we-all's so powerful pleased fer ter see
yo', an' has been a-wanting yo' so pintedly, that--that--that--but, ma
Lawd, I--I--I'se cla'r los' ma senses an', an--Hi! look yonder at dat
cusséd dawg _an'_ ma fried chicken!"
For once in her useless life Toinette had created a pleasing diversion.
With a justifiable cry of wrath Jerome pounced upon her and plucked her
from the platter, in which for vantage she had placed her fore feet.
Flinging her upon the floor, he snatched up his dish and fled to the
pantry, Neil Stewart's roars of laughter following him. Toinette rolled
over and over and then fled yelping into her mistress' lap to spread
further havoc by ruining a delicate silk gown with her gravy-smeared
feet. Tzaritza, who had followed her master into the room, looked upon
the performance with a superior surprise. Neil Stewart laid a caressing
hand upon the beautiful head and said laughingly:
"You'd blush for that little snippin-frizzle if you could, wouldn't you,
old girl? Well, it's up to you to teach her better manners. She's young
and flighty. The next time she starts in on any such rampage, just pick
her up and carry her out, as any naughty child should be carried.
Understand?"
"Woof-woof," answered Tzaritza, deep down in her throat.
"She's wise all right. After this you can leave that midget of yours in
her care, Katherine. But now let's get busy. I'm upon the point of
famishing. Come, Peggy, honey; rally your forces and serve your old
Daddy."
Peggy turned toward her aunt. Not until that moment had her father been
aware of the change made at his table. Then it came to him in a flash,
and Mrs. Peyton was hardly prepared for the change which overspread his
countenance as he asked:
"Peggy, why have you allowed your aunt to assume the obligations of
hostess? Have you lost your ability to sit at the head of my table,
daughter?"
Poor Peggy! It was well she understood or she would have been nearly
heartbroken at the rebuke. Mrs. Peyton answered for her:
"Little Peggy had far too much upon her young shoulders, dear Neil. So I
have volunteered to relieve her of some of her duties. I am happy to be
able to do so."
"Indeed, Katherine, we are all under deep obligation to you, I am sure,
but Peggy hardly seems overborne by her burdens, and it is my wish that
my daughter shall preside in her mother's place at my table. Jerome,
Mrs. Stewart is to be relieved of this obligation after this meal. You
are to be quite free of all responsibility during your visit with us,
Katherine. And now, little girl, let me look at you. July, August, and,
let me see, twenty-five days of September since I left you? Nearly
three months. You manage to do remarkable things in a brief time,
little daughter. But I fancy by the time I get back here again they will
be more remarkable. Great plans are simmering for you; great plans," and
her father nodded significantly across at her.
Peggy was too happy to even ask what they were. She could only smile and
nod back again.
Meanwhile Mrs. Stewart had used her napkin to scrub off her besmirched
poodle's feet and had then surreptitiously thumped her down upon her lap
where the table-cloth would conceal her. At Captain Stewart's concluding
words she felt her hopes revive a trifle. She was a fair actress when it
served her turn. So now smiling across the table she said:
"So you have decided to consider my suggestion, Neil?"
"In one respect, yes, Katherine. I see plainly that things can no longer
go on as they have been going. Llewellyn concurs in that." He glanced
toward the Doctor, who nodded gravely.
"I do most fully. Our halcyon days must end, I fear, as all such days do
eventually, and we must meet the more prosaic side of life. Let us hope
it will assume a pleasing form. I am loth to hand in my resignation as
Dominie Exactus, however," he ended with a smile for Peggy.
Peggy looked puzzled, and glanced inquiringly from one to the other. Her
father stretched forth a hand and laid it over hers which rested upon
the edge of the table:
"Smooth out the kinks in your forehead, honey. Nothing distressing is to
happen."
"Hardly," agreed Mrs. Stewart. "On the contrary, if your father acts
upon my suggestion something very delightful will be the outcome, I am
sure. I feel intuitively that you approve of my plan regarding the
school, Neil."
Peggy started slightly, and looked at her father. He nodded and smiled
reassuringly, then turning toward his sister-in-law, replied:
"Your letter, Katherine, only served to convince me that Peggy must now
have a broader horizon than Severndale, or even Annapolis affords. Dr.
Llewellyn and I talked it over when I was home over a year ago, and
again last June. When we first discussed it we were about as much at sea
as the 'three wise men of Gotham' who launched forth in a tub. We needed
a better craft and a pilot, and we needed them badly, I tell you, and at
that time we hadn't sighted either. Then the 'Sky Pilot' took the job
out of our hands and He's got it yet, I reckon. At any rate, indications
seem to point that way, for on my way down here He ran me alongside my
navigator and it didn't take her long to give me my bearings. She got
on board the limited at Newark, N. J., and we rode as far as Philly
together. She had three of her convoys along and they're all to the
good, let me tell you."
"Oh, Daddy, did you really meet Mrs. Harold and Polly, and who was with
them?" broke in Peggy eagerly.
"I surely did, little girl; Mrs. Harold, Polly, Ralph and Durand. She
was on her way for a week's visit with some relatives just out of
Philly--in Devon, I believe, a sort of house-party, she's
chaperoning--and a whole bunch of the old friends are to be there. Well,
I got the 'Little Mother' all to myself from Newark to Philly and we
went a twenty-knot clip, I tell you, for big as I am, I was just
bursting to unload my worries upon someone, and that little woman seems
born to carry the major portion of all creation's. She gets them, any
way, and they don't seem to feaze her a particle. She bobs up serene and
smiling after ever comber. But I've yet to see the proposition she
wouldn't try to tackle. Oh, we talked for fair, let me tell you, and in
those two hours she put more ideas into this wooden old block of mine
than it's held in as many months. Did your ears burn this afternoon,
Peggy? You are pretty solid in _that_ direction, little girl, and you'll
never have a better friend in all your born days, and don't you ever
forget _that_ fact. Well, the upshot is, that next Friday, one week from
today, Middie's Haven will have its tenant back and, meantime, she is to
write some letters and lay a train for _your_ welfare, honey. That
school plan is an excellent plan, Katherine, but not a New York school:
New York is too far away from home _and_ Mrs. Harold. Peggy will go to
Washington this winter. Hampton Roads is not far from Washington and
the ---- will put in there a number of times this winter. That gives _me_
a chance to visit my girl oftener and also gives Peggy a chance to visit
Mrs. Harold, and run out here now and again if she wishes, though the
place will be practically closed up for the winter. It was very good of
you to offer to remain here but I couldn't possibly accept that
sacrifice; for all your interests lie in New York, as you stated in your
letter to me. You still have your apartments there, you tell me, and to
let you bury yourself down here in this lonely place would be simply
outrageous. Even Peggy has been here too long, without companions."
Neil Stewart paused to take some nuts from the dish which Jerome, now
recovered and beaming, held for him. Mrs. Stewart could have screamed
with baffled rage, for, now that it was too late, she saw that she had
quite overshot the mark, and given her brother-in-law a complete
advantage over her designs. "And that hateful, designing cat!" as she
stigmatized Mrs. Harold "had completed her defeat." She had gauged her
brother-in-law as "a perfect simpleton where a woman was concerned," and
never had she so miscalculated. He _was_ easygoing when at home on
leave, or off on one of his outings, as he had been when she met him in
New London. Why not? When he worked he worked with every particle of
energy he possessed, but when he "loafed," as he expressed it, he cast
all care to the winds and was like an emancipated school-boy. It was the
school-boy side of his nature she had gauged. She knew nothing of Neil
Stewart the Naval Officer and man; hadn't the very faintest conception
of his latent force once it was stirred. And she little guessed how she
_had_ stirred it by her letter written the morning she had made Peggy so
unhappy. It was the one touch needed to bring the climax and it had
brought it with a rush which Mrs. Peyton had little anticipated. What
the outcome might have been had Neil Stewart not met Mrs. Harold on that
train is impossible to surmise further than that he had fully decided to
free himself of all connection with Peyton's widow. He had always
disliked and distrusted her, but now he detested her. Peggy's letters
had revealed far more than she guessed, though they had not held one
intended criticism. She had written just as she had written ever since
she promised him when he visited her the previous year, to send "a
report of each day, accurate as a ship's log." But she could not write
of the daily happenings without giving him a pretty graphic picture of
Mrs. Stewart's gradual usurpation, and Harrison had felt no compunction
in expressing _her_ views.
And so the "best laid plans o' mice and (wo)men" had "gone agley" in a
demoralizing manner, and Neil Stewart had come down to Severndale "under
full headway," and wasted no time in "laying hold of the helm." That
talk upon the train had been what he termed "one real old
heart-to-hearty," for Mrs. Harold had foreseen just such a crisis and
felt under no obligation to refrain from speaking her mind where Mrs.
Stewart was concerned. She had seen just such women before. Captain
Stewart had asked her to read the letters sent to him. She nearly had
hysterics over Harrison's, but Peggy's brought tears to her eyes, for
she loved the girl very dearly and understood her well. Mrs. Stewart's
letter made her eyes snap and her mouth set firmly, as she said:
"Captain Stewart, you have asked my advice and I shall give it exactly
as though Peggy were my daughter, for I could hardly love her and Polly
more dearly if they were my own children. I am under every obligation of
affection to Peggy but not the slightest to Mrs. Stewart, and from all I
observed in New London she is by no means the woman to have control over
a girl like Peggy. She is one of the most lovable girls I have ever
known, but at the same time has one of the most distinct personalities
and the strongest wills. She can be easily guided by combined wisdom and
affection, but she would be ruined by association with a calculating,
unrefined, or capricious nature, and, pardon my frankness, I consider
Mrs. Peyton Stewart all of these. Peggy needs association with other
girls--that is only natural--and we must secure it at once for her."
Neil Stewart laid her words to heart, and the ensuing week brought to
pass some radical changes.
On the thirtieth of September the whole brigade of midshipmen came
pouring back to Annapolis, the academic year beginning on October first.
On the thirtieth also came Mrs. Glenn Harold and her niece Polly
Howland, brown, happy and refreshed by their summer's outing, and Polly
eager to meet her old friends at the Academy and her chum Peggy.
October first falling upon Sunday that year the work at the Academy
would not begin until Monday, and, although the midshipmen had to report
on September thirtieth, Sunday was to a certain extent a holiday for
them and on that afternoon a rare treat was planned for some of them by
Captain Stewart.
On Sunday morning Neil Stewart, with Mrs. Stewart and Peggy drove into
Annapolis to attend service at the Naval Academy Chapel where their
entrance very nearly demoralized Polly Howland, no hint of their
intention having been given her. They were a little late in arriving and
the service had already begun. As Polly was rising from her knees after
the first prayer Peggy was ushered into the pew, and Polly, _Polly_
under all circumstances, cried impulsively:
"Oh, lovely!" her voice distinctly audible in the chancel. Whether the
Chaplain felt himself lauded for the manner in which he had read the
prayer, or was quick to guess the cause of that unusual response, it is
not necessary to decide. Certain, however, were two or three distinct
snickers from some pews under the gallery, and Polly nearly dove under
the pew in front of her.
There was no chance for the thousand and one topics of vital importance
to be even touched upon while the service was in progress, but once the
recessional rolled forth Peggy's and Polly's tongues were loosened and
went a-galloping.
"Oh, Daddy has a plan for the afternoon which is the dearest ever,"
announced Peggy, the old light back in her eyes, and the old enthusiasm
in her voice.
"Tell it right off then. Captain Stewart's plans are the most wonderful
ever. I'll never forget New London," cried Polly.
"Why, he wants you and the Little Mother and Durand and Ralph and Jean
and Gordon--"
"Gordon?" echoed Polly, a question in her eyes.
Peggy nodded an emphatic little nod, her lips closing in a half-defiant,
half who-dares-dispute-his-judgment little way, then the smile returned
to the pretty mouth and she continued, "Yes, Gordon Powers and his
room-mate, great, big Douglas Porter, and Durand's new room-mate, Bert
Taylor, he comes from Snap's old home, so Daddy learned, to come out to
Severndale this afternoon for a real frolic."
She got no further for they had reached the terrace in front of the
Chapel by that time where greetings were being exchanged between many
mutual friends and the two girls, so widely known to all connected with
the Academy were eagerly welcomed back.
Meanwhile, out on the main walk the Brigade had broken ranks and the
midshipmen were hurrying up to greet their friends. Captain Stewart was
a favorite with all, and one of the very few officers who could recall
how the world looked to him when _he_ was a midshipman. Consequently, he
was able to enter into the spirit and viewpoint of the lads and was
always greeted with an enthusiasm rare in the intercourse between the
midshipmen and the officers. Mrs. Harold was their "Little Mother," as
she had been for the past five years, and Peggy and Polly the best and
jolliest of companions and chums, their "co-ed cronies," as they called
them.
Mrs. Stewart they had met in New London, but there was a very
perceptible difference in their greeting to that lady: It was the
formal, perfunctory bow and handclasp of the superficially known
midshipman; not the hearty, spontaneous one of the boy who has learned
to trust and love someone as Mrs. Harold's boys loved and trusted her.
The crowd which had poured out of the Chapel was soon dispersed, as
everybody had something to call him elsewhere. Our group sauntered
slowly toward the Superintendent's home where Captain Stewart left them
and went in to make his request for the afternoon's frolic. It was
promptly granted and orders were given to have a launch placed at his
disposal at two-thirty P.M.
Such a treat, when least expected, sent the boys into an ecstatic frame
of mind, and when the bugle sounded for dinner formation they rushed
away to their places upon old Bancroft's Terrace as full of enthusiasm
as though averaging eight and ten instead of eighteen and twenty years
of age.
CHAPTER VI
A NEW ORDER OF THINGS
That Sunday afternoon of October first, 19-- was vital with portent for
the future of most of the people in this little story.
It took but a short time to run out to Severndale, and once there Neil
Stewart made sure of a free hour or two by ordering up the horses and
sending the young people off for a gallop "over the hills and far away."
Shashai, Silver Star, Pepper and Salt for Peggy, Polly, Durand and
Ralph, who were all experienced riders, and four other horses for
Douglas, Gordon, Jean and Bert, of whose prowess he knew little. He need
not have worried, however, for Bert Taylor came straight from a South
Dakota ranch, Gordon Powers had ridden since early childhood and Douglas
Porter had left behind him in his Southern home two hunters which had
been the joy of his life. But Jean Paul Nicholas, Ralph's little
pepper-pot of a room-mate, had never ridden a horse in his life, and the
running he would come in for at the hands of his fellow midshipmen if
they suspected that fact might have made almost any other lad hesitate
before taking his initial spin in the company of experts. Not so little
Jean Paul with his broad shoulders, the brace of an Admiral and his
five-feet-six-inches; a veritable little bantam-cock, and game to the
finish.
As the happy cavalcade set off, waving merry farewells to the older
people gathered upon the piazza, Tzaritza bounding on ahead, their route
led them past the paddock where Shelby and old Jess, with several others
connected with the estate, stood watching them. Shelby as an old hand
and privileged character, took off his hat and waved it hilariously, as
he called out:
"Well _that_ is one sight worth while, Miss Peggy. We've got our _own_
girl back again, praises be!" while old Jess echoed his enthusiasm by
shouting:
"Praise de Lawd we _has_, an' we got de boss yander, too!"
"Sure thing, Shelby!" answered Durand.
"He's all right, Shelby!" cried Ralph.
"Nicest Daddy-Neil in the world," was Polly's merry reply, then added,
"Oh, Peggy, look at Roy! He's crazy to come with us," for Roy, the
little colt Peggy had raised, was now a splendid young creature though
still too young to put under the saddle.
Peggy looked toward the paddock where Roy was running to and fro in the
most excited manner and neighing loudly to his friends.
"Let him come, Shelby, please," she called, and the foreman opened the
gate. Roy darted through like a flash, giving way to all manner of mad
antics, rushing from one four-footed companion to another, with a
playful nip at one, a wild Highland-fling-of-a-kick at another, a
regular rowdy whinny at another, until he had the whole group infected,
but funniest of all, Jean Paul's mount, the staid, well-conducted old
Robin Adair, whose whole fifteen years upon the estate had been one long
testimony to exemplary behavior, promptly set about demonstrating that
when the usually well-ordered being does "cut loose" he "cuts loose for
fair."
Jean Paul was essentially a sailor-laddie, the direct descendant of many
sailor-laddies, and he was "built upon nautical lines," so said Ralph.
On the summer cruise just ended he had demonstrated his claim to be
classed among his sire's confrères, for let the ship pitch and toss as
it would, his legs never failed him, his stomach never rebelled and his
head remained as steady and clear as the ship's guiding planet.
But he found navigating upon land about as difficult as a duck usually
finds it, and was about as well qualified to bestride and ride a horse
as that waddling bird is. Consequently, he had "heaved aboard" his
mount with many well concealed misgivings, but up to the present moment
none of his friends had even suspected his very limited experience as a
horseman, but truth to tell, never before in his life had Jean Paul's
legs crossed anything livelier than one of the gymnasium "side horses."
Now, however, the cat was about to escape from the bag, for Robin Adair,
flinging decorum and heels behind him, set forth on a mad gallop to
overhaul Roy, who had elected to set the pace for the others. Whinnying,
prancing, cavorting, away Roy tore in the lead, Robin Adair hot-foot
upon him, Jean Paul striving manfully to keep his pitching seat, which
he felt to out-pitch any deck ever designed by man. In about two minutes
the pair were a hundred yards in the lead, Jean's cap had sailed airily
from his head, and after flaunting into Silver Star's face, had roosted
upon a near-by shrub. Jean himself promptly decided that reins were a
delusion and a snare (Robin's mouth _was_ hard) and let them go to grasp
the pommel of his Mexican saddle. But even that failed to steady him in
that outrageous saddle, nor were stirrups the least use in the world;
his feet were designed to stick to a pitching deck, not those senseless
things. In a trice both were "sailing free" and--so was Jean. As Robin's
hind legs flew up Jean pitched forward to bestride the horse's neck; as
he bounded forward Jean rose in the air to resume his seat where a
horse's crupper usually rests.
Oh it was one electrifying performance and not a single move of it was
lost upon his audience which promptly gave way to hoots and yells of
diabolical glee, at least the masculine portion of it did, while Polly
and Peggy, though almost reduced to hysterics at the absurd spectacle,
implored them to "stop yelling like Comanches and _do_ something."
"_Aren't_ we doing something? Aren't we encouraging him and helping on a
good show?" "Oh, get onto that hike!" "Gee whiz, Commodore, if you jibe
over like that you'll go by the board." "Put your tiller hard a-port."
"Haul in on your jib-sheet," "Lash yourself to the main-mast or you'll
drop off astern," were some of the encouraging words of advice which
rattled about Jean's assailed ears, as the space grew momentarily wider
between him and his friends, those same friends wilfully holding in
their mounts to revel in "the show."
But Jean's patience and endurance were both failing. He could have slain
Robin Adair, and he was confident that his spine would presently shoot
through the crown of his head. So flinging pride to the four winds, he
shouted:
"Hi, come on here one of you yelling chumps, this craft's
steering-gear's out of commission! Overhaul her and take her in tow. I'd
rather pay a million salvage than navigate her another cable's length."
"'Don't give up the ship!'" "'Never say die!'" "Belay, man, belay!" were
the words hurled back until Peggy crying:
"You boys are the very limit!" pressed one knee against Shashai's side
and said softly: "Four Bells, Shashai."
Robin Adair was no match for Shashai. Robin was as good a hackney as
rider ever bestrode, but Shashai was a thoroughbred hunter with an Arab
strain. Ten mighty bounds took him to Robin's head and for Peggy to
swing far out of her saddle, grasp the dangling reins, speak the word of
command which all her horses knew, loved and obeyed, took less time than
it has taken to write of it.
"One Bell, Shashai. Robin, halt! Steady!" and Jean Paul's mount came to
a standstill with Jean Paul sitting upon its haunches, and Jean Paul's
eyes snapping, and Jean Paul's teeth biting his tongue to keep from
uttering words "unbecoming an officer and a gentleman;" for "being
overhauled by a girl" after he had "made a confounded fool of himself
trying a land-lubber's stunt" was not a rôle which seemed in any degree
an edifying one to him.
To her credit be it said, Peggy managed to keep a straight face as she
turned to look at her disgruntled guest, which was more than could be
said of his companions who came crowding upon him, even Polly's
self-control being taxed beyond the limit.
"Why didn't you tell me you'd never ridden?" asked Peggy, her lips sober
but her eyes dancing.
"Because it would have knocked the whole show on the head," answered
Jean, yanking himself forward into the saddle which only a moment before
had seemed to be in forty places at once.
"So you decided to be the whole show yourself instead! You're a dead
game sport, Commodore. Bully for you!" cried Durand, slipping from his
mount to examine the "rigging of the Commodore's craft."
"Do you want to try it again?" asked Polly.
"Will a fish swim?" answered Jean. "Do you think I'm going to let this
side-wheeler shipwreck me? Not on your life, Captain. Clear out, the
whole bunch of you chumps. If I've got to cross the equator I'll have
the escort of ladies, not a bunch of rough-necks. Beat it! You let a
_girl_ overhaul and slow down this cruiser and now you're all ready to
come in for a share of the salvage. Get out! Clear out! Beat it! Take
'em away, Captain, and leave me the Admiral. She can give everyone of
you the lead by a mile and then overhaul you on the first tack. Get out,
for I'm going to take a riding lesson and I'm going to pay extra and
have a private one."
"Yes, do go on ahead, and, Polly, call Roy. He is responsible for
Robin's capers but he will behave if you take him in charge."
"Come on, Roy--and all other incorrigibles," laughed Polly, unsnapping
her second rein and slipping it around Roy's silky neck. Roy loved and
obeyed Polly almost as readily as Peggy, and cavorted off beside her as
gay as a grig.
"We'll report heavy weather and a disabled ship, messmate," called
Ralph.
"Report and hanged. You'll see us enter port all skee and ship-shape, and
don't you fool yourself, my cock sure wife (Bancroft Hall slang for a
room-mate), so so-long. Now come on, Peggy, and put me wise to
navigating this craft, for it has me beat to a standstill."
"Go on, people; we'll follow presently and when we overhaul you you'll
be treated to a demonstration of expert horsemanship," called Peggy
after the laughing, joking group, her own and Jean's laughs merriest of
all.
"Now get busy in earnest," she said to the half-piqued lad, whose face
wore an expression of "do or die" as he again mounted his steed.
"You can just bet your last nickel I'm going to! Great Scott, do you
think I'm going to let _this_ beat me out, or that yelling mob out
yonder see me put out of commission? Now fire away. Show me how to keep
my legs clamped and to sit in the saddle instead of on this beast's left
ear."
As Peggy was a skilled teacher and Jean an apt pupil the combination
worked to perfection, and when in a half-hour's time they joined the
main body of the cavalcade, Jean had at least learned where a saddle
rests and had trained his legs to "clamp" successfully.
Meanwhile, back on Severndale's broad piazza Peggy was the subject of a
livelier discussion than she would have believed possible, and the
upshot of it was a decision which carried Neil Stewart, Mrs. Harold,
herself, and Polly off to Washington early the following morning to
visit a school of which Mrs. Harold knew. Mrs. Stewart was very
courteously asked to accompany the party of four, which was to spend
three or four days in the Capital, but Mrs. Stewart was distinctly
chagrined at her failure to carry successfully to a finish the scheme
which she felt she had so carefully thought out. Alas, she could not
understand that she sorely lacked the most essential qualities for its
success--unselfishness, disinterestedness, the finer feeling of the
older woman for the younger, and all that goes to make womanhood and
maternal instinct what they should be. She felt that her reign at
Severndale was ended and nothing remained but to make as graceful a
retreat as possible. So she declined the invitation, stating that she
was very anxious to visit some friends in Baltimore and would take this
opportunity to do so, going by a later train.
Neil Stewart did not press his invitation. He wanted Mrs. Harold and the
girls to himself for a time and knowing that it would be his last
opportunity to see them for many months, resolved to make the most of
it. Not by word or act had he expressed disapproval of Mrs. Stewart's
rather extraordinary line of conduct since her arrival at Severndale,
though evidences of it were to be seen at every turn, and both
Harrison's and Mammy's tongues were fairly quivering to describe in
detail the experiences of the past month.
Harrison was wise enough not to criticise, but she lost no opportunity
for asking if she were to carry out this, that, or some other order of
Mrs. Stewart's, until poor Neil lost his temper and finally rumbled
out:
"Look here, Martha Harrison, how long have you been at Severndale?"
"Nigh on to twenty years, sir, and full fifteen years with that blessed
child's mother before she ever heard tell of this place. I took care of
her, as right well you know, long before she was as old as Miss Peggy."
"And have I ever ordered any changes made in her rules?"
"None to my knowledge, sir. They was pretty sensible ones and there
didn't seem any reason to change them."
"Well, you're pretty long-headed, and until you _do_ see reason to
change 'em let 'em stand and quit pestering _me_. You're the Exec. on
this ship until I see fit to appoint a new one and when I think of doing
that I'll give you due notice."
But Mammy would have exploded had she not expressed her views. Harrison
had chosen the moment when Captain Stewart had gone to his room just
before supper that eventful Sunday evening, but Mammy spoke when she
carried up to him the little jug of mulled cider for which Severndale
was famous and which, when cider was to be had, she had never failed to
carry to "her boy," as Neil Stewart, in spite of his forty-six years,
still seemed to old Mammy.
Tapping at the door of his sitting-room, she entered at his "Come in."
She found him standing before a large silver-framed photograph of
Peggy's mother. It had been taken shortly before her death and when such
a tragic ending to their ideal life had least been dreamed possible. A
fancy-dress ball had been given by the young officers stationed at the
Academy and Mrs. Stewart had attended it gowned as "Marie Stuart,"
wearing a superb black velvet gown and the widely-known "Marie Stuart
coif and ruff" of exquisite Point de Venice lace. She had never looked
lovelier, or more stately in her life, and that night Neil Stewart was
the proudest man on the ballroom floor. Then he had insisted upon a
famous Washington photographer taking this beautiful picture and--well,
it was the last ever taken of the wife he adored, for within another
month she had dropped asleep forever.
Good old Mammy's eyes were very tender as she looked at her boy, and
instead of saying what she had come to say: "ter jist nachelly an'
pintedly 'spress her min'," she went close to his side and looking at
the lovely face smiling at her, said:
"Dar weren't never, an' dar ain' never gwine ter be no sich lady as dat
a-one, Massa Neil, lessen it gwine be Miss Peggy. She favor her ma mo'
an' mo' every day she livin', an' I wisht ter Gawd her ma was right
hyer dis minit fer ter _see_ it, dat I do."
"Amen! Mammy," was Captain Stewart's reply. "Peggy needs more than we
can give her just now, no matter how hard we try. The trouble is she
seems to have grown up all in a minute apparently while we have been
thinking she was a child."
Neil Stewart placed the photograph back upon the top of the bookshelf
and sighed.
"No, sir, _dat_ ain't it. Deed tain't. She been a-growin' up dis long
time, but we's been dozin' like, an' ain't had our eyes open wide
'nough. An' now we's all got shook wide awake by _somebody else_."
Mammy paused significantly. Neil Stewart frowned.
"Just as well maybe. But don't light into me. I'm all frazzled out now.
Harrison's hints are like eight inch shells; Dr. Llewellyn's like a
highly charged electric battery; Jerome fires a blunderbuss every ten
minutes and even Shelby and Jess use pop-guns. Good Lord, are you going
to let drive with a gatling? Clear out and let me drink my cider in
peace, and quit stewing, for I tell you right now the fire-brand which
has kept the kettles boiling is going to be removed."
"Praise de Lawd fo' _dat_ blessin' den. It was jist gwine ter make some
of dem pots bile over if it had a-kep' on, yo' hyer me? Good-night,
Massa Neil, drink yo' cider an' thank de Lawd fo' yo' mercies."
"Good-night, Mammy. You're all right even if I do feel like smacking
your head off once in a while. Used to do it when I was a kid, you know,
and can't drop the habit."
The following morning the party of four set off for Washington, Polly
sorely divided in her mind regarding her own wishes. To have Peggy
elsewhere than at Severndale was a possibility which had never entered
into her calculations. How would it seem to have no Severndale to run
out to? No Peggy to pop into Middie's Haven? No boon companion to ride,
walk, drive, skate with, or lead the old life which they had both so
loved? Polly did some serious thinking on the way to the big city, and
wore such a sober face as they drew near the end of their journey that
Captain Stewart asked, as he tweaked a stray lock which had escaped
bonds:
"What's going on inside this red pate? You look as solemn as an
ostracized owl."
"I'm trying to think how it is going to seem without Peggy this winter
and I don't like the picture even a little bit," and Polly wagged the
"red pate" dubiously.
"Better make up your mind to come along with your running-mate. By Jove,
that's a brain throb, Peggy! How about it? Can't you persuade this girl
of ours to give up the co-ed plan back yonder in Annapolis,--she knows
all the seamanship and nav. that's good for her already,--and you'll
need a room-mate up here at Columbia Heights School if we settle upon
it," and Captain Stewart looked at Polly half longingly, half teasingly.
Polly had grown very dear to the bluff, sincere man during her
companionship with Peggy, and had crept into a corner of his heart he
had never felt it possible for anyone but Peggy herself to fill.
Somehow, latterly when thinking and planning for Peggy's well-being or
pleasure, visions of Polly's tawny head invariably rose before him, and
Polly's happy, sunny face was always beside the one he loved best of
all. The two young girls had become inseparable in his thoughts as well
as in reality.
"Oh, Polly, will you? Will you?" begged Peggy, instantly fired with the
wildest desire to have Polly enter the school which it had been decided
she should enter if at closer inspection it proved to be all the
catalogues, letters and dozens of pamphlets sent to Mrs. Harold
represented it to be.
"If I go to the Columbia Heights School what will Ralph say? And all
the others, too? They'll say I've backed down on my co-ed plan and will
run me half to death. Besides, Ralph needs me right there to let him
know I'm keeping a lookout."
"He doesn't need you half as much as this girl of mine needs you. You
just let Ralph do a little navigating for himself and learn that it's up
to him to make good on his own account. He's man enough to; all he needs
now is to find it out. Will you let him do so by coming down here with
Peggy?"
CHAPTER VII
COLUMBIA HEIGHTS SCHOOL
As Captain Stewart asked the question which ended the last chapter the
W. B. & A. electric car came to a standstill in the heart of Washington
and as he assisted his charges to descend the steps, Polly was the last.
As she placed her hand in his she looked straight into his kind eyes and
said:
"I'm just ready to fly all to bits. I love Peggy and want to be with
her; I love Aunt Janet and old Crabtown and everything connected with
it; I've always kept neck-and-neck with Ralph in his work and I hate the
thought of dropping out of it, but, oh, I do want to be with Peggy."
"Come along out to the school and see what you think of it before you
decide one way or the other; then talk it all over with your aunt and
you won't go far amiss if you follow _her_ advice, little girl."
"I'll do it," answered Polly, with an emphatic wag of her head, and
Peggy who overheard her words nearly pranced with joy.
Hailing a taxicab Captain Stewart directed the chauffeur to drive them
to an address in the outskirts of the city and away they sped. It was
only a short run in that whirring machine over Washington's beautiful
streets and when the school was reached both Peggy and Polly exclaimed
over the beauty of its situation, for Columbia Heights School was in the
midst of spacious grounds, the buildings were substantial and
attractive, giving the impression of ample space, all the fresh air
needed by vigorous, rapidly developing bodies, and the sunshine upon
which they thrive. Beautiful walks and drives led in every direction and
not far off lovely Stony Brook Park lay in all the beauty of its golden
October glow.
Mrs. Harold and Captain Stewart were graciously welcomed by its charming
principal who promptly led the way to her study, a great room giving
upon a broad piazza, where green wicker furniture, potted plants and
palms suggesting a tropical garden. When Polly's eyes fell upon it she
forgot all else, and cried impulsively:
"Oh, how lovely! Can't we go right out there?" And then colored crimson.
Mrs. Vincent smiled as she slipped an arm across Polly's shoulder and
asked:
"Are you to be my newest girl? If so, I think we would find something
in common."
Polly raised her big eyes to the sweet, strong face smiling upon her and
answered:
"I hadn't even thought of coming until an hour ago. It was all planned
for Peggy, but, oh, dear, if I _only_ could be twins! How am I ever to
be a co-ed in Annapolis and a pupil here at the same time? Yet I want
dreadfully to be both, I'm so fond of Peggy."
"I fear we cannot solve that problem even in Columbia Heights School,
though we try pretty hard to solve a good many knotty ones. Suppose I
talk it over with the grown-ups and meantime arrange for your
entertainment by two or three of the girls. We think they are rather
nice girls too," and Mrs. Vincent pressed an electric button which
promptly brought a neat maid to the door.
"Hilda, ask Miss Natalie and Miss Marjorie to step to my study."
Within a few moments two girls appeared in the doorway, the taller one
asking:
"Did you wish to see us, Mother?"
Introductions followed, whereupon the Principal said:
"Natalie, please take Miss Stewart and Miss Howland for a walk through
the grounds. It is recreation period and they will like to meet the
other girls and see the buildings also, I think. And remember, you are
to picture everything in such glowing colors, and be so entertaining
that they will think there is no other place in all the land half so
lovely, for I have fully decided that we must have sweet P's in our posy
bed. We have a Rose, a Violet, a Lily, Myrtle, Hazel, Marguerites,--oh,
a whole flower garden already--but thus far no sweet-peas."
"We will, Mrs. Vincent. Please come with us," said Marjorie cheerily, no
trace of self-consciousness or the indefinable restraint so much oftener
the rule than the exception between teacher and pupil. Mrs. Harold had
been observing every word and action as it was a part of her nature to
observe--yes, intuitively _feel_--every word and action of the young
people with whom she came in touch, and the older ones who were likely
to bring any influence to bear upon their lives, and this little scene
did more to confirm her in the belief that she had not been amiss when
she selected Columbia Heights School for Peggy than anything else could
have done. Next to her husband, her sister and her nieces, Peggy was the
dearest thing in the world to her, and the past year had shown her what
tremendous possibilities the future held for the young girl if wisely
shaped for her. The two ensuing hours were pleasant and profitable for
all concerned and when they ended and Captain Stewart and his party
re-entered the taxicab to return to their hotel in Washington, it was
decided that Peggy should come to Columbia Heights School on October
fifteenth, but Polly's decision was still in abeyance. She wished to
have one of her long, quiet talks with her aunt before "shifting her
holding ground," she said, and that could only be up in Middie's Haven,
cuddled upon a hassock beside Mrs. Harold's easy chair, with the logs
lazily flickering upon the brass andirons. So the ensuing two days in
Washington were given over to sightseeing and "a general blow-out," as
Captain Stewart termed it, insisting that he could not have another for
months and meant to make this one "an A-1 affair." Then back they went
to Severndale where Mrs. Stewart, to their surprise, had returned the
previous day, having failed to find her friend in Baltimore. As she had
already overstayed the length of time for which her invitation to
Severndale had been extended, she had no possible excuse for prolonging
it, and deciding that her schemes had met with defeat largely owing to
her own impolitic precipitation in forcing the situation, she did not
mean to make an ignominious retreat. So, with well assumed suavity she
told her brother-in-law that some urgent business matters claimed her
attention in New York, and asked if he could complete his arrangements
for Peggy's departure without her aid, as she really ought to go North
without delay.
If Neil Stewart was amused by this sudden change in the lady's tactics,
to his credit be it said that he did not betray any sign of it. He
thanked her for her kind interest in Peggy and his home, for all she had
done for them, and left nothing lacking for her comfort upon her
homeward journey, even shipping to the apartment in New York enough
fruit, game and various other good things from Severndale to keep her
larder well supplied for weeks, and supplementing all these with a gift
which would be the envy of all her friends. But when he returned to
Severndale after bidding the lady farewell at the station, he breathed
one mighty sigh of relief. He had escaped a situation of which the
outcome was a good deal more than problematical for everyone concerned,
and most vital for Peggy.
Then came busy days of preparation for Peggy and Polly, for the outcome
of that fireside powwow had been a decision in favor of Columbia Heights
School for Polly also, for that winter at least, and when the fifteenth
dawned bright and frosty, Mrs. Harold accompanied the girls to
Washington, Captain Stewart's leave having meantime expired. But he had
gone back to his ship in a very different frame of mind from that in
which he had returned to it in July, and with a comforting sense of
security in the outcome of his present plans for Peggy. The longer he
knew Mrs. Harold the greater became his confidence in her judgment, and
she had assured him that Peggy should be her charge that winter exactly
as Polly was. Moreover, Mrs. Harold had persuaded Mrs. Howland to close
her house in Montgentian for the winter and come to Annapolis, bringing
Gail with her, for Constance had decided to follow the _Rhode Island_
whenever it was possible for her to do so, and this decision left Mrs.
Howland and Gail alone in their home. So to Wilmot Hall came Polly's
mother and pretty sister, the former to spend a delightfully restful
winter with her sister and the latter to take her first taste of the
good times possible for a girl of twenty-one at the Naval Academy.
The first breaking away from Severndale was harder for Peggy than anyone
but Mrs. Harold guessed. Somehow intuition supplied to her what actual
words could never have conveyed, even had they been spoken, but Peggy,
once her resolution had been taken to go away to school, was not a girl
to bewail her decision. And now she was a duly registered pupil at
Columbia Heights with Polly for her room-mate in number 67, her
next-door neighbor Natalie Vincent, Mrs. Vincent's daughter, a jolly,
honest, happy-go-lucky girl, who looked exactly as her mother must have
looked at fifteen. A long line of rooms extended up and down, both sides
of the corridor, the end one, No. 70, with its pretty bay-window
overlooking the lawn and Stony Brook beyond, was occupied by Stella
Drummond, a tall, striking brunette of eighteen. To the hundred-fifty
girls in Columbia Heights School this story can only allude in a brief
way but of those who figure most prominently in Polly's and Peggy's new
world we'll let Polly give the general "sizing-up." These girls were all
about the same age, and, excepting Stella, juniors, as were Peggy and
Polly, whose previous work under tutors and in high school had qualified
them to enter that grade at Columbia Heights.
It was their first night at the school, and "lights-out" bell had rung
at ten o'clock, but a glorious October moon flooded the room with a
silvery light, almost as bright as day. Peggy in one pretty little white
bed and Polly in the one beside it were carrying on a lively whispered
conversation.
"Well, we're _here_," was Polly's undisputable statement as she snuggled
down under her bed-covers, "and now that we are what do you think of
it?"
"I'm glad we've come. It will seem a lot different, and rather queer to
do everything by rules and on time, but, after all, we had to do almost
everything by rule up home."
"Yes, but they were nearly always our _own_ rules; yours, anyway. Why,
Peggy, I don't believe there is a girl in this school who ever had
things as much her own way as you have had them."
"Maybe that's the reason I didn't get along with Aunt Katherine,"
answered Peggy whimsically.
"Aunt Katherine!" Polly's whisper suggested italics. "Do you know Miss
Sturgis, the math. teacher, makes me think of her a little. Miss Sturgis
is strong-minded, I'll bet a cookie. Did you hear what she said when she
was giving out our books on sociology--doesn't it seem funny, Peggy, for
us to take up sociology?--'She hoped we would become good American
citizens and realize woman's true position in the world.' Somehow I've
thought Tanta has always had a pretty clear idea of 'woman's position in
the world.' At any rate she seems to have plenty to do in her own quiet
way and I've an idea that if anyone ever hinted that she ought to go to
the polls and vote she'd feel inclined to spell it pole and use it to
'beat 'em up' with, as Ralph and the boys would say. Oh, dear, how we
are going to miss 'the bunch,' Peggy."
"We certainly are," was Peggy's sympathetic reply, and for a moment
there was silence in the moonlit room as the girls' thoughts flew back
to Annapolis. Then Peggy asked: "What do you think of the girls? You've
been to school all your life, but it is all new to me."
Polly laughed a low, little laugh, then replied:
"They are about like most school-girls, I reckon. Let's see, which have
we had most to do with since we came here twenty-four hours ago? There's
Rosalie Breeze. She's named all right, sure enough, and if she doesn't
turn out a hurricane we'll be lucky. We had one just like her up at
High. And Lily Pearl Montgomery. My gracious, what a name to give a
girl! She needs stirring up. She's just like a big, fat, spoiled baby. I
feel like saying 'Goo-goo' to her."
"Don't you think Juno Gibson is handsome?" asked Peggy.
"Just as handsome as she can be, but I wish she didn't look so
discontented all the time. Why, she hasn't smiled once since we came."
"I wonder why not?" commented Peggy.
"Maybe we'll find out after we've been here a while. But I tell you one
thing, I like her better without any smiles than that silly Helen
Gwendolyn Doolittle with her everlasting affected giggling at nothing.
She is the kind to do some silly thing and make us all ashamed of her."
"How about Stella Drummond?"
"She is a puzzle to me. Doesn't she seem an awful lot older than the
rest of us? Rosalie says she is eighteen and that's not so much older,
but she seems about twenty-five. I wonder why?"
"Maybe she has lived in cities all her life and gone out a lot. You know
most of the girls we met up at New London seemed so much older too, yet
they really were not. They looked upon us as children, though the Little
Mother said we were years older in common sense while they were years
older in worldly experience,--I wonder what she meant?"
"Tanta meant that we had stayed young girls and could enjoy fun and
frolic as much as ever, but those girls were not satisfied with anything
but dances and theatres and all sorts of grown-up things. We have our
fun with our horses, dogs and the nonsense with the boys up home. We
want our skirts short and our hair flying and to romp when we feel like
it."
"Picture Helen or Lily Pearl romping," and Peggy dove under the covers
to smother her laughter at the thought of the fat, pudgy Lily Pearl
attempting anything of the sort. Polly snickered in sympathy and then
said in her emphatic way:
"I tell you, Peggy, which girls I _do_ like and I think they will like
us: Marjorie Terry and Natalie Vincent. Marjorie is awfully sober and
quiet, I know, but _I_ believe she's sort of lonely, or homesick or
something. Natalie seems more like our own kind than any girl in the
school and I'll wager my tennis racquet she'll be lots of fun if she is
the Principal's daughter. But we'd better go to sleep this minute. We've
made a sort of hash of seven girls, and if we try to size up the whole
school this way it will be broad daylight before we finish. Good-night.
It's sort of nice to be here after all, and nicer still to have you for
a room-mate, old Peggoty."
An appreciative little laugh was the only answer to this and five
minutes later the moon was looking in upon a picture hard to duplicate
in this great world: Two sweet, unspoiled, beautiful girls in the first
flush of untroubled slumber.
The following morning being Saturday and Peggy's and Polly's belongings
having arrived, the girls set about arranging their room, half a dozen
others having volunteered assistance. For convenience in reaching "up
aloft" Peggy and Polly had slipped off their waists and were arrayed in
kimonos which aroused the envy of their companions. Captain Stewart had
given them to his "twins" as he now called the girls. Peggy's was the
richest shade of crimson embroidered in all manner of golden gods and
dragons; Polly's pale blue with silver chrysanthemums.
"Oh, _where_ did they come from?" cried Natalie.
"Daddy Neil brought them to us," answered Peggy, as she stepped toward
the door to take an armful of pictures and pillows from old Jess who had
followed his young mistress to Washington to care for Shashai and Silver
Star, the horses having been sent on also, for Columbia Heights School
had large stables for the accommodation of riding or driving horses for
the use of its pupils, or they could bring their own if they preferred.
So Shashai and Silver Star had been ridden down by Jess, taking the
journey in short, easy stages, and arriving the previous evening.
Tzaritza, to her astonishment had not been allowed to accompany them,
and Roy was inconsolable for days. Peggy's departure from Severndale had
left many a grieving heart behind.
"What I gwine do wid all dis hyer truck, Missie-honey?" asked Jess,
coming in from the corridor with a second armful: riding-crops, silver
bits, a fox's brush, books and what not.
"Just plump it down anywhere, Jess. We'll get round to it all in due
time," laughed Peggy from her perch upon a small step-ladder where she
was fastening up some hat-bands of the _Rhode Island_, _New Hampshire_,
_Olympia_ and the ships which had comprised the summer practice
squadron, the girls all gathered about her asking forty questions to the
minute and wild with curiosity and excitement. Never before had two
"really, truly Navy girls" been inmates of Columbia Heights and it sent
a wild flutter through many hearts. What possibilities might lie at the
Annapolis end of the W. B. & A. Railroad!
Jess's white woolly head was bent down over the armful of books he was
placing upon the floor; Peggy had returned to her decorating; Polly had
draped her flag upon the wall and was standing her beloved bugle and a
long row of photographs upon book-shelves beneath it, several girls
following her with little squeals of rapture, when a pandemonium of
shrieks and screams arose down the corridor and the next second a huge
creature bounded into the room, tipping Jess and his burden heels over
head, and flinging itself upon Peggy. Down came ladder, Peggy, and the
white mass in a heap, the girls scattering in a shrieking panic to
whatever shelter seemed to offer, confident that nothing less than a
wolf had invaded the fold.
But Tzaritza was no wolf even if her beautiful snowy coat was
mud-bedraggled and stuck full of burrs, nor was Peggy being "devoured
alive," as Lily Pearl, who had actually _run_ for once in her life, was
hysterically sobbing into Mrs. Vincent's arms.
No, Peggy, rather promiscuous as to ladder, hammer, hat-bands and
general paraphernalia, was lying flat upon her back, her arms around
Tzaritza, half-sobbing, half-laughing her joy into the beautiful
creature's silky neck, while Tzaritza whimpered and whined for joy and
licked and dabbed her mistress with a moist tongue.
"It is a wolf! A wolf!" shrieked Lily Pearl, who had returned to the
scene, "and he is killing her."
"It is a horrid, dirty dog! Why doesn't that man drive him out?"
demanded Miss Sturgis, who had followed Tzaritza hot foot, having been
in the main hall when the great hound went tearing through and up the
stairs, nose and ears having given her the clue to her mistress'
whereabouts.
"No, it's only a wolf_hound_!" laughed Polly, dropping her pictures to
fly across the room and fall upon Tzaritza.
Then explanations followed. Tzaritza had been left in Shelby's care, but
finding it impossible to restrain her when Jess was about to leave with
the horses, he had tied her in the barn. The rope was bitten through as
clean as a thread and Tzaritza's coat told of the long journey on the
horses' trail.
After her wild demonstrations of joy had calmed down, Tzaritza stood
panting in the middle of the wreck which her cyclonic entrance had
brought about, her great eyes pleading eloquently for restored favor.
Polly still clasped her arms about the big shaggy neck, while Miss
Sturgis alternately protested and commanded Jess to "remove that dirty
creature at once." Happily, Mrs. Vincent entered the room at this
juncture and it must have been the god of animals, of which Kipling
tells us, which inspired Tzaritza's act at that moment. Or was it
something in the fine, strong face which children and animals in common
all trust with subtle intuition? At all events, Tzaritza looked at Mrs.
Vincent just one moment and then greeted her exactly as at home she
would have greeted Dr. Llewellyn or Captain Stewart; by rising upon her
hind legs, placing her forepaws upon Mrs. Vincent's shoulders and
nestling her magnificent head into the amazed woman's neck as
confidingly as a child would have done. A less self-contained woman
would have been frightened half to death. Miss Sturgis came near
swooning but Mrs. Vincent just gathered the great dog into her arms as
she would have gathered one of her girls and said:
"Without the power of human speech you plead your cause most eloquently,
you beautiful creature. Peggy, has she ever been separated from you
before, dear?"
"Never, Mrs. Vincent. She has slept at my door since she was a wee
puppy."
"She shall be appointed guardian of the West Wing of Columbia Heights,
and may turn out a guardian for us all. Now, Jess, take her to the
stables and make her presentable to polite society. Poor Tzaritza, your
journey must have been a long, hard, dusty one, for your silken fringes
have collected many souvenirs of it."
CHAPTER VIII
A RIDING LESSON
In spite of the Sturgeon's protests that "it was _most_ impolitic to
establish a precedent in the school," Tzaritza became a duly enrolled
member of the establishment, and from that moment slept at Peggy's door,
a welcome inmate of Columbia Heights. Welcome at least, to all but one
person. Miss Sturgis loathed all animals.
In the ensuing weeks Peggy and Polly slipped very naturally into their
places. In her own class and in the West Wing Natalie Vincent had always
been the acknowledged leader, for, even though the daughter of the
Principal, not the slightest partiality was ever shown her and she was
obliged to conform as strictly to the rules as any girl in the school.
She was full of fun, eternally in harmless mischief, and, of course,
eternally being taken to task for her misdeeds.
By the usual order of the attraction of opposites Marjorie Terry and
Natalie had formed a warm friendship. Marjorie the quiet, reserved,
rather shrinking girl from Seattle. She never joined in any of Natalie's
wild pranks, but on the other hand was a safe confidant, and if she
could not follow her more spontaneous friend's lead, she certainly never
balked or betrayed her. The other girls had christened them Positive and
Negative and they certainly lived up to their names.
The girls whom Peggy and Polly had discussed so frankly the night after
their arrival all roomed in the West Wing. Stella in her own large,
handsome room, for her father was manager of an immense railroad system
in the middle West. Rosalie Breeze and oh "cursed spite!" Isabel
Boylston--"_Is_-a-bel," as she pronounced it,--roomed together and
squabbled incessantly. At least, Rosalie did the squabbling, _Is_-a-bel
affected the superior, self-righteous air which acted upon Rosalie's
peppery temper as a red rag upon a bull. It was Miss Sturgis, of course,
who had advised placing them together. Isabel was a great favorite of
Miss Sturgis, and Rosalie was the reverse.
Mrs. Vincent had not entirely approved the arrangement, but the school
was unusually crowded this year and two of the girls' parents had
insisted upon single rooms for their daughters. Juno Gibson, from New
York, had announced very positively that unless she could have a room
to herself in Columbia Heights School she would pack her three trunks
and go elsewhere, and Papa Gibson was not in the habit of disputing his
daughter's will or wishes unless they conflicted with his own. In this
matter he didn't care a straw, so Miss Juno was not compelled to have "a
dozen girls eternally under foot and ruining my clothes by crowding the
closets full of theirs."
Lily Pearl, "Tootsy-wootsy," as her companions had dubbed her, roomed
with Helen Gwendolyn Doolittle, "Cutie," and a sweet, sentimental pair
they made, though Helen spent every possible moment with the latest
object of her adoration, Stella Drummond, for whom she had instantly
conceived an overwhelming infatuation; a pronounced school-girl "crush."
Of the other girls in the school only a passing glimpse need be given.
Saturday afternoons were always perfectly free at Columbia Heights, and
the girls could do practically as they chose. There was one rule, or
rather the absence of it, which had appealed very strongly to Mrs.
Harold and gone a long way toward biasing her choice in favor of the
school. If the girls wished to go into the city--that is, the girls in
the Sophomore, Junior and Senior grades--to do shopping or make calls,
they were entirely at liberty to do so unattended by a teacher, though
Mrs. Vincent must, of course, know where they were going. With very rare
exceptions this rule had always worked to perfection. The very fact that
they might do as they chose, and were put upon their honor to uphold the
reputation and dignity of the school, usually acted as an incentive to
them to do so, whereas the eternal surveillance and suspicion of the
average school acts as a mighty inspiration to circumvent all
regulations.
Another pleasant feature of Saturday afternoons were the long riding
excursions through the beautiful surrounding country, with a groom
accompanying the party and with one of the girls acting as riding
mistress. Besides Peggy and Polly, Stella was the only girl who had her
own horse at Columbia Heights, the others riding those provided by the
school. They were good horses and the riding-master, Albert Dawson, was
supposed to be a good man, conscientious, painstaking, careful. He was
conventional to a degree. He taught the English seat, the English rise,
the English gait, and his horses were all docked and hogged in the
English fashion. Dawson would doubtless have taught them to drop their
H's as he himself did, had he been able to do so.
When Shashai and Silver Star arrived upon the scene, manes and forelocks
long and silky as a girl's hair, tails almost sweeping the ground and
flowing free, poor Dawson nearly died of outraged conventions, though he
was forced to admit that the Columbia Heights stables held no horseflesh
to compare with these thoroughbreds.
"But oh, my 'eart, look at that mess o' 'air and mind their paces. They
lopes along for all the world like them blooming little jackals we used
to 'ave bout in Hindia when I was in 'is Lordship's service. They'd ruin
my reputation if they was to be seen in the Row," he deplored to Jess,
who was grooming his pets as carefully as old Mammy would have brushed
Peggy's hair.
Jess gave a derisive snort. He had lived a good many more years than
Dawson and his experience with horseflesh was an exceptionally wide one.
"Well, yo'-all needn't be a troublin' yo' sperrits 'bout de gait ob dese
hyer horses. Dey kin set de pace fo' all dat truck yonder, an' don' yo'
fergit dat fac'. Yo's got some fairly-middlin'-good ones hyer," and Jess
nodded toward the stalls, "but dey's just de onery class, not de
quality. No-siree. Now, honey, don' yo' go fer ter git perjectin' none
cause I'se praisin' yo' to yo' face. Tain't good manners fer ter take
notice when yo's praised. Yo' mistiss 'll tell yo' dat," admonished
Jess, as Shashai reached forward and plucked his cap from his head. "Yo'
gimme dat cap, yo' hyer me!"
But Shashai's teeth held it firmly as he tossed it playfully up and
down, to Jess' secret delight in his pet's cleverness, though he
outwardly affected strong disapproval, after the manner of his race.
The horses were like playful, fearless children with him, and Jess was
bursting with pride at the result of his handiwork. And certainly, it
was worth looking upon, for no finer specimens of faultlessly groomed
horseflesh could have been found in the land.
"Yes, but think of the figure I'll be cutting when I take my young
ladies for a turn in the park or on the havenue," protested Dawson.
"Couldn't ye just knot hup them tails a bit, and mebbe braid that
fly-away mane down along the crest? If I'm bordered to take my young
ladies into the park or the city this hafternoon, I swear I'll hexpire
of mortification with them 'orses."
But this was too much for Jess. Dawson had at last touched the match,
and he caught the full force of Jess's wrath:
"Sp-sp-spire ob--ob mortification! Shamed ob dese hyer hosses! Frettin'
cause yo's gotter 'scort a pair of animals what's got pedigrees dat
reach back ter Noah's Ark eanemost! Why, dey blood kin make you-all's
look lak mullen sap, an' dey manners, even if dey ain' nothin' but
hosses, jist natchelly mak' yo' light clean outer sight. Sho'! Go long,
chile! Yo' gotter live some. Dar, it done struck five bells--_dat_ mean
ten-thirty, unerstan'--an' you's gotter git half-a-dozen ob yo'
bob-tailed nags ready fo' de ridin' lessons yo' tells me yo' gives de
yo'ng ladies at _six_ bells,--_dat's_ eleben o'clock,--Sattidy mawnin's.
I's pintedly cur'us fer ter see dem lessons, _I_ is. Lak 'nough befo' de
mawnin's ober _yo'll_ take a lesson yo'-self," and Jess ended his tirade
by throwing an arm across each silky neck and saying to his charges:
"Now, come 'long wid ole Jess, honeys. Yo's gwine enter high sassiety
presen'ly, and yo's gotter do Severndale credit. Yo' hyer me?"
Poor Dawson was decidedly perturbed in his mind. Hitherto he had been
the autocrat of "form and fashion," the absolute dictator of the proper
style. Under his ordering, horses had been bought for the school,
cropped, docked and trimmed on the most approved lines, until nothing
but a hopeless, forlorn stubble indicated that they had once boasted
manes or forelocks, and poor little affairs like whisk-brooms served for
tails, or rather did not serve, especially in fly-time. But that was a
minor consideration. Fashion's dictates were obeyed.
With the aid of his grooms Dawson soon had five horses saddled and
bridled, curbs rattling and saddles creaking. There were only two cross
saddles. Then he turned to Jess.
"Ye'd better be gettin' them hanimals ready, for I dare say I've to give
the young ladies their lessons too."
"Hi-ya!" exploded Jess. Then added: "Come 'long, babies, an' git dressed
up. Yo' all's gwine git yo' summons up yonder presen'ly."
Shashai and Star obediently walked over to the bar upon which their
light headstalls hung, sniffed at them with long audible breaths, then
each selecting his own carried it to Jess in his teeth.
"Well, Hi'll be blowed!" murmured Dawson.
Jess pretended not to notice, but saying unconcernedly: "Dat's all
right. Now put 'em on lak gentlemen," he held one in each hand toward
his pets. They took the bits in their mouths, slipped their heads into
the headstalls and then waited for Jess to buckle the throat-latches,
for that was a trifle beyond them. "Now fotch yo' saddles," ordered
Jess, pleased to the point of foolishness. The horses went to the saddle
blocks, selected their saddles, lifted them by the little pommel and
carried them to Jess like obedient children.
No mother was ever more gratified than Jess. "Now honeys, yo' stan'
right whar yo's at twell yo' summons come from over yander. Yo's gwine
hyar it all right," and with this parting admonition to good behavior,
Jess went unconcernedly about his business of putting away the articles
of his pets' toilets.
"They'll be a-boltin' and raisin' the very mischief if you leave them
alone," warned Dawson.
"What dat yo' say? I reckons yo' ain' got _yo'_ horses trained like
we-all back yonder got _ours_. Paht ob dey eddications must a-been
neglected ef dey gotter be tied up ter keep 'em whar yo' wants 'em fer
ter _stay_ at. Yo' need'n worry 'bout Shashai and Star. _Dey's_ got
sense."
Dawson vouchsafed no reply. One must be tolerant with garrulous old
niggers, but he'd keep an "hey on them 'orses" all the same.
The riding school used in stormy weather and the circle for fine, were
not far from the house. At five minutes before eleven the girls who were
to have their Saturday morning lessons prior to the ride in the
afternoon, went over to the school and an electric bell notified Dawson
that his young ladies awaited their mounts. With due decorum and
self-importance he and Henry, the groom, led the horses from the stable,
Dawson calling over his shoulder:
"You'd better come on with your Harabs, I can't be waitin' with my
lessons."
"We-all'll come 'long when we's bid," was Jess' cryptic retort.
Dawson scorned to reply, but mounted on his big dapple-gray horse, Duke,
body bent forward and elbows out, creaked away. When he reached the big
circle where a group of girls stood upon the platform for mounting,
Peggy and Polly, in their trim little divided skirts, looked inquiringly
for Shashai and Silver Star. Peggy asked:
"Are our horses ready, Dawson?"
"Yes, Miss, I believe so, Miss, but your man seemed to think I'd best
let you ring, or do--well, I don't rightly know _what_ 'ee hexpected you
to do, Miss. But 'ee didn't let me bring the 'orses, beggin' your
pardon, Miss."
"Oh, that's all right, Dawson; Jess is just silly about the horses and
us. You mustn't mind his little ways. It's only because he loves us all
so dearly. Besides it isn't necessary for anyone to bring them. I'll
call them," and placing a little silver bo's'n's whistle to her lips
Peggy "piped to quarters." It was instantly answered by two loud neighs
and the thud of rapid hoofbeats as Shashai and Silver Star came
sweeping up the broad driveway from the stables, heads tossing, manes
waving and tails floating out like streamers. The girls with Peggy and
Polly clapped their hands and shrieked with delight.
"One bell, Shashai! Halt, Star!" cried Peggy and Polly in a breath.
The splendid animals came straight to them, stopped instantly, dropped
to their knees and touched the ground with their soft muzzles in sign of
obeisance. The girls all scrambled off the platform as one individual,
riding lesson and everything else utterly forgotten; here was a new
order of things hitherto utterly undreamed of in the school. It had been
a case of "pigs is pigs" or "horses is horses" with them. That the
animals they were learning to ride _à la mode_ might be something more
than mere delightful machines of transportation had never entered their
heads.
"Oh, how did you make them do it? Will you show us? Will any horse come
if you know how to call him? Can they all do that? Didn't it take you
forever and ever to teach them? Aren't they beauties! What are they
trying to do now?" were the questions rattling like hail about Peggy's
and Polly's ears.
For answer Peggy opened a little linen bag which she carried, handing
to Polly three lumps of sugar and taking three out for her own pet. The
horses crunched them with a relish, their light snaffle bits acting as
only slight impediments to their mastication.
"Do you always give them sugar? Oh, please give us some for our horses,"
begged the girls.
"Young ladies, I don't 'old with givin' the 'orses nothin' while in
'arness and a-mussin' them up. They'll be a-slobberin' themselves a
sight," expostulated Dawson.
"But Miss Stewart's and Miss Howland's horses are not slobbered up,"
argued Natalie.
"They've not got curb bits. Just them snaffles which is as good as none
whatever," was Dawson's scornful criticism.
"Well, why must ours have curbs if theirs don't," argued Juno Gibson,
whose habitual frown seemed to have somewhat lessened during the past
five minutes. If Juno had a single soft spot in her heart it was touched
by animals. She did not have a horse of her own, though she insisted
upon always having the same mount, to Dawson's opposition, for he
contended that to become expert horsewomen his pupils must change their
mounts and become accustomed to different horses. In the long run the
argument was a good one, but Miss Juno did not yield readily to
arguments. Therefore she invariably rode Lady Belle, a light-footed
little filly, with a tender mouth and nervous as a witch. Her big gentle
eyes held a constant look of appeal, she was chafed incessantly by the
heavy chain curb, and if anyone approached her suddenly she started
back, jerking up her head as though in terror of a blow. But with Juno
she was tractable as a lamb, and the pretty creature's whole expression
changed when the girl was riding her. Juno had a light, firm hand upon
the bit and in spite of Dawson's emphatic orders to "'old 'er curb well
in 'and perpetual," she rarely used it, and Lady Belle obeyed her
lightest touch.
"Our 'orses are 'arnessed as they had orter be, Miss Gibson, and as the
Queen 'erself rides them in the hold country. 'Hi'm doing my best to
teach you young ladies proper, and I can't 'old with some of these loose
Hamerican 'abits. They wouldn't be 'eld with for a minute in the Row."
"Oh, a fig for your old Row, Dawson! _We're_ all American girls and
there's more snap-to in us in one of your 'minutes' than in all the
English girls I've ever seen in my life, and I've seen a good
many--_too_ many for my peace of mind. I lived there two years," broke
in Rosalie Breeze. "I'll bet Miss Howland and Miss Stewart can show you
some stunts in riding which would make your old queen's eyes pop out.
Why don't you quote Helen Taft to us instead of Queen Mary? We don't
care a whoop for the queen of England, but Helen Taft is just a Yankee
girl like ourselves and we can see her ride almost any day if we want
to. She is big enough for us to see, goodness knows. But come on, girls.
Let's do our stunts," and Rosalie scrambled upon the platform once more,
ready to mount Jack-o'-Lantern, the horse she was to ride.
Meanwhile Lady Bell sniffing something eatable, had drawn near Peggy,
half doubtful, half trustful. At that instant Peggy turned rather
quickly, entirely unaware of the filly's approach. With a frightened
snort the pretty creature started back. Peggy grasped the situation
instantly. She made a step forward, raised her arm, drew the silky neck
within her embrace, whispered a few words into the nervously alert ear,
and the hour was won. Lady Belle nestled to her like a sensitive,
frightened child.
"'Ave a care, Miss Stewart! 'Ave a care! She's a snappy one," warned
Dawson with bristling importance as he turned from settling _Is_-a-bel
Boylston upon a big, white, heavy-footed horse, where she managed to
keep her place with all the grace of outline and poise of a meal sack.
Now Peggy had been sizing things up pretty thoroughly during the past
fifteen minutes, and her conclusions were not flattering to Dawson.
There was a cut upon Lady Belle's sensitive nostril which told its
little story to her. Jack-o'-Lantern's hoofs were varnished most
beautifully, but when he lifted them one glimpse told Peggy the
condition of the frogs. The silver mounting upon "The Senator's,"
Isabel's horse's harness were shining, but his bit was rusty and untidy.
A dozen little trifles testified to Dawson's superficiality, and Peggy
had been mistress of a big paddock too long to let this popinjay lord it
over one whom he sized up as "nothin' but a school girl." Consequently,
her reply to his warning slightly upset his equanimity.
"You need not be alarmed, Dawson, but if Lady Belle turns fractious I'll
abide the consequences."
"Yes, Miss, yes, Miss, but _'Hi'm_ responsible, you understand."
"What for? The horse's well-being or mine? I'll relieve you of mine, and
give you more time to care for the horses. Lady Belle's muzzle seems to
have suffered slightly. Jack-o'-Lantern's hoofs need your attention, and
at Severndale a bit like the Senator's would mean a bad quarter of an
hour for _some_body. So, you'd have a hard time 'holding down your job'
there. That's pure American slang. Do you understand it?" and shrugging
her shoulders slightly, Peggy cried: "Come on, girls! We're wasting
loads of time. Attention, Shashai! Right dress! Right step! Front!
Steady!"
As Peggy spoke, Shashai and Silver Star sprang side by side, then stood
like statues. At "right dress" they turned their heads toward the group
of horses. At "right step," they closed up until they stood in perfect
line beside them. At "front," "steady" they stood facing the two girls,
waiting the next command.
"Come up to the platform. Come up and be ready to mount, young ladies,"
ordered Dawson.
"We'll mount when you give the word," answered Polly, her hand, like
Peggy's, upon her horse's withers.
"You'll never be able to from the ground, Miss."
A ringing laugh from the girls, sudden springs and they were in their
saddles. "Four bells!" they cried and swept away around the ring, their
gay laughter flung behind them to where their companion's horses were
fidgeting and chafing under Dawson's highly conventional restraint,
while that disconcerted man whose veneer had so promptly been
penetrated by Peggy's keen vision, forgot himself so far as to mutter
under his breath:
"These Hamerican girls are the limit, and I'm in for a ---- of a time if
I don't mind my hey. And she Miss Stewart of Severndale, and I not hon
to that before! 'Ere's a go and no mistake."
CHAPTER IX
COMMON SENSE AND HORSE SENSE
As has no doubt already been suspected, Alfred Dawson, Riding Master at
the Columbia Heights School, was such a complete impostor that he
actually imposed upon himself. He is by no means the only one on record.
Oddly enough we are all more or less impostors, blind to our own pet
foibles, deluded as to our own little weaknesses. Dawson's methods with
his charges, both two-footed and four, were the methods of thousands of
others, whether they have the directing of young people, or the training
of animal's entrusted to them. Like grains of corn--pour them into a
hopper and they come out at the other end meal--of some sort--good--bad
or indifferent as it happens--that was not _his_ concern; his job was to
pour in the grains and he knew of but one way to pour--just as someone
else had poured before him. That he might devise new and better methods
of pouring never entered his square-shaped head. It was left for a
fifteen-year-old girl, and an old darky, whom in his secret heart he
regarded as no better than the dirt beneath his feet, to start volcanic
eruptions destined to shake the very foundations of his
self-complacence. Hitherto he had simply been lord of his realm. He had
come to Columbia Heights highly recommended by the father of one of its
pupils and had assumed undisputed control. Mrs. Vincent, like hundreds
of other women who own horses, but who know about as much concerning
their care and well-being as they know of what is needful for a Rajah's
herd of elephants, judged wholly by the outward evidences. The horses
came to the house in seemingly faultless condition: their coats shone,
their harness seemed immaculate; they behaved in a most exemplary
manner. Nor had anything ever happened to the young ladies while they
were in Dawson's care. What more could a conscientious school Principal
ask of her riding master? It had never occurred to her to appear in the
stables when least expected; to examine harness, saddles, stalls, feed
mangers, bedding; to study the expressions of her horses' faces as she
would have studied her girls. How many women ever think of doing so? It
never entered her head to argue that there was more reason for it. Few
of her girls would have hesitated to express their minds had any one
misused them, or to insist upon comfortable conditions should
uncomfortable ones exist for them.
Yet Mrs. Vincent, sweet, strong, kind, and just to everyone, was as
blind as a babe to the impositions practiced by the oily-tongued,
deferential Dawson. True, he did 'get upon her nerves' now and again,
but she secretly reproached herself for what she felt to be her American
prejudices, and by way of self-discipline overlooked in Dawson many
little aggravating peculiarities which she would have felt it her duty
to instantly correct in the other servants.
And no doubt things would have gone on in exactly the same way
indefinitely had not a little lassie who loved horses and animals as she
loved human beings, and whose understanding of them and their
understanding of her was almost uncanny, chosen Columbia Heights School
for her Alma Mater.
That was a red letter hour for Dawson. He had a vague feeling that some
influence, perhaps his evil genius, was bestirring itself. At all
events, he was ill at ease, something of his accustomed self-conceit was
lacking and he was, as the result, somewhat irritable, though he dared
not manifest open resentment.
Now it need hardly be stated that Peggy had no premeditated intention of
antagonizing the man. He meant no more to her than dozens of other
grooms, for after all he was merely an upper servant, but her quick eyes
had instantly made some discoveries which hurt her as a physical needle
prick would have hurt her. Peggy had employed too many men at Severndale
under Shelby's wonderful judgment and experience of both men and
animals, not to judge pretty accurately, and _most_ intuitively, the
type of man mounted upon big, gray "Duke." Duke's very ears and eyes
told Peggy and Polly a little story which would have made Dawson's pale
blue eyes open wider than usual could he have translated it.
As Peggy and Polly went cavorting away across the ring, Dawson called
rather peremptorily:
"Young ladies, you will be good enough to come back and take your places
beside the others. This is a riding lesson, not a circus show, _hif_ you
please."
Polly shot a quick glance at Peggy. There was the slightest possible
pressure of their knees and Shashai and Silver Star glided back to their
places beside the other four horses.
"Now you will please 'old your reins and your bodies as the other young
ladies do," commanded Dawson.
"Never could do it in this world, Dawson. I'd have a crick in my back
in two minutes. Besides, we're not out here for lessons, Miss Stewart
and I, but just as spectators. We'll look on and see the other girls
learn the proper caper," laughed Polly.
"Then I can't for the life of me hunderstand why you came hout at all.
Hit's just a-stirrin' hup and a-fidgeting the other 'orses. They're not
used to the goin's hon of 'alf broke hanimals."
"Half broken! It seems to me, Dawson, that most horses are _wholly_
broken but very few wholly _trained_. If we disturb the others, however,
we'll go off for a spin by ourselves. Come, Polly. Full speed, Tzaritza!
Four bells, Shashai!" and away sped the trio, Tzaritza, like the
obedient creature she was, bounding from the platform where Peggy had
bidden her "charge," lest she startle the horses.
"I'll hopen the gate for you, Miss," Dawson hastened to call, a trifle
doubtful as to whether he had not been just a little too dictatorial.
"No need. This gate is nothing," called Peggy and as one, they skimmed
over the four-foot iron gate as though it were four inches, hands
waving, eyes alight, lips parted in gay laughter. Tzaritza's joyful bark
mingling with their voices as she rushed away.
The girls' cries of admiration or amazement drowned Dawson's:
"Well, 'Hi'll be blowed! Hi couldn't a done hit like that to save me
'ead," which was quite true, for very few could ride as these young
girls rode.
Meanwhile back in the circle two of Dawson's pupils were expressing
themselves without reserve.
"I mean to learn to ride like _that_," announced Rosalie Breeze. "The
idea of bouncing up and down in a stupid old side-saddle when we could
just as well sit as Polly and Peggy do. Why, I never saw anything as
graceful as those two girls in my life. Can't _you_ show me how, Dawson?
If you can't you can just make up your mind I am going to find someone
who _can_. Jack-o'-Lantern's sure enough disgusted with _this_ show-down,
and I believe that's the reason he has no more spirit than a bossy-cow."
"I'm going to speak to Mrs. Vincent," announced Juno. "This may be all
very conventional and correct, but all I can do is rise and fall in a
trot; I'm petrified if Lady Belle breaks into a canter, and if she were
to leap over that fence, I'd break my neck. Yet did you ever _see_
anything so graceful as those two girls and that magnificent dog when
they went over? I tell you, girls, we've got something worth while in
this school now, believe me. And just you wait!" and with this cryptic
ending Juno jockeyed ahead of her companions.
"I wish mother could have seen and heard it all," whispered Natalie.
"Then why don't you tell her, and ask her to come out and see those
girls ride," demanded Rosalie.
"That's exactly what I mean _to_ do," replied Natalie, with an emphatic
little nod. "I'm beginning to believe we don't know half we should know
about the stables."
"I should imagine that Mrs. Vincent would be a far better judge of what
was proper for young ladies than a couple of perfectly lawless girls who
have been brought up on a Southern ranch or something. _I_ call them
perfect hoydens and they would not be countenanced a moment in the Back
Bay," was Isabel's superior opinion.
"A Southern ranch?" echoed Rosalie, "You're mixed in your geography,
Isabel. They have plantations and estates in the South, but the ranches
are out West. But I don't wonder you prefer bumping along as you do on
the old Senator. You match him all right, all right. But just you wait
until we leave you behind when we've learned to ride like Peggy and
Polly, for we're going to do it, you can just bet your best hat."
"Thank you, I never indulge in betting or slang. Both are vulgar in the
extreme. And as to riding like a circus performer, I have higher aims in
life."
"Going in for the trapeze? They say it's fine to reduce embonpoint."
No reply was made to Rosalie's gibe and the lesson went on in its usual
uneventful manner. Meanwhile Peggy and Polly were having a glorious game
of tag, for the Columbia Heights grounds were very extensive, and drives
led in every direction. When pursued and pursuer were in a perfect gale
of merriment, and Tzaritza giving way to her most joyous cavortings, a
sudden turn brought them upon Mrs. Vincent. She was seated upon a rustic
bench in one of the cosy nooks of the grounds and Tzaritza, bounding
ahead, was the first to see her, and Tzaritza never forgot a kindness.
The next second she had dropped upon the ground at Mrs. Vincent's feet,
her nose buried in her forepaws--Tzaritza's way of manifesting her
allegiance and affection. Then up she rose, rested her feet upon the
bench and for the second time laid her head upon Mrs. Vincent's
shoulder. Before that gratified lady had time to do more than place an
arm about the big dog's neck, Peggy's and Polly's chargers had come to
a halt in front of her and at word of command stood as still as statues.
The girls slipped from the horses' backs, as bonny a pair as ever
thrilled an older woman's soul.
"Oh, Mrs. Vincent, we've had such a race!" cried Polly, smiling into
Mrs. Vincent's face with her irresistible smile.
"Isn't it good just to be alive on such a day?" smiled Peggy, turning to
her as she would have turned to Mrs. Harold, her face alight. Aunt
Katherine had been Peggy's only "wet blanket" and, it had not been
wrapped about her long enough to destroy her absolute confidence in
grown-ups. Perhaps Miss Sturgis would threaten it, but all that lay in
the future.
"And to be just fifteen with all the world before you, and such animals
beside you," answered Mrs. Vincent, stroking Tzaritza and nodding toward
the horses.
"Yes, aren't they just the dearest ever? Who could help loving them?"
"Will they stand like that without being tied?"
"Oh, yes, they have always obeyed me perfectly. I wish you could see Roy
and the others. Some day you must come out to Severndale, Mrs. Vincent,
and see my four-footed children. I've such a lot of them."
"Tell me something of your home and home-life, dear. We are not very
well acquainted, you know, and that is a poor beginning."
It was a subject dear to Peggy's heart, and she needed no urging. Seated
beside Mrs. Vincent, for half an hour she talked of her life at
Severndale, Polly's interjections supplying little side-lights which
Mrs. Vincent was quick to appreciate, though Polly did not realize how
they emphasized Peggy's picture of her home.
"And you really raised those splendid horses yourself? I have never seen
their equal."
"But if you only knew how wonderfully intelligent they are, Mrs.
Vincent! Of course, Silver Star is now Polly's horse, but she has
learned to understand him so perfectly, and ride so beautifully, that he
loves her as well as he loves me and obeys her as well."
For a moment or two Mrs. Vincent's face wore an odd expression.
"Understand" a horse? To be "loved" by one? Did she "understand" those
in her stable? Did they "love" her? She almost smiled. It was such a new
viewpoint. Yet, why not? The animals upon her place were certainly
entirely dependent upon her for their happiness and comfort. But had she
ever given that fact a serious thought?
Slipping an arm about each girl as they sat beside her she asked:
"What do you think of our horses, and of Dawson? For a little
fifteen-year old lassie you seem to have had a remarkable experience."
Peggy colored, but Polly blurted out:
"I think he's a regular old hypocrite and so does Peggy. Why, Shelby
would have forty fits if any of our horses' feet were like
Jack-o'-Lantern's, or their bits as dirty as the Senator's."
"Oh, Polly, please don't!" begged Peggy. But it was too late. "What is
this?" asked Mrs. Vincent quickly.
"Well, I dare say I've made a mess of the whole thing. I generally do,
but Peggy and I do love animals so and hate to see them abused."
"Are _ours_ abused, Polly?"
"I don't suppose that generally speaking people would say they were.
Most everybody would say they were mighty well cared for, but that's
because people don't stop to think a thing about it. My goodness, _I_
didn't till Peggy made me. A horse was just a horse to me--any old
horse--if he could pull a wagon or hold somebody on his back. That he
could actually _talk_ to me never entered my head. Have you ever seen
one _do_ it?" asked Polly, full of eager enthusiasm.
"I can't say that I ever have," smiled Mrs. Vincent, and Polly quickly
retorted, though there was no trace of disrespect in her words:
"Now you are laughing at us. I knew you would. Well, no wonder, most
people would think us crazy for saying such a thing. But truly, Mrs.
Vincent, we're not. Peggy, make Shashai and Star talk to you. I'd do it,
only I'd sort of feel as though I were taking the wind out of your
sails. You are the teacher and I'm only your pupil."
"Do you really wish me to show you something of their intelligence, Mrs.
Vincent? I feel sort of foolish--as though I were trying to show off,
you know."
"Well, you are _not_, and I've an idea that for a few moments we can
exchange places to good advantage. It looks as though I had spent a vast
deal of my time acquiring a knowledge of higher mathematics and modern
languages, at the expense of some understanding of natural history and
now I'll take a lesson, please."
"Of course I don't mean to say that every animal can be taught all the
things _our_ horses have learned any more than all children, can be
equally taught. You don't expect as much of the child who has been,
misused and neglected as you do of the one who has been raised properly
and always loved. It depends a whole lot on that. Our horses have never
known fear and so we can do almost anything with them. Shashai, Star,
come and make love to Missie."
As one the two beautiful creatures came to the seat and laid their soft
muzzles upon Peggy's shoulders. Then raising their heads ran their
velvety lips over her cheeks with as gentle, caressing a touch as a
little child's fingers could have given, all the time voicing the soft,
bubbling whinney of a trustful, happy horse. Peggy reached an arm about
each satiny head. After a moment she said:
"Attention!"
Back started both horses to stand as rigid as statues.
"Salute Mrs. Vincent."
Up went each splendid head and a clear, joyous neigh was trumpeted from
the delicate nostrils.
"Call Shelby!"
What an alert expression filled the splendid eyes as the horses,
actually a-quiver with excitement, neighed again, and again for the
friend whom they loved, and looked inquiringly at Peggy when he failed
to appear.
"Where's Jess?"
Eager, impatient snorts replied.
Peggy rose to her feet and carefully knotting, the reins upon the
saddles' pommels to safeguard accidents, said:
"Go fetch him!"
Tzaritza was alert in an instant. "No, not you, Tzaritza. Charge. Four
bells, Shashai,--Star!" and away swept the horses.
"Do you mean to say they understand and will really bring Jess here?"
asked Mrs. Vincent incredulously.
"Oh, yes, indeed. They have done so dozens of times at home."
"Well, they are wonders!"
The rapid hoofbeats were now dying away in the distance. Perhaps ten
minutes elapsed when their rhythmic beat was again audible, each second
growing more distinct, then down the linden-bordered avenue came Shashai
and Star, Jess riding Shashai. The horses moved as swiftly as birds fly.
As they caught sight of Peggy they neighed loudly as though asking her
approbation. A lump of sugar awaited each obedient animal, and Jess
asked:
"What yo' wantin' ob Jess, baby-honey?"
"Just to prove to Mrs. Vincent that the horses would bring you here if I
told them to."
"Co'se dey bring me if Miss Peggy bidden 'em to," answered Jess as
though surprised that she should ask such a needless question.
"But how did you know she wished you?"
"How'd I know, Mist'ss? Why dem hawses done _tol'_ me she want me. Yas'm
dey did. Dey done come t'arin' back yonder ter de stable an' dey cotch
holt ob my sleefs wid dey teefs, and dey yank and tug me 'long outen de
do'. Den dis hyer Shashai, he stan' lak a statyer twell I hike me up on
his back, den he kite away like de bery debbil--axes yo' pardon,
ma'am!--an' hyer we-all _is_. Dat's all de _how_ dar is ob it. _Dey_
knows what folks 'specs ob 'em. Dey's eddicated hawses. Dey's been
_raised_ right."
"I think they have been. Peggy, I want to walk back to the stables with
you and Polly. I'd like to see with my own eyes some of the things you
have spoken about."
"O Mrs. Vincent, I am so afraid it will make a whole lot of trouble!
Dawson knows I criticised him--indeed, I lost my temper and said he
couldn't 'hold down a job' at Severndale. Excuse the slang, please, but
he rubbed me the wrong way with all his fuss, when he really doesn't
know, or doesn't want to know--I don't know which--one thing about
horses."
Mrs. Vincent paused a moment. "Perhaps you are right," she said. "At all
events, your sense of justice seems to be one of your strong points. Go
back to the house and let Jess take your 'children' to the stables. A
little diplomacy can do no harm. And Jess, you need not mention seeing
me with the young ladies. Your little mistress has begun my _horse_
education. I haven't been very wise about them, I fear, but now I am
going to make amends."
"Yas'm. Amens does help we-all a powerful lot when we's wrastlin' wid
we-all's sperrits. I hopes dey fotch yo' froo yo' doubtin's. I'se done
had ter say many an amen in ma day."
Jess' face was full of solicitude. He had not the remotest idea of the
source of Mrs. Vincent's turmoil of spirit, but if she found it
necessary to say "amen," Jess instantly concluded that his sympathies
were demanded. At all events he was now a part of Columbia Heights and
all within it's precincts came within his kindly solicitude. Tradition
was strong in old Jessekiah. Mrs. Vincent had much ado to keep her
countenance. She had come to Washington from a Western city and had but
slight understanding of the real devotion of the old-time negro to his
"white folks." Alas! few of the old-time ones are left. It was with a
sense of still having considerable to learn that she parted from the
girls and Jess and made her way toward the stables, reaching there some
time after Jess had unsaddled his horses and was performing their
toilets with as much care as a French maid would bestow upon her
mistress, though no French maid would ever have kept up the incessant
flow of affectionate talk to the object of her attentions that Jess was
maintaining. He took no notice of Mrs. Vincent, but _she_ did not miss
one shadow or shade of the absolute understanding existing between Jess
and his "babies," as he called them.
"Dar now, honeys," he said, as he carefully blanketed them. "Run 'long
back yander to yo' boxes. Yo' dinner's all a-ready an' a-waitin', lak de
hymn chune say, an' yo's ready fo' it. Dem children ain' never gwine
send yo' back to de stable, so het up, yo' cyant eat er drink fo' an
hour. No siree! Not _dem_."
At that moment Dawson and his assistant appeared with the horses the
girls had ridden. Notwithstanding the cool crispness of the morning,
Lady Belle was in a lather where her harness rested. The Senator was
blowing like a grampus; Jack-o'-Lantern's bit was foam-flecked and
Natalie's pretty little "Madam Goldie" looked fagged.
Mrs. Vincent instantly contrasted the condition of Shashai and Star with
the others. Yet Peggy and Polly had been riding like Valkyrie.
As Dawson espied the lady of the manor his face underwent a change which
would have been amusing had it not been entirely too significant. Mrs.
Vincent made no comments whatever concerning the horses but a veil had
certainly fallen from her eyes. She asked Dawson how his young ladies
were coming on with their riding lessons, how many had arranged to ride
in the park that afternoon, and one or two trivial questions. Then she
returned to the house a much wiser woman than she had left it an hour
earlier.
CHAPTER X
TZARITZA AS DISCIPLINARIAN
Several days had passed since the riding lesson. It was Saturday evening
and study period, which began at five and lasted until six-thirty, was
ended. Dinner was served at seven on Saturdays and from eight until ten
o'clock the girls were perfectly free. A group was gathered in Stella
Drummond's big room and preparations for a fudge party, after the hearty
dinner had "somewhat shaken down," were under way. Stella's chafing dish
was the most up-to-date one in the school, and Stella's larder more
bountifully supplied than the other girls. Indeed, Stella never lacked
for anything so far as the others could discover and had a more liberal
supply of pocket money than is generally allowed. Mrs. Vincent had
expressed doubts as to the wisdom of it when Stella's father mentioned
the sum she was to have, but he had laughed and answered:
"Oh, nonsense, my dear Madam! At home she would have double if she
wished it. She knows how to use it, and remember she is all I have to
spend my income upon. Don't let that little matter worry you. Just give
all your attention to polishing her up a bit and teaching her the newest
fol-de-rols. Living all over the country is not the best thing for a
young lady, I have found out. It may be conducive to physical
development, but it leaves something to be desired in educational
lines."
So Stella, though eighteen, and supposed to be a senior, was really
taking a special course in which junior work predominated. She had
selected her own room, it had been furnished exactly as she wished, and
it certainly resembled a bridal apartment more than a school-girl's
bed-room. A large alcove and private bath opened from it, and a balcony
which commanded a beautiful view of Stony Brook Park made it luxurious
to a degree. In this room, lighted by softly shaded electric drop
lights, a cheery log fire blazing upon the shining brass andirons, the
girls had gathered. Stella was arranging her electric chafing dish upon
its little marble stand. Peggy was opening a box of shelled pecan nuts,
Polly measuring out the chocolate, and the other girls were supplying
all needful, or needless, advice concerning the _modus operandi_.
Tzaritza, now a most privileged creature indeed, had stretched her huge
length before the hearth, looking for all the world like a superb white
rug, and Rosalie Breeze was flat upon her stomach, her arms around the
dog's neck, her face nestled in the silky hair. Juno Gibson reclined
gracefully in a luxurious wicker chair, its gorgeous pink satin cushions
a perfect background for her dark loveliness--which no one understood
better than Juno herself. Helen Doolittle (most aptly named) was gazing
in simpering adoration upon Stella from a pillow-laden couch, and now
commented:
"Oh, Stella, what adorable hands you have. How do you keep them so
ravishingly white and your nails so absolutely faultless? I could cover
them with kisses, sweetheart."
Stella's laugh held wholesome ridicule of this rhapsody and she replied:
"Don't waste your emotion upon _my_ hands. Just save it until somebody
comes along who wished to cover _your_ hands with kisses--I mean some
one in masculine attire. For my part, I don't think I'd care to have a
girl try that experiment with me."
"Have you ever had a _boy_ cover your hands with kisses?" asked Helen
eagerly, starting from her position.
Stella, raised her head, looked at the simple, inconsequent, little
doll-faced blonde and with an odd smile said:
"Well, I could hardly have called him a boy."
"Oh, was he a man? A real _man_? Did he wear a moustache? Just think,
girls, of having a man's moustache brush the back of your hand as he
covered it with kisses. Oh, how terribly thrilling. Do tell us all about
it, Stella! I knew the moment I met you you must have had a romantic
history. Did your father find it out, and what did he say?"
"Yes, I told him all about it and he laughed at me," and again Stella
laughed her mystifying laugh.
"Oh, I'd just _adore_ having such a ravishing experience as that," said
Lily Pearl Montgomery from the window seat, "but how can one have any
thrilling experiences in a stupid old school! Now there are Polly and
Peggy; think of all they could tell us if they only would. You girls
must be fairly bursting with the most wonderful stories if you'd only
come down off your pedestals and tell us. _I_ think you're both too
tight for words. And all those darling cadets' photographs in your room.
You needn't try to make _me_ believe that 'Faithfully yours, Bubbles'
and 'Your chum, Ralph,' and 'For my Pilot, Captain Polly, Wheedles,' and
'For Peggy Stewart, Chatelaine, Happy,' don't mean a whole lot more."
"What's that?" asked Peggy, catching her name and looking up from her
occupation. She caught Polly's eyes which had begun to snap. Polly had
also been too busy to pay much attention at first, but she had heard the
concluding sentences. She turned and looked at Lily with exactly the
expression upon her sixteen-year-old face which had overspread it years
before when the thirteen-year-old Polly had surprised the sentimental
"Thusan Thwingle" exchanging osculatory favors with "one of thothe
horrid boyths" in the basement of the high school at Montgentian. Then
she said with repressed vehemence:
"I only wish our boys could have heard you say that. If you wouldn't
come in for the running of your life my name's not Polly Howland. You'd
suit some of the boys back yonder, but not our bunch. Of all the hot
air! Stella, is your chafing-dish ready?"
Peggy had colored a rosy pink. She lacked Polly's experience with other
girls.
Piqued by Polly's superior rebuff, Helen came to the inane Lily Pearl's
support in a manner she knew would hit loyal Polly's most vulnerable
spot:
"Look at Peggy's face! Look at Peggy's face! Which is the particular He,
Peggy? Polly may be able to put up a big bluff, but your face is a dead
giveaway."
"I don't think you would be able to understand if I told you. Middie's
Haven and the 'bunch' are just a degree too high up for you to reach,
I'm afraid, and there's no elevator in Wilmot Hall," answered Peggy
quietly.
Polly laid down the things she was holding for Stella, dusted her hands
of chocolate crumbs by lightly rubbing her fingers together, and walked
quietly over to the couch. Helen looked somewhat alarmed and drew back
among her pillows.
Polly, never uttering one word, bent over, swooped up Helen, pillows and
all and holding her burden as she would have held a struggling baby,
walked straight out of the room and down, the corridor to her own room,
the shouts, screams and laughs of the girls following her. Helen was
absolutely speechless at the audacity of the act. Bumping her door
together by the only available means left her, since both arms were
occupied, Polly then plumped Helen, now almost ready to resort to
hysterical tears, upon a wooden shirt-waist box and placing herself in
front of her, struck the attitude of a little red-headed goddess of
vengeance as she said:
"Helen Doolittle, you may run _me_ all you've a mind to--it doesn't mean
a thing to me; I'm used to it; I've been teased all my life and I'm
bomb-proof. But Peggy Stewart's made of different stuff. She hasn't been
with girls very much, and never with a _silly_ one before. Give her
time and she'll understand them a good sight better than they'll ever
understand her. And the boys she has known are not the kind who are ever
likely to want to know _you_. So there's not much use wasting time
explaining things. But I tell you just this, I won't stand for Peggy
being run even a little bit, and you can circulate that bit of
information broadcast. She's the finest ever, and the girl who can call
her friend is in luck up to her ears. So understand: let her alone or
reckon with me."
"Do you think we are a lot of crazy schoolboys and expect to settle our
disagreements with a regular fist-a-cuff bout? You must come from a very
queer place."
"Where _I_ come from doesn't matter in the least. Peggy is the one under
discussion and you know where she comes from and who she is. _What_ she
is you'll never know."
"I don't see why she should be so very hard to understand."
"She isn't--for people with enough sense. Now just take one good look at
those pictures. Is there a weak face among them? One of two things will
happen to you if you ever happen to meet the originals: they'll either
make you feel like a silly little kid or they won't take a bit of
notice of you. It will depend upon how you happen to strike them."
"Oh, are they such, wonders as all that?"
"If you ever get an invitation down to Annapolis you'll have a chance to
find out. Peggy and I have about made up our minds to have a house party
during the holidays, but we haven't quite made up our minds which girls
we are going to like well enough to ask to it. Tanta suggested it. She
is anxious to know our friends, and we are anxious to have her. She
sizes people up pretty quickly and we are always mighty glad to have her
opinion."
Polly spoke rapidly and the effect upon Helen was peculiar. From the
pugnacious attitude of an outraged canary, ready to do battle, she was
transformed into the sweetest, meekest love-bird imaginable. A veritable
little preening, posing, oh-do-admire-me creature, and at Polly's last
words she jumped from the box and clasping her hands, cried:
"A house-party! You are planning a house-party? Oh, how perfectly
adorable. Oh, which girls are you going to invite? Oh, I'll never, never
tease Peggy again as long as I live. I'll be perfectly lovely to her and
I'll make the other girls be nice too. To think of going up there and
meeting all those darling boys. Oh please tell me all about it! The
girls will be just crazy when I tell them. Which of these fellows will
be there?"
Helen had rushed over to Polly's dresser upon which in pretty silver
frames were photographs of Ralph, Happy and Wheedles. On Peggy's dresser
Shorty and Durand looked from their frames straight into her eyes, while
several others not yet framed looked down from the top of the bookshelf.
Silly little Helen was in an ecstasy. Her mamma had never believed in
companions of the opposite sex for her "sweet little daughter" but had
kept her in a figurative preserve jar which bore the label "you may look
but you must not touch." Mamma's instructions to Mrs. Vincent upon
placing Helen in the school had been an absolute ban upon any masculine
visitors, or visits upon Helen's part where such undesirable, though
often unavoidable, members of society might congregate. "She is so very
innocent and unsophisticated, you know, and so very young," added mamma
sweetly. Mrs. Vincent smiled indulgently, but made no comments: She had
encountered such mammas and such sweetly unsophisticated daughters
before and she then and there resolved to keep an extra watchful eye
upon this innocent one. Thus far, however, nothing alarming had
occurred, but Mrs. Vincent knew her material and was prepared for
almost anything. She also knew Lily Pearl and felt pretty sure that if
an upheaval ever took place it would turn out that Lily Pearl or Helen
had touched off the mine. The foregoing scene gives some hint of the
viewpoints of the young ladies in question.
During this digression Helen had caught up Wheedle's picture and was
pressing it rapturously to her fluttering bosom and exclaiming:
"You're a perfect darling! If I could have just one dance with _you_ I'd
be willing to _die_! Polly, how old is he!"
But Polly had left the room and was on her way back to Stella's. As she
reached it she came face to face with the Sturgeon and the Sturgeon's
eyes held no "lovelight" for her.
"Miss Howland, what was the cause of the wild shrieks which disturbed me
a moment since? Miss Montgomery says you can tell if you will and since
none of your companions seem inclined to do so, I will hear your
explanation. I was on my way to inform Miss Stewart that Mrs. Vincent
wished to see her in her study at once when this hideous uproar assailed
my ears."
Polly glanced quickly about the room. Sure enough, Peggy had left it.
Some of the girls looked concerned, others quite calm; among the latter
were Stella and Juno. Rosalie, with Tzaritza's head in her lap, looked
defiant. She hated Miss Sturgis.
Polly turned and looked squarely into Miss Sturgis' eyes.
"The girls were screaming because I carried Helen out of the room," she
answered quietly.
"It seems to me you must be somewhat in need of exercise. I would advise
you to go to the gymnasium to work off your superfluous energy. Why did
you carry Helen from the room? Has she become incapable of voluntary
locomotion?"
"Not yet," answered Polly, a twinkle coming into a corner of the gray
eyes.
"_Not yet?_" emphasized Miss Sturgis. "Are you apprehensive of her
becoming so?"
"She needs more exercise than she gets," answered Polly, half smiling.
That smile acted as salt upon a wound. Miss Sturgis' temper rose.
"Please bear in mind that it does not devolve upon _you_ to decide that
question."
"I did not try to settle that question, Miss Sturgis. If you wish to
know why I carried Helen out of the room I did it because she was
running--"
"Doing what? I don't think I understand your boyish slang."
"Well, teasing Peggy, and I won't have Peggy teased by anybody if I can
stop it. She doesn't understand girls' ways as well as I do because she
hasn't been thrown with them. So when Helen teased her I picked her up
and carried her down to our room and I don't reckon she will tease her
any more."
"So you have come into the school to set its standards and correct its
shortcomings, have you? Are you so very superior to your companions--you
and your protégée?"
Polly looked straight into the narrow eyes looking at her, but made no
reply.
"Answer me, instantly."
"I have never considered myself superior to anyone, but I _do_ consider
Peggy Stewart superior to any girl I have ever known, and I think you
will agree with me when you know her better," asserted Polly loyally.
"You are insolent."
"I do not mean to be. Any one who knows her will tell you the same
thing."
"I repeat you are insolent and you may go to your room."
Polly made no reply, but started to leave the room. Tzaritza sprang to
her side. Miss Sturgis interposed.
"Leave that dog where she is. Go back, you horrible beast," and she
raised her hand menacingly. Tzaritza was not quite sure whether the
menace was intended for Polly or herself. In either case it was cause
for resentment and a low growl warned against further liberties.
"Be careful, Miss Sturgis. Tzaritza thinks you are threatening me," said
Polly. It was said wholly in the interest of the teacher.
Miss Sturgis' early training and forebears had not been of an order to
develop either great dignity, or self-control. Her ability to teach
mathematics was undisputed. Hence her position in Mrs. Vincent's school,
though that good lady had more than once had reason to question the
wisdom of retaining her, owing to the influence which she exerted over
her charges. The grain beneath did not lend itself to a permanent, or
high polish, and it took only the slightest scratch to mar it. Polly's
words seemed to destroy her last remnant of self-control and she turned
upon her in a fury of rage. As she seized her by the arm and cried,
"Silence!" Polly whirled from her like a flash crying, "Charge,
Tzaritza!"
But it was too late, the 'hound had sprung to Polly's defense, only it
was Polly's protecting arm into which Tzaritza's teeth sank. The girl
turned white with pain. Instantly the beautiful dog relinquished her
hold and whining and whimpering like a heartbroken thing began to lick
the bruised arm. Then arose a hubbub compared to which the screams of
which Miss Sturgis had complained had been infantile plaints. Lily Pearl
promptly went into hysterics. Juno shrieked aloud and even the
self-contained Stella cried out as she ran to catch Polly in her arms,
for the girl seemed about to faint. But Miss Sturgis, now thoroughly
terrified at the crisis she had brought to pass, called madly for help.
Helen's screams mingled in the pandemonium, for Helen had been brought
hack from her romantic air castle with a rush.
Notwithstanding the fact that Mrs. Vincent's study was down one flight
of stairs and at the other end of the building, she became aware of the
uproar and her conversation with Peggy came to an abrupt pause. Then
both hurried into the hall to see the tails of Horatio Hannibal
Harrison's coat vanishing up the broad stairway and to hear Fräulein
Hedwig wailing, "Oh ze house iss burning up _and_ down I am sure!"
Meanwhile upon the scene of action Polly had been the first to recover
her wits. The skin had not been broken, for Tzaritza had instantly
perceived her error and released her grip almost as soon as it was
taken. But Miss Sturgis would not have escaped so easily, as well she
knew, and her hatred for Tzaritza increased tenfold. When Mrs. Vincent
and the others arrived upon the scene she broke into a perfect torrent
of invective against the dog, but was brought to her senses by the
Principal's quiet:
"Miss Sturgis, you seem to be a good deal overwrought. I will excuse
you. You may retire to your room until you feel calmer."
"Let me explain! Let me tell you what a horrible thing has happened!"
cried Miss Sturgis.
"When you are less excited I shall be glad to listen. Fräulein, kindly
accompany Miss Sturgis to her room and call the housekeeper. Now, Polly,
what is it?" asked Mrs. Vincent, for Polly was the center of the group
of excited girls, though calmer than any of them.
"Tzaritza made a mistake and caught my arm in her teeth, that is all,
Mrs. Vincent. But she has done no harm. It doesn't hurt much now; she
did not mean to do it any way."
"What!" cried Peggy, aghast, "Tzaritza attacked _you_, Polly?"
Polly nodded her head in quick negative, striving to keep Peggy from
saying more. But Tzaritza had crawled to Peggy's feet and was literally
grovelling there in abject misery.
"Charge, Tzaritza!"
The splendid creature lay motionless. "Polly, what happened?' demanded
Peggy, once more the Peggy of Severndale and entirely forgetful of her
present surroundings. Mrs. Vincent smiled and laying her hand gently
upon Peggy's arm said:
"Don't embarrass Polly, dear. Leave it to me."
"Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Vincent. I forgot," answered Peggy,
blushing deeply. Mrs. Vincent nodded forgiveness, then turning to
Stella, asked:
"Were you here all the time, Stella?"
"Yes, Mrs. Vincent."
"Then please tell me exactly what happened."
Stella told the story clearly and quietly. When she ended there was a
moment's hush, broken by Rosalie Breeze crying:
"And Tzaritza never, never would have done a single thing if Miss
Sturgis hadn't lost her temper. She is forever scolding us about losing
ours, but she'd just better watch out herself. I wish Tzaritza had
bitten her!"
"Rosalie!"
"Well, I do, Mrs. Vincent. It was every bit her own fault. She hates
Tzaritza, and I love her," was Rosalie's vehement if perplexing
conclusion as she cast herself upon the big dog. Tzaritza welcomed her
with a grateful whine and crept closer, though she never raised her
head. She was waiting the word of forgiveness from the one she loved
best of all, but Peggy was awaiting Tzaritza's exoneration. Mrs.
Vincent, who had sent for the resident trained nurse, was examining
Polly's arm and now said:
"It is all very distressing, but I am glad no more serious for Polly.
The arm is badly bruised and will be very painful for some time, but I
can't discover a scratch. Miss Allen, will you please look after this
little girl," she asked, as the sweet-faced trained nurse entered the
room, her white uniform snowy and immaculate, her face a benediction in
its sweet, calm repose.
"Go with Miss Allen, dear, and have your arm dressed." Polly paused only
long enough to stoop down and kiss Tzaritza's head, the caress being
acknowledged by a pathetic whine, then followed the nurse from the room.
Peggy was terribly distressed.
"Do you think I would better send her back to Severndale, Mrs. Vincent?"
she asked.
"Has she ever attacked anyone before, Peggy?"
"Never in all her life."
"I hardly think she will again. She may remain. Come here, Tzaritza."
Tzaritza did not stir
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