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Peggy Stewart, Navy Girl, at Home

by Gabrielle E. Jackson · English · Gutenberg #5729 · 350,096 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Peggy Stewart, Navy Girl, at Home

Author: Gabrielle E. Jackson


        
Release date: May 1, 2004 [eBook #5729]
                Most recently updated: December 29, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5729

Credits: Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PEGGY STEWART, NAVY GIRL, AT HOME ***




Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.




PEGGY STEWART
NAVY GIRL
AT HOME

BY

GABRIELLE E. JACKSON
AUTHOR OF "SILVER HEELS," "THREE GRACES"
SERIES, "CAPT. POLLY" SERIES, ETC.

WITH FRONTISPIECE BY
NORMAN ROCKWELL

1920



THIS LITTLE STORY OF ANNAPOLIS IS
MOST AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED TO

H.W.H.

WHOSE SUNNY SOUL AND CHEERY
VOICE HELPED TO MAKE MANY AN
HOUR HAPPY FOR THE ONE HE CALLED
"LITTLE MOTHER"



CONTENTS

CHAPTER

    I.  SPRINGTIDE
   II.  THE EMPRESS
  III.  "DADDY NEIL"
   IV.  IN OCTOBER'S DAYS
    V.  POLLY HOWLAND
   VI.  A FRIENDSHIP BEGINS
  VII.  PEGGY STEWART: CHATELAINE
 VIII.  A SHOCKING DEMONSTRATION OF INTEMPERANCE
   IX.  DUNMORE'S LAST CHRISTMAS
    X.  A DOMESTIC EPISODE
   XI.  PLAYING GOOD SAMARITAN
  XII.  THE SPICE OF PEPPER AND SALT
 XIII.  THE MASQUERADERS' SHOW
  XIV.  OFF FOR NEW LONDON
   XV.  REGATTA DAY
  XVI.  THE RACE
 XVII.  SHADOWS CAST BEFORE
XVIII.  YOU'VE SPOILED THEIR TEA PARTY
  XIX.  BACK AT SEVERNDALE




CHAPTER I

SPRINGTIDE


"Peggy, Maggie, Mag, Margaret, Marguerite, Muggins. Hum! Half a dozen of
them. Wonder if there are any more? Yes, there's Peggoty and Peg, to say
nothing of Margaretta, Gretchen, Meta, Margarita, Keta, Madge. My
goodness! Is there any end to my nicknames? I mistrust I'm a very
commonplace mortal. I wonder if other girls' names can be twisted around
into as many picture puzzles as mine can? What do YOU think about it
Shashai!" [Footnote: Shashai. Hebrew for noble, pronounced Shash'a-ai.]
and the girl reached up both arms to draw down into their embrace the
silky head of a superb young colt which stood close beside her; a
creature which would have made any horse-lover stop stock-still and
exclaim at sight of him. He was a magnificent two-year-old Kentuckian,
faultless as to his points, with a head to set an artist rhapsodizing
and a-tingle to put it upon his canvas. His coat, mane and tail were
black as midnight and glossy as satin. The great, lustrous eyes held a
living fire, the delicate nostrils were a-quiver every moment, the
faultlessly curved ears alert as a wild creature's. And he WAS half
wild, for never had saddle rested upon his back, girth encircled him or
bit fretted the sensitive mouth. A halter thus far in his career had
been his only badge of bondage and the girl caressing him had been the
one to put it upon him. It would have been a bad quarter of an hour for
any other person attempting it. But she was his "familiar," though far
from being his evil genius. On the contrary, she was his presiding
spirit of good.

Just now, as the splendid head nestled confidingly in her circling arms,
she was whispering softly into one velvety ear, oh, so velvety! as it
rested against her ripe, red lips, so soft, so perfect in their molding.
The ear moved slightly back and forth, speaking its silent language. The
nostrils emitted the faintest bubbling acknowledgment of the whispered
words. The beautiful eyes were so expressive in their intelligent
comprehension.

"Too many cooks spoil the broth, Shashai. Too many grooms can spoil a
colt. Too many mistresses turn a household topsy-turvy. How about too
many names, old boy? Can they spoil a girl? But maybe I'm spoiled
already. How about it?" and a musical laugh floated out from between the
pretty lips.

The colt raised his head, whinnied aloud as though in denial and stamped
one deer-like, unshod fore-hoof as though to emphasize his protest; then
he again slid his head back into the arms as if their slender roundness
encompassed all his little world.

"You old dear!" exclaimed the girl softly, adding: "Eh, but it's a
beautiful world! A wonderful world," and broke into the lilting refrain
of "Wonderful world" and sang it through in a voice of singularly,
haunting sweetness. But the words were not those of the popular song.
They had been written and set to its air by Peggy's tutor.

She seemed to forget everything else, though she continued to
mechanically run light, sensitive fingers down the velvety muzzle so
close to her face, and semi-consciously reach forth the other hand to
caress the head of a superb wolfhound which, upon the first sweet notes,
had risen from where she lay not far off to listen, thrusting an
insinuating nose under her arm. She seemed to float away with her song,
off, off across the sloping, greening fields to the broad, blue reaches
of Bound Bay, all a-glitter in the morning sunlight.

She was seated in the crotch of a snake-fence running parallel with the
road which ended in a curve toward the east and vanished in a thin-drawn
perspective toward the west. There was no habitation, or sign of human
being near. The soft March wind, with its thousand earthy odors and
promises of a Maryland springtide, swept across the bay, stirring her
dark hair, brushed up from her forehead in a natural, wavy pompadour,
and secured by a barrette and a big bow of dark red ribbon, the long
braid falling down her back tied by another bow of the same color. The
forehead was broad and exceptionally intellectual. The eyebrows,
matching the dark hair, perfectly penciled. The nose straight and clean-
cut as a Greek statue's. The chin resolute as a boy's. The teeth white
and faultless. And the eyes? Well, Peggy Stewart's eyes sometimes made
people smile, sometimes almost weep, and invariably brought a puzzled
frown to their foreheads. They were the oddest eyes ever seen. Peggy
herself often laughed and said:

"My eyes seem to perplex people worse than the elephant perplexed the
'six blind men of Hindustan' who went to SEE him. No two people ever
pronounce them the same color, yet each individual is perfectly honest
in his belief that they are black, or dark brown, or dark blue, or deep
gray, or SEA green. Maybe Nature designed me for a chameleon but changed
her mind when she had completed my eyes."

Peggy Stewart would hardly have been called a beautiful girl gauged by
conventional standards. Her features were not regular enough for
perfection, the mouth perhaps a trifle too large, but she was "mightily
pleasin' fer to study 'bout," old Mammy insisted when the other servants
were talking about her baby.

"Oh, yes," conceded Martha Harrison, the only white woman besides Peggy
herself upon the plantation. "Oh, yes, she's pleasing enough, but if her
mother had lived she'd never in this world a-been allowed to run wild as
a boy, a-getting tanned as black as a--a, darky."

Martha was a most devoted soul who had come from the North with her
mistress when that lady left her New England home to journey to Maryland
as Commander Stewart's bride. He was only a junior lieutenant then, but
that was nearly eighteen years before this story opens. She had not seen
many colored people while living in the Massachusetts town in which she
had been born and her experience with them was limited to the very few
who, after the Civil War, had drifted into it. Of the true Southern
negro, especially those of the ante-bellum type, she had not the
faintest conception. It had all been a revelation to her. The devotion
of the house servants to their "white folks," to whom so many had
remained faithful even after liberation, was a never-ending source of
wonder to the good soul. Nor could she understand why those old family
retainers stigmatized the younger generations as "shiftless, no-account,
new-issue niggers." That there could be marked social distinctions among
these colored people never occurred to her.

That generations of them had been carefully trained by master and
mistress during the days of slavery, and that the younger generations
had had no training whatever, was quite beyond Martha's grasp. Colored
people were COLORED PEOPLE, and that ended it.

But as the years passed, Martha learned many things. She had her own
neatly-appointed little dining-room in her own well-ordered little wing
of the great, rambling colonial house which Peggy Stewart called home, a
house which could have told a wonderful history of one hundred eighty or
more years. We will tell it later on. We have left Peggy too long
perched upon her snake-fence with Shashai and Tzaritza.

The lilting song continued to its end and the dog and horse stood as
though hypnotized by the melody and the fingers' magnetic touch. Then
the song ended as abruptly as it had begun and Peggy slid lightly from
her perch to the ground, raised both arms, stretching hands and fingers
and inclining her head in a pose which would have thrilled a teacher of
"Esthetic Posing" in some fashionable, faddish school, though it was all
unstudied upon the girl's part. Then she cried in a wonderfully
modulated voice:

"Oh, the joy, joy, joy of just being ALIVE on such a day as this! Of
being out in this wonderful world and free, free, free to go and come
and do as we want to, Shashai, Tzaritza! To feel the wind, to breathe it
in, to smell all the new growing things, to see that water out yonder
and the blue overhead. What is it, Dr. Llewellyn says: 'To thank the
Lord for a life so sweet.' WE all do, don't we? _I_ can put it into
words, or sing it, but you two? Yes, you can make God understand just as
well. Let's all thank Him together--you as He has taught you, and I as
He has taught me. Now:"

It was a strange picture. The girl standing there in the beautiful early
spring world, her only companions a thoroughbred, half-wild Kentucky
colt and a Russian wolfhound, literally worth their weight in gold,
absolutely faultless in their beauty, and each with their wonderfully
intelligent eyes fixed upon her. At the word "Now," the colt raised his
perfect head, drew in a deep breath and then exhaled it in a long,
trumpet-like whinny. The dog voiced her wonderful bell-like bay; the
note of joy sounded by her kind when victory is assured.

The girl raised her head, and parting her lips gave voice to a long-
drawn note of ecstasy, ending in a little staccato trill and the same
upflinging of the arms.

It was all a rhapsody of springtide, the semi-wild things' expression of
intoxicating joy at being alive and their absolute mutual harmony. The
animals felt it as the girl did, and surely God acknowledged the homage.
Such spontaneous, sincere thanks are rare.

"Let's go now."

The horse's slender flanks quivered; his withers twitched with the
nervous energy awaiting an outlet; the dog stood alert for the first
motion.

Resting one hand upon those sensitive withers the girl gave a quick
spring, landing lightly as thistledown astride the colt's back, holding
the halter strap in her firm, brown fingers. Her costume was admirably
adapted to this equestrian if somewhat unusual feat for a young lady. It
consisted of a dark blue divided riding skirt of heavy cloth, and a
midshipman's jumper, open at the throat, a black regulation neckerchief
knotted sailor-fashion on her well-rounded chest. Anything affording
freer action could hardly have been designed for her sex. And a bonny
thing she looked as she sat there, the soft wind toying with the loose
hairs which had escaped their bonds, and bringing the faintest rose tint
into her cheeks. It was still too early in the spring for the clear,
dark skin to have grown "black as a darky's." "On to the end of
nowhere!" she cried. "We'll beat you to the goal, Tzaritza. Go!"

At the word the colt sprang forward with an action so true, so perfect
that he and the girl seemed one. The dog gave a low bark like a laugh at
the challenge and with incredibly long, graceful leaps circled around
and around the pair, now running a little ahead, then executing a wide
circle, and again darting forward with that derisive bark.

Shashai's speed was not to be scorned--his ancestors held an
international fame for swiftness, endurance and jumping--but no horse
can compete with a wolfhound.

On, on they sped, the happiest, maddest, merriest trio imaginable, down
the road to the point where the perspective seemed to end it but where
in reality it turned abruptly, leaving the one following its course the
choice of taking a sudden dip down to the water's edge or wheeling to
the right and leaping "brake, bracken and scaur." The girl did not
tighten her single guiding strap, she merely bent forward to speak
softly into one ear laid back to catch the words:

"Right--turn!"

Just beyond was a high fence dividing the lane where it crossed two
estates. It was surmounted by a stile of four steps. There was no pause
in the colt's or dog's speed. Tzaritza cleared it like a--wolfhound.
Shashai with his rider skimmed over like a bird, landing upon the soft
turf beyond with scarcely a sound.

Oh, the beauty of it all! Then on again through a patch of woodland
which looked as though a huge gossamer veil had been laid over it. If
ever pastelle colors were displayed to perfection Nature here held her
exhibition. Soft pinks, pale blues, silver grays, the tenderest greens
with here and there a touch of the maple buds' rich mahogany reds, and
above and about the maddest melody of bird songs from a hundred throats.

As the horse swung along in his perfect gait, the great dog making
playful leaps and feinted snaps at his beautiful muzzle with a dog's
derisive smile and sense of humor, and if any one doubts that dogs have
this quality they simply don't know the animal, the girl sang at the top
of her voice.

They covered the ground with incredible swiftness and presently the lane
grew broader, giving evidence of more traffic where a wood road crossed
it at right angles. Just a little beyond this point an old gentleman
appeared in sight. He was walking with his hands clasped behind him and
his head bent to examine every foot of the roadway. Evidently he was too
absorbed to be aware of the trio bearing down upon him. He wore the
clerical garb of the Church of England, and his face would have
attracted attention in any part of the world, it was so pure, so
refined, so like a cameo in its delicacy of outline, and the skin held
the wonderful softness and clearness we sometimes see in old age. He
must have been over seventy.

Just then he became aware of the colt's light hoofbeats and looked up.
He was tall and slight but very erect, and his face lighted up with a
smile absolutely illuminating as he recognized his approaching friends.

The girl bent forward to say:

"One bell, Shashai." Whereupon her mount slackened his gait to the
gentlest amble, but the dog went bounding on to greet the newcomer.
First she dropped down at his feet, burying her nose in her forepaws as
though to make obeisance, but at his words:

"Ah, Tzaritza! Good Tzaritza, welcome!" she instantly sprang up, rested
her forepaws upon his shoulders, and looked into his face with the most
limpid pair of eyes ever seen; eyes filled with something deeper than
human love can ever summon to human eyes, for those have human speech to
supplement their appeal.

"Tzaritza. Dear, faithful Tzaritza," said the old man in the tenderest
tone as he caressed the magnificent, silky head now nestling against his
face as a child's might have nestled. "Good dog. Good dog. But here are
Peggy and Shashai. My little girl, warm greetings," he cried as Shashai
came to an instant statue-like standstill at Peggy's one word, "Halt!"
and she slid from his back, braced at "attention" and saluted in all
gravity, the clergyman returning the salute with much dignity. Then in
an instant the martial attitude and air were discarded and springing
forward the girl slipped to his side, caught one hand and by a quick,
graceful motion circled his arm about her waist and laid her head upon
his shoulder just where Tzaritza's had but a moment before rested, her
face alight with affection as she exclaimed:

"To meet you 'way, 'way out here, Compadre!"

"'Far from the madding crowd,' Filiola. Five miles to the good for these
old legs of seventy-four summers. They have served me well. I have no
fault to find with them. They are stanch friends and have carried me
many a mile. But you, my child? You and Tzaritza and Shashai? Come
hither, my beauty," and the free hand was extended to the colt which
instantly advanced for the proffered caress.

"Ah, thou bonny, bonny creature! Thou jewel among thy fellows. Ah, but
you possess a masculine frailty. Ah, yes, I've detected it. Oh, Shashai,
Shashai, is thy heart reached only through thy stomach?" for now the
colt was nozzling most insinuatingly at one of the ample pockets of the
old gentleman's top coat. Never had those pockets failed him since the
days when he had ceased to be nourished by his dam's milk, and his faith
in their bounty was not misplaced, for a slender white hand was inserted
to be withdrawn with the lump of sugar Shashai had counted upon and held
forth upon the palm from which the velvety lips took it as daintily as a
young lady's fingers could have taken it.

Three was the dole evidently for when three had been eaten Shashai
gravely bowed his head three times in acknowledgment of his treat and
then turned to nibble at the budding trees, his benefactor returning to
Peggy.

"So this is heyday and holiday, dear heart, is it? Saturday's
emancipation from your old Dominie Exactus when you may range wood and
field unmolested, with never a thought for his domination and tyranny."

"As though you ever dominated or tyrannized over me!" protested the
girl. "I'd do anything, ANYTHING for you--you know that, don't you?"
There was deep reproach in her voice. Then, it changed suddenly as she
asked:

"But where is Doctor Claudius?"

"In his stall, eating his fill. I wished to use my own legs today,"
smiled her companion. "His are exceptionally good ones, but my own will
grow stiff if I do not use them more."

Just then Shashai suddenly raised his head and stood with ears alert and
nostrils extended. Tzaritza rose from the ground where she had dropped
down after greeting Dr. Llewellyn, and stood with ears raised, though
neither man nor girl yet heard the faintest sound.

"Some one's coming and coming in a hurry," said Peggy quietly, "or THEY
wouldn't look like THAT."

As she spoke the dull thud of hoofs pounding rapidly upon soft turf was
borne to their ears, and a moment later a big gray horse ridden by a
little negro boy, as tattered a specimen of his race as one might expect
to see, came pounding into sight. With some difficulty he brought the
big horse to a standstill in front of them and grabbing off his ragged
cap stammered out his message:

"Howdy, Massa Dominie. Sarvint, Missy Peggy, but Josh done sont me fer
ter fin' yo' an' bring you back yon' mighty quick, kase--kase, de--de
sor'el mar' done got mos' kilt an' lak' 'nough daid right dis minit. He
say, please ma'am, come quick as Shazee kin fotch yo' fo' de Empress,
she mighty bad an'--"

"What has happened to her, Bud?" interrupted Peggy, turning to spring
upon Shashai's back, but pausing to learn some particulars. The Empress
was one of the most valuable brood mares upon the estate and her foal,
still dependent upon her for its nourishment, was Peggy's pride and joy.

"She done got outen de paddock and nigh 'bout bus' herself wide open on
de flank on dat dummed MAS-CHINE what dey trims de hedges wid. She
bleeged ter bleed ter death, Joshi say."

Peggy turned white. "Excuse me, please--I must go as fast as I can.
Home, Shashai, four bells and a jingle!" she cried and the colt swept
away like a tornado, Tzaritza in the lead.

"Golly, but she's one breeze, ain' she, sah?"

"She is a wonderful girl and will make a magnificent woman if not
spoiled in the next ten years," replied Dr. Llewellyn, though the words
were more an oral expression of his own thoughts than a reply to the
negro boy.




CHAPTER II

THE EMPRESS


As the half-wild colt swept up to the paddock from which the valuable
brood mare Empress had made her escape, Peggy was met by one of the
stable hands.

"Where is she?" she asked, her dark eyes full of concern and anxiety.

"Up yonder in de paster," answered the negro, pointing to a green
upland. A touch with her heel started Shashai. A moment later she
slipped from her mount to hurry to a little group gathered around a dark
object lying upon the ground. With the pitiful little cry:

"Oh, Empress! My beauty," Peggy was upon her knees beside the splendid
animal.

"Shelby, Shelby, how did it happen? Oh, how did it?" she cried as she
lifted the horse's head to her lap. The panting creature looked at her
with great appealing, terror-stricken eyes, as though imploring her to
save the life-spark now flickering so fitfully.

"God knows, miss," answered the foreman of the paddock. "We did not find
her until a half hour ago. If I'd a-found her sooner it would never a-
come to this. We ain't never had no such accident on the estate since
_I_ been on it, and I'd give all I'm worth if we could a-just have
missed THIS one. Some fool, _I_ can't find out who, left them hedge
shears a-hanging wide open across the gate and the gate unlatched, and
she must a run foul of 'em, 'cause we found 'em and all the signs o'
what had happened, but we couldn't find HER for more 'n hour, and then
THIS is what we found. I sent Bud for you and Jim for the Vet, but we've
all come too late." The man spoke low and hurriedly, and never for a
moment ceased his care for the mare. The veterinary who had arrived but
a few moments before Peggy stood by helpless to do more than had already
been done by Shelby, the veteran horse-trainer who had been on the
estate for years, and who loved the animals as though they were his
children. It was evident that the Empress' moments were numbered. She
had severed one of the great veins in her flank and had nearly bled to
death before discovered. Her little foal stood near, surprised at his
dam's indifference to his needs, his little baby face and great round
eyes, so like his mother's, filled with questioning doubt. As Peggy bent
over the beautiful dying mare's head, tears streaming from her eyes, for
she had cared for her and loved her since colthood, the little foal gave
a low nicker and coming up behind the girl, thrust his soft muzzle over
her shoulder and nestled his head against her face, trembling and
quivering with a terror he could not understand. Peggy raised one arm to
clasp it around the little creature's warm neck. The Empress tried to
nicker an answer to her baby but the effort cost her last breath and
heart-throb. It ended in a fluttering sigh and her head lay still and at
rest upon Peggy's lap. The splendid animal, which had so often carried
Peggy upon her back, the mother of Shashai, and many another splendid
horse whose fame was widely known, lay lifeless. Her little son nestled
closer to the one he knew and loved best as though begging her
protection. Peggy held him close, sobbing upon his warm neck.

"You'd better get up, Miss Peggy," said Shelby kindly.

Peggy bent and kissed the great silky head. "Good-bye, Empress. I'll
care for your baby," she said. Shelby lifted the splendid head from the
girl's lap and helped her to her feet. The little colt still huddled
close to her.

"Have you any orders, miss, about her?" asked Shelby, nodding toward the
dead mare.

"She shall be buried in the circle and shall have a monument. We owe her
much. Her foal shall be my charge."

"And I reckon mine, too. If we raise him now it will be a miracle. He's
going to miss his dam's milk."

"I think I can manage," answered Peggy. "Bud, come with me. I wish you
to go down to Annapolis with a note to Doctor Feldmeyer. He will
understand what I wish to do. Ride in on Nancy Lee. Come, little one,"
and with the little colt's neck beneath her circling arm Peggy walked
slowly back to the paddock from which barely three hours before the
splendid mare, now lying lifeless in the pasture, had dashed, leaving a
trail of her life's blood behind her to guide those who came too late.
It was all the outcome of one person's disregard of orders: One of the
hands had quit his work to gossip, leaving his great hedge shears
hanging carelessly across the gate, and the gate unfastened. The
Empress, gamboling with her foal, had rushed upon them, cut herself
cruelly, then maddened by the pain and terrified by the flowing blood,
had dashed away as only a frightened horse can, running until she fell
from exhaustion.

Peggy went back to the inclosure in which the Empress, as the most
honored of the brood mares, had lived with her foal. The little stable,
a very model of order and appointment, stood at one end of it. She
opened the gate, intending to leave the colt in the inclosure, but he
huddled closer and closer to her side.

"Why Roy, baby, what is it!" asked Peggy, as she would have spoken to a
child. The little thing could only press closer and nicker its baby
nicker. Peggy hesitated a moment, then said: "It will never do to leave
you now. You are half starved, you poor little thing. Eight weeks are
NOT many to have lived. Come." And as though he understood every word
and was comforted, the baby horse nickered again and walked close by her
side. She went straight to the house, circling the garden, rich in early
spring blossoms, to enter a little inclosure around which the servants'
quarters were built, one building, a trifle more pretentious than the
rest, evidently that of some upper servant. As Peggy and her four-footed
companion drew near, a trim little old colored woman looked out of the
door. She was immaculate in a black and white checked gingham, a large
white apron and a white turban, suggestive of ante-bellum days.
Instantly noting signs of distress upon her young mistress' face she
hurried toward her, crying softly in her melodious voice:

"Baby! Honey! What's de matter? 'What's done happen? What fo' yo' bring
Roy up hyer? Where de Empress at?"

"Oh Mammy, Mammy, the Empress is dead. She--"

"What dat yo' tellin' me, baby? De Empress daid? Ma Lawd, wha' Massa
Neil gwine do to we-all when he hyar DAT? He gwine kill SOMEBODY dat's
sartin suah. What kill her?"

Peggy told the story briefly, Mammy Lucy, who had been mammy to her and
her father before her, listening attentively, nodding her head and
clicking her tongue in consternation. Such news was overwhelming.

But Mammy Lucy had not lived on this estate for over sixty years without
storing up some wisdom for emergencies, and before Peggy had finished
the pitiful tale she was on her way to the great kitchen at the opposite
end of the inclosure where Aunt Cynthia ruled as dusky goddess of the
shining copper kettles and pans upon the wall.

"Sis Cynthy, we-all in trebbilation and we gotter holp dis hyer pore
chile. She lak fer ter breck her heart 'bout de Empress and she sho will
if dis hyer colt come ter harm. Please, ma'am, gimme a basin o' fresh,
warm milk. Bud he done gone down ter 'Napolis fer a nussin' bottle, but
dat baby yonder gwine faint an' die fo' dat no 'count nigger git back
wid dat bottle. I knows HIM, I does."

"Howyo' gwine mak' dat colt drink?" asked Cynthia skeptically.

"De Lawd on'y knows, but HE gwine show me how," was Mammy Lucy's pious
answer. The next second she cried "Praise Him! _I_ got it," and ran into
her cabin to return with a piece of snowy white flannel. Meanwhile
Cynthia had warmed the bowlful of milk. Hastily catching up a huge
oilcloth apron, Mammy enveloped herself in it and then hurried back to
Peggy and her charge.

From that moment Roy's artificial feeding began. Peggy raised his head
while Mammy opened his mouth by inserting a skilful finger where later
the bit would rest, then slipped in the milk-sopped woolen rag. After a
few minutes the small beastie which had never known fear, understood and
sucked away vigorously, for he had not fed for hours and the poor inner-
colt was grumbling sorely at the long fast. The bowlful of milk soon
disappeared, and he stood nozzling at Peggy ready for a frolic, his woes
forgotten.

"Now what yo' gwine do wid him, honey?" asked Mammy.

"I'd like to put him to sleep on the piazza, but I'm afraid I can't,"
answered Peggy, smiling sadly, for the loss of the Empress had struck
deeply.

"No, yo' suah cyant do dat," was Mammy's reply. "You'll be bleeged fer
ter put him yonder in de paddock."

"He will be so lonesome," said Peggy doubtfully. Just then the great
wolfhound came bounding up. She thrust her nose into her mistress' hand
and gave a low bark of delight. She was almost as tall as the colt, and
seemed to understand his needs. She then turned to give a greeting lick
upon the colt's nose. He jerked away, as though resenting the lady's
familiarity, but nickered softly. He had known Tzaritza from the first
moment he became aware of things terrestrial and they had often gamboled
together when the Empress was disinclined for a frolic. Peggy's eyes
brightened.

"Tzaritza, attention!"

The splendid hound raised her head to look into her young mistress' eyes
with keen intelligence.

"Come," and followed by the hound and colt Peggy hurried back to the
stables. They had brought the Empress down from the pasture and laid her
upon the soft turf of the large circular grass-plot in front of the main
building. The men were now digging her grave.

"Tzaritza, scent," commanded Peggy, stroking the Empress' neck.

The hound made long, deep sniffs at the still form.

"Come." Peggy then laid her hand upon the little colt's neck. The scent
was the same. Tzaritza understood.

"Guard," said Peggy.

"Woof-woof," answered Tzaritza deep down in her throat.

Peggy then led the way to the Empress' paddock. Roy capered through the
gate; Tzaritza, with her newly-assumed responsibility upon her, entered
with dignity. From that hour she scarcely left her charge, lying beside
him when he rested in the shade of the great beeches, nestling close in
the little stable at night, following him wherever he chose to go during
his liberty hours of the day, for thenceforth he was rarely confined to
the paddock.

Before the Empress was laid away Bud returned with the nursing bottle.
The rubber nipples were thrust into the Empress' mouth and thus getting
the mother scent all else was very simple. Roy tugged away at his bottle
like a well-conducted, well-conditioned baby, Tzaritza watching with
keen intelligent eyes. She soon knew the feeding hours as well as Peggy
or Mammy, and promptly to the minute led her charge to Mammy's door. If
Mammy happened to be elsewhere she sought Cynthia, and so had the
interest grown that there was not a man, woman or child upon the place
who would not have dropped anything in order to minister to the needs of
Tzaritza's charge.

And so passed the early springtide, Roy waxing fat and strong, Tzaritza
never relaxing her care, though at first it was a sore trial to her to
remain behind with her foster-son while her beloved mistress galloped
away upon Shashai. But that word "Guard" was sacred.

In the course of a few weeks, however, Roy was well able to follow his
half-brother, Shashai, and Tzaritza's freedom was restored. The trio was
rarely separated and to see Peggy in her hammock on the lawn, or on the
piazza, meant to see the colt and Tzaritza also, though Roy was rapidly
outgrowing piazzas and lawns, and Peggy was beginning to be puzzled as
to what was to be done with him when he could no longer come clattering
up the steps and across the piazza after his foster-mother.

With the summer came word that her father would come home on a month's
leave and August was longed for with an eagerness he could not have
dreamed. Everything must be in perfect order to receive him, and Peggy
flew from house to garden, from garden to stables, from stables to
paddock keyed to a state of excitement which infected every member of
the household. Dr. Llewellyn smiled sympathetically. Harrison, the
housekeeper, stalked after her, doing her best to carry out her orders,
while announcing that: NOW, she guessed, there would be some hope of
making Mr. Neil see the folly of letting a girl of Peggy's age run wild
as a hawk forever and a day. She'd have one talk with him he'd do well
to take heed to or she'd know why. Mammy Lucy said little but watched
her young mistress' radiant face. It was eight months since Master Neil
had been home and deep in her tender old heart she understood better
than any one else what his coming meant to Peggy. Harrison might have a
better idea of what was wise and best for her young charge, but Mammy's
love taught her many things which Harrison could never learn.

Meanwhile Peggy spent the greater part of her days down at the paddock,
for Shashai must be broken to saddle and bridle in order to receive his
master in proper style. A blanket and halter might answer for the mad
gallops across country which they had hitherto taken, but Daddy Neil was
coming home for a month and the horses must do the place credit.

With this end in view, Peggy betook herself to the paddock one morning
before breakfast, saddle and bridle borne behind her by Bud. Shashai
welcomed her with his clear nicker, sweeping up to the gate in his long,
rocking stride so like the Empress'. Tzaritza with her foster-son
followed in Peggy's wake, Tzaritza sniffing inquiringly at the saddle,
Roy pranking thither and yonder, rich just in the joy of being alive.
Shashai had never quite overcome his jealousy of his young half-brother,
and now laid back his ears in reproof of his unseemly gambols; Shashai's
own babyhood was not far enough in the background for him to be
tolerant.

Peggy entered the paddock and Shashai at once nozzled her for his
morning lumps of sugar. For the first time in his memory they were not
forthcoming, and his great eyes looked their wondering reproach.

"Not yet, Shashai. "We must keep them for a reward if you behave well."
She slipped an arm over the beautifully arched neck and laid her face
against the satiny smoothness. Shashai approved the caress but would
have approved the sugar much more.

"Give me the saddle, Bud."

The little negro boy handed her the light racing saddle; a very
featherweight of a saddle.

"Steady, Shashai."

The colt stood like a statue expecting the girl as usual to spring upon
his back. Instead she placed upon it a stiff, leather affair which
puzzled him not a little, and from which dangled two curious
contrivances. These, however, she quickly caught up and fastened over
the back and their metallic clicking ceased to annoy him. The buckling
was a little strenuous. Hitherto a surcingle had served to hold the
blanket upon his back, but this contraption had TWO surcingles and a
stiff leather strap to boot, which Peggy's strong hands pulled tighter
than any straps had ever before been pulled around him. He quivered
slightly but stood the test and--a lump of sugar was held beneath his
eager nostrils, If THAT followed it was worth while standing to have
that ugly, stiff thing adjusted.

"Now the headstall, Bud. Did you coat the bit with the melted sugar as I
told you?"

"Yes'm, missie. It's fair cracklin' wid sugar, an' onct he gits a lick
ob dat bit he ain' never gwine let go, yo' hyar me."

"Now, my bonny one, we'll see," said Peggy, as she unstrapped the bit,
and the headstall without it was no more than the halter to which
Shashai had been accustomed. Then very gently she held the bit toward
him. He tried to take it as he would have taken the sugar and his look
of surprise when his lips closed over the hard metal thing was amusing.
Nevertheless, it tasted good and he mouthed and licked it, gradually
getting it well within his mouth. At an opportune moment Peggy slipped
the right buckle into place, quickly following it by the left one.
Shashai started.

"Steady, Shashai. Steady, boy," she said gently and the day was won. No
shocks, no lashings, no harsh words to make the sight of that headstall
throw him into a panic whenever it was produced. Dozens of horses had
been so educated by Peggy Stewart. Shashai sucked at his queer
mouthpiece as a child would suck a stick of candy, and while he was
enjoying its sweetness Peggy brought forth lump number two. Four was his
daily allowance, and as he enjoyed number two she let down the stirrups
which had seemed likely to startle him.

"Stand outside, Bud, he may be a little frightened when the saddle
creaks." The boy left the paddock.

"Stand, Shashai," commanded Peggy, resting her hand upon the colt's
withers. He knew perfectly well what to expect, but why that strange
groaning and creaking? The blanket had never done so. The sensitive
nerves quivered and he sprang forward, but Peggy had caught her stirrups
and her low voice quieted him as she swayed and adapted herself to his
gait. Around and around the paddock they loped in perfect harmony of
motion. She did not draw upon the bridle rein, merely holding it as she
had been accustomed to hold her halter strap, guiding by her knees.
Shashai tossed his head partly in nervous irritation at the creaking
saddle, partly in the joy of motion, and joy won the day. Then Peggy
began to draw slightly upon her reins. The colt shook his head
impatiently as though asking: "Wherefor the need? I know exactly where
you wish to go."

"Oh, my bonny one, my bonny one, that is just it! I know that you know,
but someday someone else won't know, and if I don't teach you now just
what the bit means the poor mouth may pay the penalty. It may anyway, in
spite of all I can do, but I'll do my best to make it an easy lesson. Oh
why, why will people pull and tug as they do on a horse's mouth when
there is nothing in this world so sensitive, or that should be so
lightly handled. So be patient, Shashai. We only use it because we must,
dear. Now, right, turn!" And with the words she pressed her right knee
against the colt, at the same time drawing gently upon the right rein.
Shashai turned because he had always done so at the words and the
pressure, accepting the bit's superfluous hint like the gentleman he
was.

"Open the gate, Bud. We'll go for a spin," ordered Peggy as she swung
around the paddock.

"Won't yo' jump, missie?" asked Bud eagerly. The delight of his life was
to see his young mistress take a fence.

"Not this time," answered Peggy over her shoulder. Bud opened the gate
as they came around again and as Peggy cried: "Four bells, Shashai," the
colt sprang through, Tzaritza and Roy joining in with a happy bark and
neigh.

All so simply, so easily done by love's gentle rule.




CHAPTER III

"DADDY NEIL"


"Stand there, little girl. Why, why--how has it come about! When did you
do it? I went away nine months ago leaving a little girl in Mammy Lucy's
and Harrison's charge and I have returned to find a young lady. Peggy,
baby, what have you done with my little girl?"

Commander Stewart stood in the big living-room of Severndale, his hand
upon Peggy's shoulder as he held her at arm's length to look at her in
puzzled surprise. He had just experienced one of those startling
revelations which often arouse parents to the fact that their children
have stolen a march upon them, and sprung into very pleasing young men
or women while they themselves have been in an unobserving somnolent
state. It is invariably a shock and one which few parents escape.

Peggy laughed, colored a rosy pink but obeyed, a little thrill of
innocent triumph passing over her, for Daddy Neil's eyes held something
more than surprise, and Peggy's feminine soul detected the underlying
pride and admiration.

"By the great god Neptune, you've taken a rise out of me this time,
child. How old ARE you, anyway!"

"As though you didn't know perfectly well, you tease," laughed Peggy,
turning swiftly and nestling in his arms. The arms held her closely and
the sun-tanned cheek rested upon her dark, silky hair. The eyes were
singularly soft and held a suggestion of moisture. It did not seem so
very long ago to Daddy Neil since Peggy's beautiful mother had been in
that very room with him nestling in his arms in that same confiding
little manner. How like her Peggy had grown in looks and a thousand
little mannerisms. From the moment Peggy had met him at the Round Bay
station to this one, he had lived in a sort of waking dream, partly in
the past, partly in the present, and in the strangest possible mental
confusion. His memory picture of Peggy as he had left her in October of
the previous year was of the little hoyden in short skirts, laughing and
prancing from morning till night, and leading Mammy Lucy a life of it.

In nine months the little romp had blossomed into a very charming young
girl, dainty and sweet as a wild rose in her white duck sailor suit,
with its dark red collar, her hair braided in soft coils about her head
and adorned with a big red bow. The embryo woman stood before him.

"Yes, HOW old are you?" he insisted, looking at her with mingled,
puzzled eyes.

"Oh, Daddy, you know I was fourteen in January," she said half
reproachfully. "You sent me such beautiful things from Japan."

"Yes, but you might be eighteen now from your looks and height. And
living here alone with the servants. Why--why, it's, it's all out of
order; you are off your course entirely. You must have someone with you,
or go somewhere, or--or--well SOMETHING has got to be done and right
off, too," and poor perplexed Neil Stewart ran his hand through his
curly, gray-tinged hair in a distracted manner. Peggy looked startled,
then serious. Such a contingency as this incumbent upon growing up had
never entered her head. Must the old order of things which she so loved,
and all the precious freedom of action, give way to something entirely
new? Harrison had more than once hinted that such would be the case when
Daddy Neil came home and found a young lady where he expected to find a
little girl.

"Oh, Daddy, please don't talk about that now. You've only just got here
and I've ten thousand things to tell and show you. Let's not think of
the future just yet. It's such a joy to just live now. To have you here
and see you and hug you, and love you hard," cried Peggy suiting her
actions to her words. Mr. Stewart shook his head, but did not beggar his
response to the caress. It sent a glow all through him to feel that this
beautiful young girl was his daughter, the mistress of the home he so
loved, but so rarely enjoyed.

"We'll have a truce for a week, honey, and during that time we'll do
nothing but enjoy each other. Then we'll take our reckoning and lay our
course by chart, for I'm convinced that I, at least, have been running
on dead reckoning and you--well--I guess the good Lord's been at the
helm and taken in hand my job with a good deal of credit to Himself and
confounded little to me. But it's my watch from now on. I wish your
mother were here, sweetheart. You need her now," and Neil Stewart again
drew the young girl into his strong, circling arm. "I'd resign tomorrow
if--if--well, when I resign I want four stripes at least on my sleeve to
leave you as a memory in the years to come. Now show me the ropes. I'm a
stranger on board my own ship."

For an hour Peggy did the honors of the beautiful home, Jerome, the old
butler, who had been "Massa Neil's body servant" before he entered the
Academy at eighteen, where body servants had no place, hovering around,
solicitous of his master's comfort; Harrison making a hundred and one
excuses to come into the room; Mammy Lucy, with the privileges of an old
servant making no excuses at all but bobbing in and out whenever she saw
fit.

Luncheon was soon served in the wonderful old dining-room, one side of
which was entirely of glass giving upon a broad piazza overlooking Round
Bay. From this room the view was simply entrancing and Neil Stewart, as
he sat at the table at which Peggy was presiding with such grace and
dignity, felt that life was certainly worth while when one could look up
and encounter a pair of such soft brown eyes regarding him with such
love and joy, and see such ripe, red lips part in such carefree, happy
smiles.

"Jerome, don't forget Daddy Neil's sauce.

"Yes, missie, lamb. I knows--I knows. Cynthy, she done got it made to de
very top-notch pint," answered Jerome, hurrying away upon noiseless feet
and in all his immaculate whiteness from the crown of his white woolly
head to his duck uniform, for the Severndale servants wore the uniforms
of the mess-hall rather than the usual household livery. Neil Stewart
could not abide "cit's rigs." Moreover, in spite of the long absences of
the master, everything about the place was kept up in ship-shape order;
Harrison and Mammy Lucy cooperated with Jerome in looking well to this.

"Now, Daddy," cried Peggy happily when luncheon ended, "come out to the
stables and paddock; I've a hundred things to show you."

"A stable and a paddock for an old salt like me," laughed her father. "I
wonder if I shall know a horse's hock from his withers? Yet it DOES seem
good to see them, and smell the grass and woods and know it's all mine
and that YOU are mine," he cried, slipping his arm through hers and
pacing off with her. "Some day," he added, "I am coming here to settle
down with you to enjoy it all, and when I do I mean to let four legs
carry me whenever there is the least excuse for so doing. My own have
done enough pacing of the quarter-deck to have earned that indulgence."

"And won't it be just--paradise," cried Peggy rapturously.

They were now nearing the paddock. To one side was a long row of little
cottages occupied by the stable hands' families. Mr. Stewart paused and
smiled, for out of each popped a funny little black woolly head to catch
a glimpse of "Massa Captain," as all the darkies on the place called
him.

"Good Lord, where DO they all come from, Peggy? Have they all been born
since my last visit? There were not so many here then."

"Not quite all," answered Peggy laughing. "Most of them were here before
that, though there are some new arrivals either in the course of nature
or new help. You see the business is growing, Daddy, and I've had to
take on new hands."

Neil Stewart started. "Was this little person who talked in such a
matter-of-fact way about "taking on new hands" his little Peggy?

"Yes, yes--I dare say," he answered in a sort of daze.

Peggy seemed unaware of anything the least unusual and continued:

"I want you to see THIS family. It is Joshua Jozadak Jubal Jones'. They
might all be of an age, but they are not--quite. Come here, boys, and
see Master Captain," called Peggy to the three piccaninnies who were
peeping around the corner of the cottage. Three black, grinning little
faces, topped by the kinkiest of woolly heads, came slowly at her
bidding, each one glancing half-proudly, yet more or less panic-
stricken, at the big man in white flannels.

"Hello, boys. Whose sons are you? Miss Peggy tells me you are brothers."

"Yas, sir. We is. We's Joshua Jozadak Jubal Jones's boys. I'se Gus--de
ol'es. Der's nine haid o' us, but we's de oniest boys. De yethers ain'
nothin' but gurls."

"And how old are you!"

"I'se nine I reckons."

"And what is your name?"

"My name Gus, sah."

"That's only HALF a name. Your whole name is really Augustus remember."
The "Massa Captain's" voice boomed with the sound of the sea. Augustus
and his brothers were duly impressed. If Gus really meant Augustus, why
Augustus he would be henceforth. The Massa Captain had said it and what
the Massa Captain said--went, especially when he gave a bright new dime
to enforce the order.

"And YOUR name?" continued the questioner, pointing at number two.

"I'se jist Jule, sah," was the shy reply.

"That's a nickname too. I can't have such slipshod, no-account names for
my hands' children. It isn't dignified. It isn't respectful. It's a
disgrace to Miss Peggy. Do you hear?"

"Yas--yas--sir. We--we hears," answered the little darkies in chorus,
the whites of their eyes rolling and their knees fairly smiting
together. How could they have been guilty of thus slighting their adored
young mistress?

"Please, sah, wha's his name ef taint Jule?" Augustus plucked up heart
of grace to ask.

"He is Julius, JUL-I-US, do you understand?"

"Yas--sir. Yas--sir." Another dime helped the memory box.

"And YOUR name?" asked the Massa Captain of quaking number three.

There was a long, significant pause, then contortions as though number
three were suffering from a violent attack of colic. At length, after
two or three futile attempts he blurted out:

"I'se--I'se Billyus, sah!"

There was a terrific explosion, then Neil Stewart tossed the redoubtable
Billyus a quarter, crying: "You win," and walked away with Peggy, his
laughter now and again borne back to his beneficiaries.

Peggy never knew where that month slipped to with its long rides on
Shashai, Daddy Neil riding the Emperor, the magnificent sire of all the
small fry upon the place, from those who had already gone, or were about
to be sent out into the great world beyond the limits of Severndale, to
Roy, the latest arrival. Neil Stewart wondered and marveled more and
more as each day slipped by.

Then, too, were the delightful paddles far up the Severn in Peggy's
canoe, exploring unsuspected little creeks, with now and again a bag in
the wild, lonely reaches of the river, followed by a delicious little
supper of broiled birds, done to a turn by Aunt Cynthia. There were,
too, moonlight sails in Peggy's little half-rater, which she handled
with a master hand. As a rule, one of the boys accompanied her, for the
mainsail and centerboard were pretty heavy for her to handle unaided,
but with Daddy Neil on board--well, not much was left to be desired.
During that month Peggy learned "how lightly falls the foot of time
which only treads on flowers," and was appalled when she realized that
only five more days remained of her father's leave.

Neil Stewart, upon his part, was sorely perplexed, for it had come to
him with an overwhelming force that Peggy was almost a young lady, and
to live much longer as she had been living was simply out of the
question. Yet how solve the problem? He and Dr. Llewellyn talked long
and earnestly upon the subject when Peggy was not near, and fully
concurred in their view-point; a change must be made, and made right
speedily. Should Peggy be sent to school? If so, where? Much depended
upon the choice in her case. Her whole life had been so entirely unlike
the average girl's. Why she scarcely knew the meaning of companions of
her own age of either sex. Neil Stewart actually groaned aloud as he
thought of this.

Dr. Llewellyn suggested a companion for the young girl.

Mr. Stewart groaned again. Whom should he choose? So far as he knew
there was not a relative, near or remote, to whom he could turn, and a
hit-or-miss choice among strangers appalled him.

"I give you my word, Llewellyn, I'm aground--hard and fast. I can't
navigate that little cruiser out yonder," and he nodded toward the lawn
where Peggy was giving his first lessons to Roy in submitting to a
halter. It was a pretty picture, too, and one deeply imprinted upon Neil
Stewart's memory.

"We will do our best for her and leave the rest to the dear Lord,"
answered the good Doctor, his cameo-like face turned toward the lawn to
watch the girl whom he loved as a daughter. "He will show us the way. He
has never yet failed to."

"Well, in all reverence, I wish He'd show it before I leave, for I tell
you I don't like the idea of going away and leaving that little girl
utterly unprotected."

"I should call her very well protected," said Dr. Llewellyn mildly.

"Oh, yes, in a way. You are here off and on, and the servants all the
time, but look at the life she leads, man. Not a girl friend. Nothing
that other girls have. I tell you it's bad navigating and she'll run
afoul rocks or shoals. It isn't natural. For the Lord's sake DO
something. If I could be here a month longer I'd start something or
burst everything wide open. It's simply got to be changed." And Neil
Stewart got up from his big East India chair to pace impatiently up and
down the broad piazza, now and again giving an absent-minded kick to a
hassock, or picking up a sofa pillow to heave it upon a settee, as
though clearing the deck for action. He was deeply perturbed.

Peggy glanced toward him, and quick to notice signs of mental
disturbance, left her charge to Tzaritza's care and came running toward
the piazza. As she ran up the four steps giving upon the lawn she asked
half laughingly, half seriously:

"Heavy weather, Daddy Neil? Barometer falling?"

Neil Stewart paused, looked at her a moment and asked abruptly:

"Peggy, how would you like to go to a boarding school?"

"To boarding school!" exclaimed Peggy in amazement. "Leave Severndale
and all this and go away to a SCHOOL?" The emphasis upon the last word
held whole volumes.

Her father nodded.

"I think I'd die," she said, dropping upon a settee as though the very
suggestion had deprived her of strength.

Her father's forehead puckered into a perplexed frown. If Peggy were
sent to boarding school the choice of one would be a nice question.

"Well, what SHALL I do with you?" demanded the poor man in desperation.

"Leave me right where I am. Compadre will see that I'm not quite an
ignoramus, Harrison keeps me decently clad and properly lectured, and
Mammy looks to my feeding when I'm well and dosing when I'm not, which,
thank goodness, isn't often. Why Daddy, I'm so happy. So perfectly
happy. Please, please don't spoil it," and Peggy rose to slip her arm
within her father's and "pace the deck" as he called it.

"But you haven't a single companion of your own age or station," he
protested.

"Do I look the maiden all forlorn as the result?" she asked, laughing up
at him.

"You look--you look--exactly like your mother, and to me she was the
most beautiful woman I have ever seen," and Peggy found herself in an
embrace which threatened to smother her. She blushed with pleasure. To
be like her mother whom she scarcely remembered, for eight years had
passed since that beautiful mother slipped out of her life, was the
highest praise that could have been bestowed upon her.

"Daddy, will you make a truce with me?"

Her father stopped to look down at her, doubtful of falling into a
snare, for he had wakened to the fact that his little fourteen-year-old
daughter had a pretty long head for her years. Peggy's white teeth
gleamed behind her rosy lips and her eyes danced wickedly.

"What are you hatching for your old Dad's undoing, you witch?"

"Nothing but a truce. It is almost the first of September. Will you give
me just one more year of this glorious freedom? I shall be nearly
sixteen then, and then if you still wish it, I'll go to a finishing
school, or any other old school you say to be polished off for society
and to do the honors of Severndale properly when you retire. But, Daddy,
please, please, don't send me this year. I love it all so dearly--and
I'll be good--I truly will."

At the concluding words the big dark eyes filled. Her father bent down
to kiss away the unshed tears. His own eyes were troublesome.

"I sign the truce, sweetheart, for one year, but I want a detailed
report every week, do you understand?"

"You shall have it, accurate as a ship's log."

Five days later he had joined his ship and Peggy was once more alone,
yet, even then, over yonder under the shadow of the dome of the chapel
at the Naval Academy the future was being shaped for the young girl: a
future so unlike one those who loved her best could possibly have
foreseen or planned.




CHAPTER IV

IN OCTOBER'S DAYS


September slipped by, a lonely month for Peggy as contrasted with
August. At first she did not fully realize how lonely, but as the days
went by she missed her father's companionship more and more. Formerly,
after one of his brief visits she had taken up her usual occupations,
fallen back into the old order of things, and been happy in her dumb
companions. But this time she could not settle down to anything. She was
restless, and as nearly unhappy as it was possible for Peggy Stewart to
be. She could not understand it. Poor little Peggy, how could she
analyze it? How reason out that her life, dearly as she loved it, was an
unnatural one for a young girl, and, consequently, an unsatisfactory
one.

Dr. Llewellyn was troubled. Tender, wise and devoted to the girl, he had
long foreseen this crisis. It was all very well for the child Peggy to
run wild over fields and woodland, to ride, drive, paddle, sail, fish or
do as the whim of the moment prompted, happy in her horses and her dogs.
Mammy and Harrison were fully capable of looking to her corporal needs
and he could look to her mental and spiritual ones, and did do so.

Situated as Severndale was, remote from the other estates upon the river
and never brought into social touch with its neighbors, Peggy was hardly
known. When Neil Stewart came home on leave he was only too glad to get
away from the social side of his life in the service, and the weeks
spent with his little girl at Severndale had always been the delight of
his life. They took him into a new world all his own in which the small
vexations of the outer service world were entirely forgotten.

And how he looked forward to those visits. He rarely spoke of them to
his friends, mentioned Severndale to very few and hardly a dozen knew of
Peggy's existence. It was a peculiar attitude, but Neil Stewart had
never been reconciled to the cruel fate which had taken from him the
beautiful wife he had loved so devotedly, and the thought of guests at
Severndale without her there to entertain them as she had been
accustomed to, was peculiarly abhorent to him. He became almost morbid
on the subject and did not realize that he was growing selfish in his
sorrow and making Peggy pay the penalty.

But something in the way of an awakening had come to him during his
recent visit, and it had shocked him. The child Peggy was a child no
longer but a very charming young girl on the borderland of womanhood. In
a year or two she would be a young woman and entitled to her place in
the social world. Poor Neil Stewart, more than once upon retiring to his
bedroom after one of his delightful evenings spent with Peggy,
desperately ran his fingers through his curly hair and asked aloud:
"What under the sun AM I to do? I can't leave that child vegetating here
any longer, yet who will come to live with her or where shall I send
her?"

But the question was still unanswered when he left Severndale and now
Peggy was beginning to experience something of her father's unrest.

October came. Her work with Dr. Llewellyn was resumed. Each Sunday she
drove into Annapolis to old St. Ann's with Harrison; a modest,
unobtrusive little figure who attended the service and slipped away
again almost unnoticed. Indeed, if given a thought at all she was
vaguely supposed to be some connection of the eminently respectable
elderly woman accompanying her. Harrison was a rather stately imposing
body in her black taffeta, or black broadcloth, as the season demanded.
People did not inquire. It was not their affair. The rector on one or
two occasions had spoken to Harrison, but Harrison had been on her
dignity. She replied politely but did not encourage intimacy and, if the
truth must be confessed, Dr. Smith, rather piqued, decided that he had
done his duty and would make no further advances. This had happened some
time before the beginning of this story.

In October, as usual, a number of colts were disposed of. Some were sold
to people in the adjacent towns or counties, others sent to remote
purchasers who had seen them in their baby days, followed their up-
bringing and training, and waited patiently for them to arrive at the
stipulated age, four years, before becoming their property. No colt was
ever sold under four years of age. This was an inviolable law of
Severndale, mutually agreed upon by Dr. Llewellyn, the business manager,
Shelby, the foreman, and Peggy, the mistress.

"Ain't going to have no half-baked stock sent off THIS place if I have
the say-so," had been Shelby's fiat. "I've seen too many fine colts
mined by being BRUCK too young and then sold to fools who don't seem to
sense that a horse's backbone's like gristle 'fore he's turned three.
Then they load him down fit to kill him, or harness him in a way no
horse could stand, or drive him off his legs, and, when he's played out,
they get back at the man who sold him to them, and like as not there's a
lawsuit afoot that the price of the colt four times over couldn't
square, to say nothing of a reputation NO stock-farm can afford to
have."

Shelby's sense was certainly very sound horse-sense and was rigidly
abided by. Consequently, the colts which left Severndale were in the
pride and glory of their young horsehood, and this year they were a most
promising lot. There were eleven to be disposed of, and, thanks to
Peggy's care and training, as fine a bunch of horseflesh as could be
found in the land. She had trained--not broken, she could not tolerate
that word--every one and each knew his or her name and came at Peggy's
call as a child, loving and obeying her implicitly. Among them were two
exceptionally beautiful creatures--a splendid chestnut with a white star
in the middle of his forehead, and a young filly, half-sister to the
chestnut and little Boy. The chestnut was called Silver Star, the filly
Columbine, for the singular gentleness of her disposition. She was a
golden bay, slender and lithe as a fawn, with great fawn-like brown eyes
full of gentleness and love for all, and for Peggy in particular. She
had been sold, under the usual conditions during the previous year and
was soon to be sent to her new home.

One morning, the second week in October, Peggy opened a letter which
held unusual interest for her. It was from a lady whose home was in
Wilmot Hall in Annapolis. Wilmot Hall was the hotel near the Naval
Academy and mostly patronized by the officers and their families. The
letter was from the wife of a naval officer who wished either to hire or
purchase a riding horse for her niece who would spend the winter with
her. She stated very explicitly that the horse must be well broken
("Yes, broken!" fairly snorted Peggy. "Broken! I wonder if she would
want a literally 'broken' horse? Why will they never say trained!") and
gentle, as her niece had ridden very little. The letter then went on to
ask if Mrs. Harold might call some day and hour agreed upon. But what
amused Peggy most, and caused her to laugh aloud as she took a spoonful
of luscious sliced peaches, was the manner in which the letter was
addressed.

Old Jerome who was serving her in the pretty delft breakfast-room took
an old retainer's privilege to ask:

"What 'musin' you, honey-chile?"

"Didn't know I was an esquire, did you, Jerome? Well I am, because this
letter says so. It is addressed to M. C. Stewart, Esq. As I am the only
M. C. Stewart I must be the esquire to boot. Wonder what the lady will
think when I sign myself Margaret C. Stewart," and Peggy's silvery laugh
filled the room.

"Don' yo' mind what dey calls yo', baby. How dey gwine know yo's our
young mist'ess? Don' yo' let dat triflin' trebble yo' pretty haid," said
the faithful old soul, fearful lest his mistress' pride might be
touched, and hastening to serve the second course of her breakfast in
his best "quality style."

"It doesn't trouble me even a little bit, Jerome. It's just funny. I'm
going to answer that letter right after breakfast, and I wish I could
see my correspondent's face when she finds that her 'esquire' is one of
her own sex. But I'll never dare let her guess I'm just a girl."

"Jes' a gurl! Jes' a gurl," sputtered Jerome. "Kyant yo' just give her a
hint dat yo's a yo'ng lady and we-all's mistiss?"

"'Fraid not, Jerome. She will have to learn that when she comes out here
to see Silver Star, if she really comes. I'd let her have Columbine if
she were not sold. If that girl, who ever she is, could not ride
Columbine she would fall out of a rocking chair. But Star is a darling
and never cuts pranks unless Shashai sets him a bad example. I fear
Shashai will never forget his colt tricks," and Shashai's mistress
wagged her pretty head doubtfully.

"Shas'ee's all right, Miss Peggy. Don' yo' go fer ter 'line him. When I
sees yo' two a kitin' way over de fiel's an' de fences, I says ter ma
sef, Gawd-a-mighty, Je'ome, yo's got one pintedly hansome yo'ng mistess
AN' she kin ride for fair."

"And that same young mistress is in a fair way to be spoiled by your
flattery that is pretty certain," laughed Peggy, rising from the
breakfast table and gathering up the pile of letters she had been
reading.

"Huh, Huh. Spiled nothin'," protested Jerome as she disappeared into the
adjoining library.

Seating herself at her very business-like desk she wrote in a clear,
angular hand:

Severndale, Round Bay Station.
October 20, 19--

Mrs. G. F. Harold,
Wilmot Hall,
Annapolis, Md.

Dear Madam:

Your favor of October eighteenth has been duly received and contents
noted. In reply would say that I shall be very glad to have you call and
inspect our stock.

We have one colt, a four-year old, sired by the Emperor, dam the
Empress, which I shall be glad to show you. There are also others, but I
am considering pedigree, disposition and gait since you state that you
wish a horse for an inexperienced rider.

Would suggest that you run out to Round Bay Station, via B. A. Short
Line R. R. on Saturday, October the twenty-third, 1.30 P. M. weather
permitting, where I shall meet and convey you to Severndale.

Awaiting your pleasure I am

Very truly yours,

Margaret C. Stewart

How little it often requires to change our whole future. Little did
Peggy guess as she wrote that letter in Dr. Llewellyn's most approved
form, that it was destined to entirely revolutionize her life, introduce
her to a hitherto unknown world and round out her future in a manner
beyond the fondest hopes of "Daddy Neil."

This is a big world of little things.

The letter went upon its way and in the course of the morning Peggy
almost forgot it.

At ten o'clock Dr. Llewellyn came for the regular morning lessons. If
these were a little unusual for a girl of Peggy's age she was certainly
none the worse for her very practical knowledge of mathematics, her
ability to conduct correctly the business side of the estate, for upon
this, as the business manager, good Dr. Llewellyn insisted, and if that
bonny, well-poised, level little head sometimes grew weary over
investments, and interest, and profits and losses, and nestled down
confidingly upon his shoulder, the subjects were none the less fully
digested, and Peggy knew to a dollar, as he did, whence her income was
derived and to what use it was put.

Then, too, Dr. Llewellyn in his love for the classics made them a fairy
world for the girl and the commingling of the practical with the ideal
maintained the balance.

When one o'clock came dinner was served and after that Dr. Llewellyn
went his way and Peggy hurried off to her beloved horses.

On this day Columbine was to bid good-bye to Severndale. As Peggy
entered the big airy stable with its row upon row of scrupulously neat
box stalls, for no other sort was permitted in Severndale, Columbine
greeted her from one of them, as though asking: "Why am I kept mewed up
in here while all my companions are enjoying their daily liberty out
yonder?"

Peggy opened the gate and entered the stall. The beautiful creature
nestled to her like a petted child.

"Oh, my bonny one, my bonny one, how can I send you away?" asked Peggy
softly. "Will they be good to you out yonder? Will they understand what
a prize they have got? Washington is far away and so big and so
fashionable, they tell me. It would break my heart to have you misused."

The filly nickered softly.

"I am going to send a little message with you. If they read it they will
surely pay heed to it."

She drew from the pocket of her blouse a little package. It was not over
an inch wide or three long, and was carefully sealed in a piece of oil
silk. Parting the thick, luxuriant mane, she tied her missive securely
underneath. When the silky hair fell back in place the little message
was completely concealed. Peggy clasped her arms about the filly's neck,
kissed the soft muzzle and said:

"Good-bye, dear. I'll never forget you and I wonder if I shall ever hear
of you or see you again?"

Her eyes were full of tears as she left the stable. Two hours later
Columbine was led from her happy home. What later befell her we will
learn in a future volume of Peggy Stewart. Meanwhile we must follow
Peggy's history.

On the following Saturday, in the golden glow of an October afternoon,
with the hills a glory of color and the air as soft as wine, Peggy drove
Comet and Meteor, her splendid carriage horses, to the Bound Bay station
to meet Mrs. Harold and her niece. Tzaritza bounded along beside the
surrey and old Jess, the coachman of fifty years, sat beside his young
mistress, almost bursting with pride as he watched the skill with which
she handled the high-spirited animals, for Jess had taught her to drive
when she was so tiny that he had to hold her upon his lap, and keep the
little hands within the grasp of his big black ones.

Leaving the horses in his care she stepped upon the little platform
which did primitive duty as a station, to await the arrival of the
electric car which could already be heard humming far away up the line.

As her guests stepped from the car she advanced to meet them, saying as
she extended her hand to Mrs. Harold:

"This is Mrs. Harold, I reckon. I am Peggy Stewart. I am glad to meet
you."

There was not the least hesitation or self-consciousness and the frank
smile which accompanied the words revealed all her pretty, even teeth.
"I got your message and I am right glad to welcome you to Severndale."

The lady looked a trifle bewildered. She had expected to meet the owner
of Severndale, or, certainly, a mature woman. Her correspondence had, it
is true, been with a Margaret C. Stewart, whom she assumed to be Mr.
Stewart's wife or some relative. Intuitively Peggy grasped the
situation, but kept a perfectly sober face.

"I am very glad to come," said her guest, and added: "This is my niece,
Polly Howland."

"It's nice to see and know you. I don't see many girls of my own age.
Will you come to the surrey?" and she indicated with a graceful motion
of her hand the carriage in waiting just beyond. Mrs. Harold and her
niece followed their guide.

Old Jess made a sweeping bow. He must do the honors properly. Peggy
helped her guests into the rear seat, then sprang lightly into the front
one, drew on a pair of chamois gloves, and taking the reins from Jess,
gave a low, clear whistle. Instantly Tzaritza bounded up from beneath
some shrubbery where she had lain hidden, and cavorting to the horses'
heads made playful snaps at their muzzles. The next second they had
reared upon their hind legs. Mrs. Harold gave a little cry of terror and
Polly laid hold of the side of the surrey. Peggy flashed an amused,
dazzling smile over her shoulder at them as she said reassuringly:

"Don't be frightened. Down, Tzaritza. Steady, my beauties."

At her words the beautiful span settled down as quiet as lambs and swung
into a gait which whirled the surrey along the picturesque, woodland
road at a rate not to be despised, while Peggy drove with the master-
hand of experience. Indeed she seemed to guide more by words than reins,
or some perfectly understood signal to the splendid creatures which
arched their necks, or laid back an ear to catch each low spoken word.

For a time Peggy's guests were too absorbed in watching her marvelous
skill and almost uncanny power over her horses to make any comment. Then
the young girl broke into a perfect ecstasy of delight as she cried:

"Oh, how do you do it? How beautiful they are and what a superb dog. It
is a Russian wolfhound, isn't it?"

"Yes, she is a wolfhound. But I don't quite understand. Do what?" and
Peggy glanced back questioningly.

"Why drive like that. Make them obey you so perfectly."

"Oh! Why I reckon it is because I have driven all my life. I can't
remember when I haven't, and I love and understand them so well. That is
all there is to it, I think. They will do almost anything for me. You
see I was here when they were born and they have known me from the very
first. That makes a lot of difference. And I have a great deal to do
about the paddock. I superintend it. The horses are never afraid of me
and if they don't know the meaning of fear one can do almost anything
with them,"

How simple it was all said. Mrs. Harold was more and more puzzled. The
drive was longer than she had expected it to be and she had ample time
to observe her young hostess.

"And your mother or aunt, whom I infer is my correspondent, shall I meet
her at Severndale!"

"My mother is not living, Mrs. Harold, and I have no own aunt; only an
aunt by marriage, the widow of Daddy's only brother, but I have never
seen her."

"Then I am at a loss to understand with whom I have been corresponding
about a wonderful horse called Silver Star. Someone who signs her
letters Margaret C. Stewart, and who evidently knows what she is writing
about, too, for she writes to the point and has told me a dozen things
which no one but an experienced business woman would think of telling.
Yet you tell me there is neither a Mrs. nor Miss Stewart at Severndale."

"I am afraid I am the only Miss Stewart at Severndale, though I am never
called Miss Stewart. I'm just Miss Peggy to the help, and Peggy to my
friends. But, of course, when I write business letters I have to sign my
full name."

"You write business letters. Do you mean to tell me you wrote those
letters'?"

"I'm the only Margaret Stewart," answered Peggy, her eyes twinkling.
"But here we are at Severndale."

The span made a sharp turn and sped along a beautiful avenue over-arched
by golden beeches and a moment later swept up to a stately old colonial
mansion which must have looked out over the reaches of Round Bay for
many generations.




CHAPTER V

POLLY HOWLAND


It must be admitted that during the drive from the station Peggy's
curiosity concerning her guests had been fully as lively as theirs
regarding her. She had never known girl friends; there was but one home
within reasonable reach of her own which harbored a girl near her own
age and during the past year even this one had been sent off to boarding
school, her parents realizing that the place was too remote to afford
her the advantages her age demanded. Consequently, Peggy experienced a
little thrill when she met Polly Howland. Here was a girl of her own
age, her own station, and, if intuition meant anything, a kindred
spirit. The moment of their introduction had been too brief for Peggy to
have a good look at Polly, but now that they had reached Severndale she
meant to have it, and while Mrs. Howland and Polly were exclaiming over
the beauty of the old place, and the former was wondering how she could
have lived in Annapolis so long without even being aware of its
existence, Peggy, while apparently occupied in caring for her guests'
welfare, was scrutinizing those guests very closely.

What she saw was a lady something past forty, a little above the average
height, slight and graceful, with masses of dark brown hair coiled
beneath a very pretty dark blue velvet toque, a face almost as fresh and
fair as a girl's, large, dark brown expressive eyes, which held a light
that in some mysterious manner appealed to Peggy and drew her
irresistibly. They were smiling eyes with a twinkle suggestive of a
sense of humor, a sympathetic understanding of the view-point of those
of fewer years, which the mouth beneath corroborated, for the lips held
a little curve which often betrayed the inward emotions. Her voice was
soft and sweet and its intonation fell soothingly upon Peggy's sensitive
ears. Taken altogether, her elder guest had already won Peggy's heart,
though she would have found it hard to explain why.

And Polly Howland?

To describe Polly Howland in cold print would be impossible, for Polly
was something of a chameleon. What Peggy saw was a young girl not quite
as tall as herself, but slightly heavier and straight and lithe as a
willow. Her fine head was topped with a great wavy mass of the deepest
copper-tinted hair, perfectly wonderful hair, which glinted and flashed
with every turn of the girl's head, and rolled back from a broad
forehead white and clear as milk. The eyes beneath the forehead were a
perfect cadet blue, with long lashes many shades darker than the hair.
They were big eyes, expressive and constantly changing with Polly's
moods, now flashing, now laughing, again growing dark, deep and tender.
The nose had an independent little tilt, but the mouth was exquisitely
faultless and mobile and expressive to a rare degree. Polly's eyes and
mouth would have attracted attention anywhere.

Of course Peggy did not take quite this analytical view of either of her
guests, though in a vague way she felt it all and an odd sense of
happiness filled her soul which she would have found it hard to explain.

She led the way through the spacious hall and dining-room to the broad
piazza from which the view was simply entrancing, and said:

"Won't you and Miss Howland be seated, Mrs. Harold; I am sure you must
be hungry after your ride through this October air. We will have some
refreshments and then go out to the paddock to see Silver Star."

Touching a little silver bell, which was promptly answered by Jerome,
she ordered:

"Something extra nice for my guests, Jerome, and please send word to
Shelby that we will be out to the paddock in half an hour."

"Yes, missie, lamb, I gwine bring yo' a dish fitten f o' a queen."

Mrs. Harold dropped into one of the big East India porch chairs, saying:

"This is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. Polly, dear,
look at the wonderful reds of those wings contrasted with the foliage
back of them. Why have we never known of Severndale? Have you lived here
long, Miss Stewart?"

"Would you mind calling me just Peggy? Miss Stewart makes me feel so old
and grown-up," said Peggy unaffectedly.

Mrs. Harold smiled approvingly and Polly cried:

"Yes, doesn't it? I hate to be called Miss Howland. I'm not, anyway, for
I have an older sister. Have you, too?"

"No," answered Peggy. "I have no one in the world but Daddy Neil, and he
is away nearly all the time. I wish he were not. I miss him terribly. He
spent August with me and I have never before missed him as I do this
time. I have always lived here, Mrs. Harold. I was born here," she
concluded in reply to Mrs. Harold's question.

"But your companions?" Mrs. Harold could not refrain from asking.

Peggy smiled.

"That was Daddy Neil's deepest concern during his last visit. He had not
thought much about it before, I guess. I dare say you will think it odd,
but my companions are mostly four-footed ones, though I am--what shall I
call it? Guarded? chaperoned? cared for? by Harrison, Mammy Lucy and
Jerome, with my legal guardian, Dr. Llewellyn to keep me within bounds.
I dare say most people would consider it very unusual, but I am very
happy and never lonely. Yes, Jerome, set the tray here, please," she
ended as the butler returned bearing a large silver tray laden with a
beautiful silver chocolate service, egg-shell cups straight from Japan,
a plate of the most delicate, flaky biscuits, divided, buttered and
steaming, flanked by another plate piled high with little scalloped-
edged nut cakes, just fresh from Aunt Cynthia's oven.

Taking her seat beside the table Peggy poured and Jerome served in his
most dignified manner, while Mrs. Harold marveled more and more and
Polly thought she had never in all her life seen a girl quite like
Peggy.

"It is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen," said Mrs.
Harold.

"I am glad you like it, for I love it. Few people know of it. I mean few
who come to Annapolis. I have lived here so quietly since Mamma's death
when I was six years old. Daddy comes whenever he can, but he has asked
for sea duty since Mamma left us. He has missed her so."

"In which class did your father graduate, Miss Peggy!"

"In 18--, Mrs. Harold."

"Why then he must have been in the Academy when Mr. Harold was there. He
graduated two years later. I wonder if they knew each other. Mr. Harold
would have been a youngster, and your father a first-classman, and
first-classmen HAVE been known to notice youngsters."

Peggy looked puzzled. Although she had always lived within ten miles of
the Academy, she had never entered its gates, and knew nothing of its
ways or rules. Polly was wiser, having spent a month with her aunt. She
laughed as she explained:

"A first-classman is a lordly being who is generally at odds with a
second-classman, but inclined to protect a third-classman, or youngster,
simply because the second-classman is inclined to make life a burden for
him, just as he in turn is ready to torment the life out of a fourth-
classman, or plebe. I am just beginning to understand it. It seemed
perfectly ridiculous at first, but I guess some of those boys are the
better for the running they get. I've only been here since the first of
October, but I've learned a whole lot in four weeks. Maybe you will come
over to see us some time and you will understand better then."

"I'd love to, I am sure. But may I offer you something more? No? Then
perhaps we would better go down to the paddock."

They stepped from the piazza and walked through the beautifully kept
garden. On either side late autumn flowers were blooming, the box hedges
were a deep, waxen green, and gave forth a rich, aromatic odor. Polly
cried:

"I just can't believe that you--you--why that you are the mistress of
all this. I don't believe you can be one bit older than I am."

"I was fourteen last January," answered Peggy simply.

"And I fifteen last August," cried Polly with the frankness of her
years.

"Then you are exactly five months older than I am, aren't you?" Peggy's
smile was wonderfully winning.

"And when I look at all this and hear you talk I feel just about five
YEARS YOUNGER," was Polly's frank reply. "Why I've never done a single
thing in my life.''

"Not one?" asked Mrs. Harold, smiling significantly.

"Oh well, nothing like all THIS," protested Polly.

They had now reached a large inclosure. At the further end were a number
of low buildings, evidently stables. Nearer at hand, outside the
inclosure, were larger buildings--barns and offices. The inclosure was
still soft and green in its carpeting of turf and patches of clover.
Eight or ten horses were running at large, free and halterless. Further
on was another inclosure in which several brood mares were grazing
quietly or frisking about with, their colts. Some had come to the high
paling to gaze inquiringly at the strangers.

"Oh, Tanta, Tanta, just look at them," cried Polly in a rapture. "And
which is to be mine?"

"None of those spindle-legs yonder," was Peggy's amused answer. "They
will be running at large for a long time yet. I don't even begin
training them until they are a year old--at least not in anything but
loving and obeying me. But most of them learn that very quickly. You
must look in this paddock for Silver Star, Miss Polly. Shall I call
him?"

"Will he really come?" asked Polly incredulously.

For answer Peggy slipped into the paddock, saying as she shot back the
bolt:

"We used to have a much simpler fastening, but they learned how to undo
it and make their escape. For that reason we are obliged to have these
high fences. They have a strain of hunter blood and a six-foot barrier
doesn't mean much to some of them."

How bonny the girl looked as she stood there. The horses which were in a
little group near the buildings at the opposite end of the paddock,
raised their heads inquiringly. The girl gave a long, clear whistle
which was instantly answered by a chorus of loud neighs, as the group
broke into a mad gallop and bore down upon her. It seemed to Mrs. Harold
and Polly as though the on-rushing creatures must bear her down, but
just when the speed was the maddest, when heads were tossing most
wildly, and tails and manes waving like banners, Peggy cried:

"Halt! Steady, my beauties!" and as one the beautiful animals came to a
standstill their hoofs stirring up a cloud of dust, so suddenly did they
brace their forefeet. The next second they were crowding around her,
nuzzling her hair, her shoulders, her hands, evidently begging in silent
eloquence for some expected dainty.

Peggy carried a small linen bag. She opened it and instantly the air was
filled with the soft, bubbling whinny with which a horse begs.

"Quiet, Meteor. Be patient, Don. Wait, Queen. Oh, Shashai, will you
never learn manners?" she cried as her pet stretched his long neck and
catching the little bag in his teeth snatched it from her hands, then,
with all the delight of a child who has played a clever trick, away he
dashed across the paddock.

"Shashai! Shashai, how dare you! Halt!" she called after him, but the
graceful creature had no idea of halting.

For a moment Peggy looked at her guests very much as a baffled
schoolmistress might look in the event of her pupil's open defiance,
then cried:

"This will never, never do. If he disobeys me once I shall never be able
to do anything with him again. Please excuse me a moment. I must catch
him."

"Are you in the habit of chasing whirlwinds?" asked Mrs. Harold
laughing.

"You must be able to run faster than most people," laughed Polly, but
even as she spoke Peggy cried:

"Star! Star! Come." And out from the group slipped a superb chestnut. He
came close to the girl, slipping his beautiful head across her shoulder
and nestling against her face with the affection of a child. She clasped
her arm up around the satiny neck and said softly:

"We must catch Shashai, Star," then turning like a flash, she rested one
hand lightly upon his withers, gave a quick spring and sat astride the
horse's back.

Polly gave a little cry and clasped her hands, her eyes sparkling with
delight at this marvelous equestrian feat. Mrs. Harold was too amazed to
speak.

"After him! Four bells, Star," cried Peggy, and away rushed the pair as
though horse and rider were one creature, Peggy's divided cloth skirt,
which up to that moment Mrs. Harold had not noticed, fluttering back to
reveal the nattiest little patent leather riding boots imaginable. It
was one of the prettiest pictures Mrs. Harold and Polly had ever beheld.

But that race was not to end so quickly. Shashai boasted the same blood
as Silver Star, and was every bit as intelligent as his older brother.
Moreover he had no mind to give up his treasure-trove. He knew that
little bag and its contents too well and was minded to carry it to the
end of the paddock and there rend and tear it, until its contents were
spilled and he could eat his companions' share as well as his own. And
that was exactly what Peggy did not propose to permit, either for his
well-being or in justice to the other pets.

As the extraordinary game of tag ranged around the big paddock, Polly
fairly danced up and down in excitement, crying:

"Tanta, Tanta, I didn't know any one COULD ride like that girl. Why it
is more wonderful than a circus. And isn't she beautiful? Oh, I want to
know her better. I am sure she must be a perfect dear. Why if I could
ever ride half as well I'd be the proudest girl in the world."

"And how simply and unostentatiously she does everything. Polly, I
suspect we shall be the richer for several things besides a handsome
horse when we return to Wilmot."

Meanwhile Peggy was bearing down upon the thief and his plunder, though
he darted and dodged like a cat, but in an unguarded moment he gave Star
the advantage and was cornered.

"Shashai, halt! Steady. Down. My pardon."

Never was human speech more perfectly understood and obeyed. The game
was up and the superb horse stopped, dropped upon his knees and touched
the ground with his muzzle, the bag still held in his teeth.

"Up, Shashai," and the horse was again upon his feet.

Peggy reached over and taking hold of his flowing forelock led him back
to the gate. Nothing could have been more demure than the manner in
which he minced along beside her. At the gate Peggy slipped from Star's
back as snow slips from a sunny bank, and stretching forth her hand
said:

"Give it to me, Shashai."

The mischievous colt dropped the bag into her hand.

"Good boy," and a caress rewarded the reformed one.

Then Polly's enthusiasm broke forth.

How had she ever done it? Who had taught her to ride like that? Could
she, Polly, ever hope to do so?

Peggy laughed gaily, and explained Shelby's methods as best she could,
giving a little outline of her life on the estate which held a peculiar
interest for Mrs. Harold, who read more between the lines than Peggy
guessed, and who then and there resolved to know something more of this
unusual girl to whose home they had been so curiously led. She had been
thrown with young people all her life and loved them dearly, and here to
her experienced eyes was a rare specimen of young girlhood and her heart
warmed to her.

"I'd give anything to ride as you do," said Polly quite in despair of
ever doing so.

"Why I can't remember when I haven't ridden. Shelby put me on a horse
when Mammy Lucy declared I was too tiny to sit in a chair, and oh, how I
love it and them. It is all so easy, so free--so--I don't quite know how
to express it. But I must not take any more of your time talking about
myself. Please excuse me for having talked so much. I wanted you to see
Silver Star's paces but I did not plan to show them in just this way.
But isn't he a dear? I don't know how I can let him go away from
Severndale, but he as well as the others must. We sent Columbine only a
few days ago. She has the sweetest disposition of any horse I have ever
trained. It nearly broke my heart to send her off. They are all
relatives. Shashai and Star are half-brothers. Shashai is my very own
and I shall never sell him. Would you like to try Star, Miss Polly? I
can get you a riding skirt. Shall you ride cross or side? He is trained
for both."

"Not today, I think," answered Mrs. Harold for Polly. "We must make our
arrangements for Star and then we will see about riding lessons. I wish
you would undertake to teach Polly."

"Oh, would you really let me teach her?" cried Peggy enthusiastically.

"I think the obligation would be all on the other side," laughed Mrs.
Harold. "It would be a privilege too great to claim."

"There would be no obligation whatever. I'd just love to," cried Peggy
eagerly. "Why it would be perfectly lovely to have her come out here
every day. Please walk back to the house and let us talk it over,"
Peggy's eyes were sparkling.

"Oh, Tanta, may I?"

"Slowly, Polly. My head is beginning to swim with so many ideas crowding
into it," but Polly Howland knew from the tone that the day was as good
as won.




CHAPTER VI

A FRIENDSHIP BEGINS


As they walked back to the house the girls talked incessantly, Mrs.
Harold listening intently but saying very little. She was drawing her
own conclusions, which were usually pretty shrewd ones.

Commander Harold had for the past four years been stationed either at
the Naval Academy, or on sea duty on board the Rhode Island when she
made her famous cruise around the world. Mrs. Harold had remained at
Wilmot Hall during the winter of 1907 and 1908, Polly's sister Constance
spending it with her. Later Commander Harold had duty at the Academy,
but recently with his new commission, for he had been a commander only a
few months, he had been given one of the new cruisers and was at sea
once more. They had no children, their only child having died many years
before, but Mrs. Harold, loving young people as she did, was never
without them near her. This winter her niece, Polly Howland, would
remain with her and she was anxious to make the winter a happy one for
the young girl. This she had a rare opportunity of doing, for her pretty
sitting-room in Wilmot Hall was a gathering place for the young people
of the entire neighborhood and the midshipmen in particular, who loved
it dearly and were devoted to its mistress, loving her with the devotion
of sons, and invariably calling her "the Little Mother," and her
sitting-room "Middies' Haven." And a happier little rendezvous it would
have been hard to find, for Mrs. Harold loved her big foster-sons
dearly, strove in every way to make the place a home for them and to
develop all that was best in their diverse characters.

It was to this home that Polly had come to pass the winter and now a new
phase had developed, the outcome of what seemed to be chance, but it is
to be questioned whether anything in this great world of ours is the
outcome of chance. If so wisely ordered in some respects, why not in
all?

So it is not surprising that Mrs. Harold watched and listened with rare
sympathy and a keen intuition as the girls walked a little ahead of her,
talking together as freely and frankly as though they had known each
other for years instead of hours only.

"Couldn't you come out on the electric car every morning?" Peggy was
asking. "If you could do that for about two weeks I am sure you would be
able to ride BEAUTIFULLY at the end of them."

"Not in the morning, I'm afraid. You see I am an Annapolis co-ed," Polly
answered laughing gaily at Peggy's mystified expression. "Yes I am,
truly. You see I came down here to spend the winter with Aunt Janet
because she is lonely when Uncle Glenn is away. But, of course, I can't
just sit around and do nothing, or frolic all the time. Had I remained
at home I should have been in my last year at high school, but Tanta
doesn't want me to go to the one down here. Oh we've had the funniest
discussions. First she thought she'd engage a governess for me, and we
had almost settled on that when the funniest little thing changed it
all. Isn't it queer how just a little thing will sometimes turn your
plans all around?"

"What changed yours?" asked Peggy, more deeply interested in this new
acquaintance and the new world she was introducing her into than she had
ever been in anything in her life. "You'll laugh at me, I dare say, if I
tell you, but I don't mind. Up at my own home in Montgentian, N. J., I
had a boy chum. We have known each other since we were little tots and
always played together. He is two years older than I am, but I was only
a year behind him when he graduated from the high last spring. My
goodness, how I worked to catch up, for I was ashamed to let him be so
far ahead of me. I couldn't quite catch up, though, and he graduated a
year ahead of me in spite of all I could do. Then he took a competitive
examination for Annapolis and passed finely, entering the Academy last
June. I was just tickled to death for we are just like brother and
sister, we have been together so much. Then Tanta sent for me and I came
back with her on September 30. One day we were over in the yard and the
boys--men, I dare say I ought to call them, for some of them are tall as
bean poles, only they have all been Aunt Janet's 'boys' ever since they
entered the Academy--were teasing me, and telling me I couldn't work
with Ralph any longer. I got mad then and said I guessed I COULD work
with him if I saw fit, and I meant to, too. Oh, they laughed and jeered
at me until I could have slapped every single one of them, but I then
and there made up my mind to follow THIS year's academic course if I
died in the attempt, and when we went home I talked it all over with
Aunt Janet. She's such a dear, and always ready to listen to anything we
young people have to tell her. So I really am a co-ed. Yes, I am; I knew
you'd smile. I have an instructor, a retired captain, a friend of Aunt
Janet's, who lives at Wilmot, and Aunt Janet has rented an extra room
next mine for a schoolroom, and every morning at nine o'clock Captain
Pennell and I settle down to real hard work. I have 'math' and
mechanical drawing just exactly as Ralph has, and the same French,
Spanish and English course, but what I love best of all is learning all
about a boat and how to sail her, how to swim, and the gym work. And
Captain Pennell is teaching me how to fence and to shoot with a rifle
and a revolver. Oh, it is just heaps and heaps of fun. I didn't dream a
girl could learn all those things, but Captain Pennell is such a dear
and so interesting. He seems to have something new for each day. But HOW
Aunt Janet's boys do run me and ask me when I'm coming out for cutter
drill, or field artillery or any old thing they know I CAN'T do. But
never mind. I know just exactly what all their old orders mean, and I am
learning all about our splendid big ships and the guns and everything
just as fast as ever I can. But, my goodness, I shall talk you to death.
Mother says I never know when to stop once I get started. I beg your
pardon," and Polly looked quite abashed as they drew near the piazza.

"Why I think it is all perfectly fascinating. How I'd love to do some of
those things. I can shoot and swim and sail my boat, but I've never been
in a gymnasium or done any of those interesting things. I wish Compadre
could hear all about it. They wanted to send me away to a big finishing
school this winter but I begged so hard for one more year's freedom that
Daddy Neil consented, but I think he would love to have me know about
the things you are learning."

"Oh, Tanta, couldn't we make some sort of a bargain? Couldn't Peggy come
to us three days of the week and work with Captain Pennell and me, and
then I come out three to learn to ride?"

Peggy's eyes shone as she listened. She had not realized how hungry she
had been for young companionship until this sunny-souled young girl had
dropped into her little world.

Mrs. Harold smiled sympathetically upon the enthusiastic pair.

"Perhaps we can make a mutually beneficial bargain," she said. "I think
I shall accept Silver Star upon your recommendation, Miss Peggy, and
what I have already seen. Then if you are willing to undertake it, Polly
shall be taught to ride by you, and you in turn must come to us at
Wilmot to join Captain Pennell's class of fencing, gym work or whatever
else seems wise or you wish to. But who must decide the question, dear?"

How unconsciously she had dropped into the term of endearment with this
young girl. It was so much a part of her nature to do so. Peggy's cheeks
became rose-tinted with pleasure, and her eyes alight with happiness.
Her smile was radiant as she slipped to Mrs. Harold's side saying: "Oh,
if Compadre were only here to decide it right away. He is my guardian
you know, and, of course, I must do as he wishes, but I hope--oh I HOPE,
he will let me do this."

"And what is it you so wish to do, Filiola?" asked a gentle voice within
the room.

Peggy gave a little cry of delight.

"Oh, Compadre, when did you come? We have just been talking about you,"
cried Peggy, flitting to the side of the tall, handsome old gentleman
and slipping her arm about him as his encircled her shoulder, and he
looked down upon her with a pair of benign dark eyes as he answered:

"I have been luxuriating and feasting for the past half hour while
waiting for a truant ward. Jerome took pity upon me and fed me to keep
me in a good temper.

"Oh, Compadre, I want you to know my new friend, Mrs. Harold and her
niece, Polly Howland. We have been having the loveliest visit together."

Dr. Llewellyn advanced to meet the guests, one arm still encircling his
ward, the other extended to take Mrs. Harold's hand as he said:

"This is a great pleasure, madam. To judge by my little girl's face she
has found a congenial companion. I am more than delighted to meet both
aunt and niece."

"And we are ALMOST the same age! Isn't that lovely!" cried Polly.

Dr. Llewellyn exchanged a significant glance with Mrs. Harold, then
asked:

"Have you imparted your peculiar power to your niece, Mrs. Harold?"

Mrs. Harold looked mystified. "I am afraid I don't quite understand,"
she smiled.

"Your chaplain at the Academy is an old friend of mine. We occasionally
hobnob over the chess board and a modest glass of wine. I hear of things
beyond Round Bay and Severndale; I am interested in that gathering of
young men in the Academy and often ask questions. The chaplain is deeply
concerned for their welfare and has told me many things, among others
something of a certain lady to whom they are devoted and who has a
remarkable influence over them. It has interested me, too, for they are
at the most impressionable, susceptible period of their lives and a wise
influence can do much for them. I am glad to meet 'The Little Mother of
Middies' Haven.'"

Dr. Llewellyn's eyes twinkled as he spoke. Mrs. Harold blushed like a
girl as she asked:

"Have my sins found me out?"

"It is a pity we could not find all 'sins' as salutary. I may be a
retired old clergyman, with no greater responsibilities upon my
shoulders than keeping one unruly little girl within bounds," he added,
giving a tweak to Peggy's curls, "and looking after her father's estate--
I tutored HIM when he was a lad--but I hear echoes of the doings of the
outer world now and again. Yes--yes, now and again, and when they are
cheering echoes I rejoice greatly. But let us be seated and hear the
wonderful news which will cause an explosion presently unless the
safety-valves are opened," he concluded, placing chairs for Mrs. Harold
and Polly with courtly grace.

They talked for an hour and at its end Dr. Llewellyn and Mrs. Harold had
settled upon a plan which caused Peggy and Polly to nearly prance for
joy.

Mrs. Harold was to talk it over with Captain Pennell and phone out to
Severndale the next morning, and if all went well, Peggy would go to
Annapolis to take up certain branches of the work with Polly, and in the
intervening mornings continue her work with Dr. Llewellyn, and Polly in
return would spend three afternoons with her.

Star was hired then and there for the winter, but would live at
Severndale until Polly's horse-WOMAN-ship was a little more to be relied
upon.

Before Mrs. Harold and Polly realized where the afternoon had gone it
was time to return to Annapolis. They were driven to the station by
Jess, Peggy and Dr. Llewellyn riding beside the carriage on Shashai and
Dr. Claudius, Dr. Llewellyn's big dapple-gray hunter, for the old
clergyman was an aristocrat to his fingertips and lived the life of his
Maryland forebears, at seventy sitting his horse as he had done in early
manhood, and even occasionally following the hounds. It was a pretty
sight to see him and Peggy ride, his great horse making its powerful
strides, while Shashai flitted along like a swallow, full of all manner
of little conceits and pranks though absolutely obedient to Peggy's low-
spoken words, or knee-pressure, for the bridle rein was a quite
superfluous adjunct to her riding gear, and she would have ridden
without a saddle but for conventionalities.

They bade their guests good-bye at the little station, and rode slowly
back to Severndale in the golden glow of the late afternoon, Peggy
talking incessantly and the good doctor occasionally asking a question
or telling her something of the world over in the Academy of which she
knew so little, but of which fate seemed to have ordained she should
soon know much more.

There was a quiet little talk up in Middies' Haven that evening, and
Captain Pennell learned from Mrs. Harold of the little girl up at Round
Bay. He was not only willing to accept Peggy as a second pupil, but
delighted to welcome the addition to his "Co-ed Institution" as he
called it. He had grown very fond of his pupil in the brief time she had
worked with him, but felt sure that a little competition would lend zest
to the work. He was deeply interested in the novel plan and wished his
pupil to give her old chum and schoolmate a lively contest. Moreover, he
was a lonely man whom ill-health and sorrow had left little to expect
from life. His wife and only daughter had died in Guam soon after the
end of the Spanish war, in which he had received the wound which had
incapacitated him for service and forced him to retire in what should
have been the prime of life. Since that hour he had lived only to kill
time; the deadliest fate to which a human being can be condemned. Until
Polly entered his lonely world it would have been hard to picture a
duller life than he led, but her sunshiny soul seemed to have reflected
some of its light upon him, and he was happier than he had been in
years.

It is safe to say that the description of Peggy, her home, her horses
and all pertaining to her, lost nothing in Polly's telling and it was
agreed that she should become a special course co-ed upon the following
Monday.

And out at Severndale an equally eager, enthusiastic little body was
awaiting the ringing of the telephone bell, and when at nine o'clock
Sunday morning its cheerful jingling summoned Peggy from her breakfast
table, she was as happy as she well could be and promised faithfully to
be at Wilmot at nine o'clock the following morning.

And so began a friendship destined to last as long as the girls lived,
and the glorious autumn days were filled with delights for them both. To
Peggy it was a wonderful world.

The Tuesday following Polly went to Severndale and her first riding
lesson began, with more or less quaking upon her part, it must be
confessed. She felt tremendously high up in the air when she first found
herself upon Silver Star's back. But he behaved like a gentleman,
seeming to realize that the usual order of things was being reversed and
that he was teaching instead of being taught. So, in spite of Shashai's
wicked hints for a prank, he conducted himself in a manner most
exemplary and Polly went back to Wilmot Hall as enthusiastic as she well
could be.

Mrs. Harold had invited Peggy to spend the week-end at Wilmot. She
wished her to meet some of Polly's friends and she, herself, wished to
know the young girl better. So Dr. Llewellyn's permission was asked and
promptly granted, and with his consent won that of Harrison and Mammy
Lucy was a mere form. Nevertheless, Peggy was too wise to overlook
asking, for Harrison fancied herself the embodiment of the law, and
Mammy Lucy, in her own estimation at least, stood for the dignity of the
Stewart family. And the preparations for the little week-end visit were
undertaken with a degree of ceremony which might have warranted a trip
to Europe. Peggy's suitcase was packed by Mammy's own hands, Harrison
hovering near to make sure that nothing was overlooked, to Mammy's
secret disgust, for she felt herself fully capable of attending to it.

Then came the question of going in, Peggy very naturally expecting to go
by the electric car as she had during the week. But NO! Such an
undignified entrance into Wilmot was not to be thought of. She must be
driven in by Jess.

"But Mammy, how ridiculous," protested Peggy. "I can get a boy at the
station to carry my suitcase to the hotel."

Mammy looked at her in disdain.

"Git one ob dem no 'count dirty little nigger boys what hangs round dat
railway station to tote yo' shute case, a-tailin' long behime yo' for
all de worl lak a tromp. What yo' 'spose yo' pa would say to we-all if
we let yo' go a-visitin' in amy sich style as dat, an' yo' a Stewart AN'
de daughter ob a naval officer who's gwine visit de wife ob one ob his
'Cademy frien's! Chile, yo's cl'ar crazy. Yo' go in de proper style
lemme tell yo', or yo' aim gwine go 'tall. Yo' hear ME?"

And Peggy had to meekly submit, realizing that there were SOME laws
which even a Stewart might not violate. So on Saturday afternoon Comet
and Meteor tooled the surrey along by beautiful woodland and field,
Peggy clad in her pretty autumn suit and hat, her suitcase at Jess'
feet, and herself as properly dignified as the occasion demanded, while
in her secret heart she resolved to enlist Mrs. Harold upon her side and
in future make her visits with less ceremony.




CHAPTER VII

PEGGY STEWART: CHATELAINE


Peggy had entered a new world. Plunged into one, would perhaps better
express it, so sudden had been her entrance, and her letters to Daddy
Neil, now on his way to Guantanamo for the fall drills, were full of an
enthusiasm which almost bewildered him and started a new train of
thought.

As he knew most members of the personnel of the ships comprising the
Atlantic fleet, he, of course, knew Commander Harold, though it had
never occurred to him to associate him with Annapolis, or to make any
inquiry regarding his home or his connections. Like many another, he was
merely a fellow-officer. He was not a classmate, so his interest was
less keen than it would have been had such been the case. Moreover,
Harold was in a different division of the fleet and they very rarely
met. But now the whole situation was changed by Peggy's letter. He would
hunt up Mr. Harold at the first opportunity and with this common
interest to bind them, much pleasure was in store.

True to her word, Peggy sent her letter off every Sunday afternoon--a
conscientious report of the week's happenings. Her "log," she called it,
and it was the comfort of Daddy Neil's life.

Meanwhile, she spent about half of her time with Mrs. Harold and Polly,
and in a very short time became as good a chum of Mrs. Harold's "boys,"
the midshipmen, as was Polly. There was always something doing over at
the Academy, and as Mrs. Harold's guest, Peggy was naturally included.
At present football practice was absorbing the interest of the Academic
world and its friends, for in a few weeks the big Army-Navy game would
take place up in Philadelphia and Mrs. Harold had already invited Peggy
to go to it with her party. Peggy had never even seen a practice game
until taken over to the Naval Academy field with her friends, where the
boys teased her unmercifully because she asked why they didn't "have a
decently shaped ROUND ball instead of a leather watermelon which
wouldn't do a thing but flop every which way, and call it tussle-ball
instead of football?"

There was a little circle which gathered about Mrs. Harold, and which
was always alluded to as "her big children." These were men from the
different classes in the Academy, for there were no "class rates" in
"Middies' Haven," as they called her sitting-room. Peggy met them all,
though, naturally, there were some she liked better than others. Among
the upper-classmen who would graduate in the spring were three who were
at Middies' Haven whenever there was the slightest excuse for being
there. These boys who seemed quite grown-up men to fourteen-year-old
Peggy, though she soon lost her shyness with them, and learned that they
could frolic as well as the younger ones, went by the names of Happy,
Wheedles and Shortie, the latter so nicknamed because he was six feet,
four inches tall, though the others' nicknames had been bestowed because
they really fitted. There were also two or three second-classmen and
youngsters who frequently visited Mrs. Harold, one in particular, who
fascinated every one with whom he came in touch. His name was Durand
Leroux, and, strange to state, he looked enough like Peggy to be her own
brother, yet try as they would, no vestige of a relationship could be
traced, for Peggy came of purely Southern stock while Durand claimed New
England for his birthplace. Nevertheless, it became a good joke and they
were often spoken of as the twins, though Durand was three years Peggy's
senior.

Polly's chum, Ralph Wilbur, was about the same age as Durand, though in
the lowest or fourth class, having just entered the Academy, and
consequently was counted as very small fry indeed. He was a quiet,
undemonstrative chap but Peggy liked him from the moment she met him. He
had mastered one important bit of knowledge: That a "plebe" does well to
lie low, and as the result of mastering that salient fact he was well
liked by the upper-classmen and found them ready to do him a good many
friendly turns which a more "raty" fourth-classman would not have found
coming his way.

Altogether, Peggy found herself a member of a very delightful little
circle and was happier than she had ever been in her life. In Mrs.
Harold she found the love she had missed without understanding it, and
in Polly a companion who filled her days with delight.

And what busy days they were. So full of plans, duties and pleasures,
for Mrs. Harold had been very quick to understand the barrenness of
Peggy's life in spite of her rich supply of this world's goods, and she
promptly set about rounding it out as it should have been.

And so November with its wonderful Indian Summer slipped on, and it was
during one of these ideal days that an absurd episode took place upon
the well-conducted estate of Severndale, which caused Peggy to be run
most unmercifully by the boys. But before we can tell of it a few words
of explanation are needed.

As can be readily understood, in a large institution like the Naval
Academy, where the boys foregather from every state in the Union, there
are all classes and all types represented.

Among them are splendid, fine principled fellows, with high moral
standards and unimpeachable characters. And there are, alas, those of
another type also, and these are the ones who invariably make trouble
for others and are pretty sure to disgrace themselves. Fortunately, this
type rarely survives the four years' crucial test of character,
efficiency and aptitude, but is pretty sure to "pack its little grip and
fade away," as the more eligible ones express it, long before it comes
time to receive a diploma.

Unhappily, there was one man in the present first class who had managed
to remain in the Academy in spite of conduct which would have "bilged"
(Academy slang for the man who has to drop out) a dozen others, and who
was the source of endless trouble for under-classmen over whom he
contrived to exert a wholly malign influence. He seemed to be not only
utterly devoid of principle and finer feeling, but to take a perfectly
fiendish delight in corrupting the younger boys. His one idea of being
"a man" seemed to lie in the infringement of every regulation of the
Academy, and to induce others to do likewise. He had caused the
president of his class endless trouble and mortification, and distressed
Mrs. Harold beyond measure, for her interest in all in the Academy was
very keen, and especially in the younger boys, whom she knew to be at
the most susceptible period of their lives.

Had his folly been confined to mere boyish nonsense it might have been
overlooked, but it had gone on from folly to vicious conduct and his
boast was that it was his duty to harden the plebes, his idea of
hardening them being to get them intoxicated.

Now if there is one infringement of rules more sure to bring retribution
upon the perpetrator than any other, it is intoxication, and the guilty
one is most summarily dealt with. This was fully known to Blue, the
delinquent referred to, but he had by some miraculous method thus far
managed to escape conviction if not suspicion, though more than one
unfortunate under-classman had been forced to tender his resignation as
the result of going the pace with Blue.

So serious had the situation become that the president of the first
class had quietly set about a little plan in cooperation with other
members of his class which would be pretty sure to rid the Academy of
its undesirable acquisition. It was only a question of giving Blue
enough time to work his own undoing, and as things had begun to shape,
this seemed pretty sure to take place. Naturally, with feeling running
so strong, Peggy heard a good deal of it when she visited Middies'
Haven, especially since Durand Leroux, whom she had grown to like so
well, seemed to have been selected by Blue as his newest victim, greatly
to Mrs. Harold's distress, for she knew Durand to be far too easily led,
and too generous and unsuspicious to believe evil of any one. Happy-go-
lucky, carefree and ever ready for any frolic, he was exactly the type
to fall a victim to Blue's insidious influence, for Blue could be
fascinating to a degree when it served his turn. Blue was debarred the
privilege of visiting Middies' Haven, and his resentment of this
prompted him to try to wreak his vengeance upon Mrs. Harold's boys. To
their credit be it told that he had hitherto failed, but she had
misgivings of Durand; he was too mercurial.

Now Peggy had, as chatelaine of Severndale, been more than once obliged
to order the dismissal of some of the temporary hands employed about the
paddock, for Shelby was rigid upon the rule of temperance. He would have
no bibblers near the animals under his charge. He had seen too much
trouble caused by such worthless employees. Consequently, Peggy was wise
beyond her years to the gravity of intemperance and had expressed
herself pretty emphatically when Blue was discussed within the privacy
of Middies' Haven, for what was told there was sacred. That was an
unwritten law. And all this led to a ridiculous situation one day in the
middle of November, for comedy and tragedy usually travel side by side
in this world.

It fell upon an ideal Saturday afternoon, a half-holiday at the Academy.
It also happened to be Wheedles' birthday, and Mrs. Harold never let a
birthday pass without some sort of a celebration if it were possible to
have one. She had told Peggy about it, and Peggy had promptly invited a
little party up to Round Bay.

Now visiting for the midshipmen beyond the confines of the town of
Annapolis is forbidden, but Mrs. Harold, as the wife of an officer, was
at liberty to take out a party of friends in one of the Academy
launches, so she promptly got together a congenial dozen, Ralph, Happy,
Shortie, Wheedles and Durand, Captain Pennell and four others besides
Polly and herself, and in the crispness of the Indian Summer afternoon,
steamed away up the Severn to Round Bay.

Peggy had asked the privilege of providing the birthday feast and
understanding the pleasure it would give her to do so, Mrs. Harold had
agreed most readily. So immediately after luncheon formation the party
embarked at the foot of Maryland Avenue and a gayer one it would have
been hard to find.

Knowing the average boy's appetite and the midshipman's in particular,
Mrs. Harold had, with commendable forethought, brought with her a big
box of crullers, in nowise disturbed by the thought that it might spoil
their appetites for the delayed luncheon. Breakfast is served at seven
A.M. in Bancroft Hall, and the interval between that and twelve-thirty
luncheon is long enough at best. If you add to that another hour and a
half it is safe to conclude that starvation will be imminent. Hence her
box of crullers to avoid such a calamity.

The launch puffed and chugged its way up the river, running alongside
the pretty Severndale dock sharp to the minute of four bells. Peggy
stood ready to welcome them.

"Oh, isn't this lovely. Scramble ashore as fast as you can, for Aunt
Cynthia is crazy lest her fried chicken 'frazzle ter a cinder,'" she
cried as she greeted her guests.

"Who said fried chicken?" cried Happy.

"That last cruller you warned me against eating never fazed me a bit,
Little Mother," asserted Wheedles, as he assisted Mrs. Harold up the
stone steps leading from the dock.

"Beat you in a race to the lawn, Polly," shouted Ralph, back in
boyhood's world now that he was beyond the bounds of Bancroft, and the
next moment he and Polly were racing across the lawn like a pair of
children, for it seemed so good to be away for a time from the
unrelaxing discipline of the Academy, and Polly realized this as well as
the others.

"We are to have luncheon out under the oaks," said Peggy. "It is too
heavenly a day to be indoors. Jerome and Mammy have everything ready so
we have nothing to do but eat. You won't mind picnicking will you, Mrs.
Harold."

"Mind!" echoed Mrs. Harold. "Why it is simply ideal, Peggy dear. What do
you say, sons?" she asked turning to the others.

"Say! Say! Let's give the Four-N Yell right off for Peggy Stewart,
Chatelaine of Severndale!" cried Wheedles, and out upon the clear, crisp
autumn air rang the good old Navy cheer:

    "N--n--n--n!
     A--a--a--a!
     V--v--v--v!
     Y--y--y--y!

    Navy!

    Peggy Stewart! Peggy Stewart!
           Peggy Stewart!"

Peggy's cheeks glowed and her eyes shone. It was something to win that
cheer from these lads, boys at heart, though just at manhood's morning,
and sworn to the service of their flag. How she wished Daddy Neil could
hear it. Captain Pennell, into whose life during the past month had come
some incentive to live, joined in the yell with a will, giving his cap a
toss into the air when the echoes of it went floating out over the
Severn, while Mrs. Harold and Polly waved their sweaters wildly, and
yelled with all their strength.

Never had Severndale been more beautiful than upon that November
afternoon. October's rich coloring had given place to the dull reds,
burnt-umbers, and rich wood browns of late autumn, though the grass was
still green underfoot, and the holly and fir trees greener by contrast.

And Peggy was in her element.

Never in all her short life had she been so happy. All the instincts of
her Stewart ancestors with their Southern hospitality was finding
expression as she led the way to a grove of mighty oaks, tinged by night
frosts to the richest maroon, and literally kings of their surroundings,
for the deep umber tones of the beeches only served to emphasize their
coloring. Beneath them was spread a long table fairly groaning with
suggestions of the feast to come, and near it, flanked by Jerome and
Mammy, stood Dr. Llewellyn.

As the party came laughing, scrambling or walking toward it he advanced
to welcome Mrs. Harold, saying:

"Did you realize that there would be thirteen at the feast unless a
fourteenth could be pressed into service? Consider me as merely a
necessary adjunct, please, and don't let the young people regard me as a
kill-joy because I wear a long coat buttoned straight up to my chin. The
only difference really is that I have to keep mine buttoned whereas they
have to HOOK THEIR collars," and the good doctor laughed. Introductions
followed and then no time was lost in seating the luncheon party.

Then came a moment's pause. Peggy understood and Mrs. Harold's intuition
served her. She nodded to Dr. Llewellyn, and none there ever forgot the
light which illumined the fine old face as he bowed his head and said
softly in his beautifully modulated voice as though speaking to a loved
companion.

"Father, for a world so beautiful, for a day so perfect, for the joy and
privilege of association with these young people, and the new life which
they infuse into ours, we older ones thank Thee. Bring into their lives
all that is finest, truest, purest and best--true manhood and womanhood.
Amen."

Not a boy or girl but felt the beauty of those simple words and
remembered them for many a day.

The grove was not far enough from the house to chance the ruin of any of
Aunt Cynthia's dainties. A grassy path led straight to it from her
kitchen and at the conclusion of Dr. Llewellyn's grace Peggy nodded
slightly to Jerome who in turn nodded to Mammy Lucy, who passed the nod
along to some invisible individual, the series of nods bringing about a
result which nearly wrecked the dignity of the entire party, for out
from behind the long brick building in which Aunt Cynthia ruled supreme,
filed a row of little darkies each burdened with a dish, each bare-
footed, each immaculate in little white shirt and trousers, each
solemnly rolling eyes, the whites of which rivaled his shirt, and each
under Cynthia's dire threat of having his "haid busted wide open if he
done tripped or spilled a thing," walking as though treading upon eggs.

Along they came, their eyes fixed upon Jerome, for literally they were
"between the devil and the deep sea," Jerome and Cynthia being at the
beginning and end of that path. Jerome and Mammy received and placed
each steaming dish, the very personification of dignity, and in nowise
disconcerted by the titter, which soon broke into a full-lunged shout,
at the piccaninnies' solemn faces.

It was all too much for good Captain Pennell and the boys, and any "ice"
which might possibly have congealed the party, was then and there
smashed to smithereens.

"Great! Great!" shouted Captain Pennell, clapping his hands like a boy.

"Eh, this is going some," cried Happy.

"Bully for Chatelaine Peggy!" was Wheedles' outburst.

"Who says Severndale isn't all right?" echoed Ralph.

"Peggy, this is simply delicious," praised Mrs. Harold.

Peggy glowed and Jerome and Mammy beamed, while the little darkies beat
a grinning retreat to confide excitedly to Aunt Cynthia:

"Dem gemmens an' ladies yonder in de grove was so mighty pleased dat dey
jist nachally bleiged fer ter holler and laugh."

Far from proving drawbacks to the feast the captain and the doctor
entered heart and soul into the frolic, the doctor as host, slyly
nodding to the ever alert Jerome or Mammy to replenish plates, the
captain waxing reminiscent and telling many an amusing tale, and Mrs.
Harold beaming happily upon all, while to and from Cynthia's realm ran
the little darkies full of enthusiasm for "dem midshipmen mens who suah
could eat fried chicken, corn fritters, glazed sweet 'taters, and
waffles nuff fer ter bust most mens."

Certainly, Aunt Cynthia knew her business and if ever a picnic feast was
appreciated, that one was.

But the climax came with the dessert.




CHAPTER VIII

A SHOCKING DEMONSTRATION OF INTEMPERANCE


The merrymaking was at its height. The festive board had been cleared
for dessert.

"Cleared for action," Captain Pennell said.

"Not heavy fire I hope," sighed Shortie. "Peggy, will you excuse me, but
I have surely got to let out a reef if anything more is coming," and
Shortie let out a hole or two in the leather belt which encircled the
region into which innumerable waffles had disappeared.

"There are others; yes there are CERTAINLY others," laughed the captain.
"Peggy, my child, to play Circe and still smile is absolutely cruel. The
ancient Circe frowned upon her victims."

"And how can I swallow another morsel," was Polly's wail. "Peggy
Stewart, why will you have so many good things all at once? Couldn't you
have spread it out over several meals and let us have it on the
instalment plan?"

"Wheedles couldn't have his birthday that way," laughed Peggy,
unwittingly letting a cat escape from a bag, for woe upon the midshipman
whose birthday is known. Thus far Wheedles had kept it a profound
secret, and Mrs. Harold and Polly, who were wise to what was likely to
happen to him if it were known, had kept mum. But, alack, they had
forgotten to warn Peggy and her words touched off the mine.

"Eh? What? Never! Something doing? You're a sly one. Thought you'd get
off scot-free, did you? Not on your sweet life! Let's give him what for.
Excuse this digression, Peggy; it's a ceremony never omitted. It would
have been attended to earlier in the day had we suspected, and it can't
be delayed any longer. Besides we MUST shake down that which has gone
before if more is to follow. Beg pardon, Little Mother, but you know the
traditions. Make our peace with Dr. Llewellyn for this little side-
show," and the next second Wheedles was in full flight with all his
chums hotfoot upon his trail.

How in the world those boys could run as they did after such a feast
without apoplexy following, must remain a mystery to all excepting those
who have lived in their midst.

Over the lawn, dodging behind the oaks, vaulting the fence into the
adjoining field, to the consternation of half a dozen sleek, sedate
Alderney cows, tore Wheedles, his pursuers determined to overhand him
and administer the drubbing incident to the iniquity of having a
birthday.

Dr. Llewellyn and Captain Pennell rose to their feet, one shouting, the
other yelling with the rest of the mob, while Mrs. Harold and the girls
could only sit and laugh helplessly.

It was Shortie's long legs which overtook the quarry, both coming to the
ground with a crash which would have killed outright any one but a
football tackle and a basket-ball captain. In a second the whole bunch
had the laughing, helpless victim.

"Look the other way please, people," called Shortie, promptly placing
Wheedles across his knee--two men holding his arms, two more his kicking
legs--while Shortie properly and deliberately administered twenty
sounding spanks. Then releasing him he said to the others who were
nothing loath:

"Finish the job. I've done my part and I've had one corking big feed."

And they finished it by holding poor Wheedles by his shoulders and feet
and bumping him upon the grass until he must have seen stars--AND THE
DINNER WAS WELL SHAKEN DOWN.

"NOW will you try to get away from us?" they demanded, putting him upon
his feet.

"It's all over but the shouting, Little Mother, and we'll be good," they
laughed as they trooped back to the table, settling blouses, and giving
hasty pats to their dishevelled pates, for Wheedles had certainly given
them a run for their money.

Meanwhile, Jerome and Mammy had looked on half in consternation, half in
glee, for where is your pure-blooded African, old or young, who doesn't
sympathize with monkey-shines? As the administrators of justice were in
the midst of their self-imposed duties, the half-dozen little darky
servitors appeared around the corner of the house bearing the dessert,
and there is no telling what might have happened to it had not Aunt
Cynthia, hearing the uproar, and "cravin' fer ter know ef de rown' worl'
was a-comin' to an end," followed close behind her satellites. That
great mold of ice cream, mound of golden wine jelly, dishes of cakes
galore would certainly have met total destruction but for her prompt and
emphatic command:

"Yo' chillern 'tend to yo' bisness an' nemmine what gwine on over
yander." That saved the feast, for the little darkies were convinced
that "one ob dose young mens liked ter be kill fer suah."

Had it been mid-July instead of a Maryland November that ice cream could
not have vanished more quickly, and in the process of its disappearance,
Jerome vanished also. This was not noticed by Peggy's guests, but his
return was hailed with first a spontaneous shout and then a:

"Rah! Rah! Hoohrah! Hoohrah! Navy Hoohrah!" and "Oh that's some cake!"
"Nothing the matter with THAT edifice." "Who said we couldn't eat any
more?" For with the dignity of a majordomo Jerome bore upon its frilled
paper doily a huge chocolate layer cake, ornately decorated with yellow
icing, and twenty dark blue candles, their yellow flames barely
flickering in the still air, while behind him walked his little
trenchermen, one bearing a big glass pitcher of amber cider, another,
dishes of nuts, and another a tray of Mammy Lucy's home-made candies.

If ever a birthday cake was enjoyed and appreciated, certainly that one
was, and there is no telling how long the merry party would have
lingered over the nuts, candies and cider had not a startling
interruption taken place.

The afternoon was well advanced. Mrs. Harold, the captain and Dr.
Llewellyn had reached the limit of their appetites and were now watching
and listening to the merry chatter of the young people who sat sipping
the cider--they had long since passed beyond the DRINKING point--and
eating the black walnuts and hickory nuts which had been gathered upon
the estate, for Severndale was famous for its cider and nuts. The cider
was made from a brand of apples which had been grown in the days of
Peggy's great-grandfather and carefully cultivated for years. They
ripened late, and needed a touch of frost to perfect them. The
ciderhouse and press stood just beyond the meadow in which the
Severndale cows led a luxurious life of it, and the odor of the rich
fruit invariably drew a line of them to the dividing fence, where they
sniffed and peered longingly at "forbidden fruit." But if every dog, as
we are told, has his day, certainly a cow may hope to have hers some
time. That it should have happened to be Wheedles' day also was merely
accidental.

As in most respectable communities there is almost invariably an
individual or two whose conduct is open to criticism, so in Severndale's
eminently irreproachable herd of sleek kine there was one obstreperous
creature and her offspring. They were possessed to do the things their
more well conducted sisters never thought of doing. The cow had a strain
of distinctly plebian blood which, transmitted to her calf, probably
accounted for their eccentricities. If ever a fence was broken through,
if ever a brimming pail of milk was overturned, if a stable towel was
chewed to ribbons, a feed bin rifled, it could invariably be traced to
Betsy Brindle and her incorrigible daughter Sally Simple, and this
afternoon they surpassed themselves. As Peggy's guests sat in that
blissful state of mind and body resulting from being "serenely full, the
epicure would say," they were startled by an altogether rowdy, abandoned
"Moo-oo-oo-oo," echoed in a higher key, and over the lawn came two as
disreputable-looking animals as one could picture, for Betsy Brindle and
her daughter, a pretty little year-old heifer, were unquestionably,
undeniably, hopelessly intoxicated. Betsy was swaying and staggering
from side to side, wagging her head foolishly and mooing in the most
maudlin manner, while Sally, whose potations affected her quite
differently, was cavorting madly thither and yonder, one moment almost
standing upon her head, with hind legs and tail waving wildly in mid-
air, the next with the order reversed and pawing frantically at the
clouds.

Behind the arrant ones in mad chase and consternation came the young
negro lad whose duty it was to see that the cattle were properly housed
at nightfall. He had gone to the meadow for his charges only to find
these incorrigibles, as upon many another occasion, missing. How long
they had been at large he could not guess. At last, after long search,
he discovered them in the inclosure where the barreled apples were kept
and two whole barrels rifled. When this had taken place his African mind
did not analyze, though a scientist could have told him almost to an
hour and explained also that in the cows' double stomachs the apples had
promptly fermented and become highly intoxicating, with the present
result. But poor Cicero was petrified. His young mistress entertaining
"de quality" and his unruly charges scandalizing her by tearing into
their very midst.

"Moo--o--moo, e--moooo--" bellowed Betsy, making snake tracks across the
lawn.

"Moo, Moo, Moo, Moo, Mooee--" echoed Sally in lively staccato, doing a
wild Highland fling with quite original steps.

"Hi dar! Come 'long away. Get off en dat lawn. Come away from dat 'ar
pa'ty," screamed Cicero. "Ma Lawd-a-mighty, dem cows gwine 'grace me an'
ruin me fer evah," and it would doubtless have proved true had not the
boys sprung to their feet to join in the cowherd's duties, only too
ready for any prank which presented an outlet for their fun-loving
souls. Shortie promptly took command of the defending forces, and
crying:

"Come on, fellows, head the old lady off before she knocks the table
endwise," was off with a rush, the others hotfoot after him, waving arms
and shouting until poor old Betsy Brindle's addled head must have
thought all the imps of the lower regions turned loose upon her.
Circling wide, the boys made a complete barrier beyond which the poor
tipsy cow dared not force her way. So with a hopelessly pathetic "moo"
and a look at her adversaries which might have done credit to the mock
turtle of Lewis Carrol's creation, she surrendered forthwith, and
promptly flopped down in the middle of the lawn.

Not so her daughter. Not a bit of it! SHE had not finished her fling and
never did madder chase ensue than the one which at length ended in
effectually cornering the flighty one.

"Lemme tote her home. Fer de Lawd's sake, sah, lemme tote her home
quick, 'fore Unc' Jess an' Missie Peggy kill me daid," begged Cicero.

"You tote her home, you spindly little shaver! She'd part her cable and
go adrift in half a minute after you got under way. Come on, boys, we've
got to convoy this craft into her home port. Make fast," and with the
experience of three years' training in seamanship, Shortie and his
companions proceeded to make fast the recalcitrate Sally, and amidst
hoots and yells calculated to sober up the most hopeless inebriate, they
led her to her barn where Cicero read her the riot act as he fastened
her in her stall. Meanwhile Betsy had succumbed to slumber and at Dr.
Llewellyn's suggestion was left to sleep off the effects of her over-
indulgence. When the boys got back from the barn poor Peggy was run
unmercifully.

"And we thought Severndale a model home. A well-conducted establishment.
Yet the very first time we come out here we find even the COWS with a
jag on that a confirmed toper couldn't equal if he tried, and yet you
pose as a model young woman, Peggy Stewart, and are accepted in all good
faith as our Captain Polly's friend. Watch out, Little Mother. Watch
out. We can't let our little Captain visit where even the COWS give way
to such disgraceful performances."

Poor Peggy was incapable of defending herself for she and Polly had
laughed until they were weak, and for many a long day after Peggy heard
of her tipsy cows.

When peace once more descended upon the land it was almost time for the
visitors to return to Annapolis, but before departing they visited the
paddock, the stables, and the beautiful old colonial house. And so ended
Wheedles' birthday, and the next excitement was caused by the Army-Navy
game to which Peggy went with Mrs. Harold's party, enjoying the outing
as only a girl whose experiences have been limited, and who is ready for
new impressions, can enjoy. And with the passing of the game November
passed also and before she knew it Christmas was upon her, and Christmas
hitherto for Peggy had meant merely gifts from Daddy Neil and a
merrymaking for the servants. Without manifesting undue curiosity Mrs.
Harold had learned a good deal concerning Peggy's life and nothing she
had learned had touched her so deeply as the loneliness of the holiday
season for the young girl. It seemed to her the most unnatural she had
ever heard of, and something like resentment filled her heart when she
thought of Neil Stewart's unconscious neglect of his little daughter.
She argued that his failing to appreciate that he was neglectful did not
excuse the fact, and she resolved that this year Peggy should spend the
holidays with her and Polly at Wilmot, and the servants at Severndale
could look to their own well-being. Nevertheless, Peggy laid her plans
for the pleasure of the Severndale help and saw to it that they would
have a happy time under Harrison's supervision. Then Peggy betook
herself to Wilmot for the happiest Christmastide she had ever known.

The holiday season at the Academy is always a merry one, but until very
recently, there has been no Christmas recess and the midshipmen had to
find amusement right in the little old town of Annapolis, or within the
Academy's limits. The frolicking begins with the Christmas eve hop given
by the midshipmen.

Mrs. Harold had not allowed Polly to attend the hops given earlier in
the winter, for she was a wise woman and felt that social diversions of
that nature were best reserved for later years, when school-days were
ended. But she made an exception at the Christmas season, when Polly in
common with other girls, had a holiday, and Peggy and Polly would go to
the hop.

Unless one has seen a hop given at the Academy it is difficult to
understand the beauty of the scene, and to Peggy it seemed a veritable
fairy-land, with its lights, its banners, its lovely girls, uniformed
laddies and music "which would make a wooden image dance," she confided
to Mrs. Harold, and added: "And do you know, I used to rebel and be so
cranky when Miss Arnaud came to give me dancing-lessons when I was a
little thing. I just HATED it, and how she ever made me learn I just
don't know. But I had to do as she said, and maybe I'm not glad that I
DID. Why, Little Mother, suppose I HADN'T learned. Wouldn't I have been
ashamed of myself now?"

Mrs. Harold pulled a love-lock as she answered: "You train your colts,
girlie, and they are the better for their training, aren't they?"

Peggy gave a quick glance of comprehension, and her lips curved in a
smile as she said:

"But they never behave half as badly as I used to with Miss Arnaud."

And so the Christmas eve was danced away.

Christmas morning was the merriest Peggy had ever known. Long before
daylight she was wakened by Polly shaking her and crying:

"Peggy, wake up! Wake up! What do you think? Aunt Janet has filled
stockings and hung them on the foot of the bed. She must have slipped in
while we were sound asleep, and oh, I don't wonder we slept after that
dance, do you?" rattled on Polly, scrambling around to close the window
and turn on the steam, for the morning was a snappy one.

"Whow! Ooo!" yawned Peggy, to whom late hours were a novelty and who
felt as though she had dropped asleep only ten minutes before. "Why,
Polly Howland, it's pitch dark, and midnight! I know it is," she
protested. "How do you know there are stockings there, anyway?"

"I was shivering and when I reached over to get the puff cover my hand
touched something bumpy. I've felt of it and I KNOW it's a stocking. I
never thought of having one, for I thought all those things were way
back in little girl days. But turn on the electric lights quick--they're
on your side of the bed--and we'll see what's in them; the stockings, I
mean."

Peggy turned the button and the lights flashed up.

"Goodness, isn't it freezing cold," she cried. "Let's put the puff cover
around us," and rolled up in the big down coverlet the girls dove into
their bumpy stockings, exclaiming or laughing over the contents, for
evidently the boys had been in the secret, for out of Peggy's came a
little bronze cow and calf labeled "C. and S."

"Now what in the world does C. and S. stand for, I wonder?" she said.

"Oh, Peggy, those are the initials for 'Clean and Sober,' the report the
officer-of-the-deck makes when the enlisted men come aboard after being
on liberty. If they are intoxicated and untidy they check them up D. and
D.--which means Drunk and Dirty. You'll never hear the last of Betsy
Brindle's caper."

"Well look and see what they've run you about, for you won't escape,
I'll wager," laughed Peggy as merrily as though it were broad daylight
instead of five A.M.

Polly dove into her stocking to fish out a tiny rocking horse with a
doll riding astride it. The horse was to all intents and purposes on a
mad gallop, for his rider's hair, DYED A VIVID RED, was streaming out
behind, her collar was flying loose, her feet were out of the stirrups
and one shoe was gone. The mad rider bore the legend:

"Lady Gilpin."

A dozen other nonsensical things followed, but down in the toe of each
was a beautiful 19-- class pin for each of the girls, with "Co-ed 19--"
engraved on them and cards saying "with the compliments of the bunch."

By the time the stockings' contents were investigated it was time to
dress and go with Mrs. Harold to see the Christmas Parade, always given
before breakfast in Bancroft Hall and through the Yard. Mrs. Harold
tapped upon the girls' door and was greeted with "Merry Christmas! Merry
Christmas!" She entered, taking them in her arms and saying:

"Dozens and dozens for each of you, my little foster-daughters. I am so
glad to have you with me, for Christmas isn't Christmas without young
people to enjoy it, and I think I've got some of the very sweetest and
best to be had--both daughters and sons. There are no more children like
my foster-children. I am one lucky old lady."

"Old!" cried Peggy indignantly, "Why you'll never, never seem old to us,
for you just think, and see, and feel every single thing as we do."

"That's a pretty compliment," replied Mrs. Harold, sealing her words
with a kiss which was returned with earnest warmth, for Peggy was
learning to love this friend very dearly.

The Christmas Parade was funny enough, for the midshipmen had sent to
Philadelphia for their costumes and every living thing, from Fiji
Islanders, to priests, bears, lions, ballet girls or convicts raced
through the Yard to the music of "Tommy's band" as they called the
ridiculous collection of wind instruments over which one of the
midshipmen waved his baton as bandmaster.

When this great show ended, all hurried away to dress for breakfast
formation, for many were the invitations to breakfast with friends out
in town, legal holidays being the only days upon which such privileges
were allowed. Mrs. Harold had a party of five beside Polly and Peggy and
the griddle cakes which vanished that morning rivaled the number of
waffles which had disappeared at Severndale. When breakfast ended Mrs.
Harold said:

"Can you young people give me about two hours out of your day? Polly and
I have laid a little plan for someone's pleasure, which we know will be
enhanced if you boys cooperate with us."

"Count on us, Little Mother."

"We'll do anything we can for you, for you do enough for us."

"Sure thing," were the hearty replies, while Peggy slipped to her side
to whisper: "I'd almost be willing to give up my 'Co-ed' class pin if
you asked me to."

"No such sacrifice as that, honey. But let's all go up to Middies' Haven
where I'll tell you all about it."




CHAPTER IX

DUNMORE'S LAST CHRISTMAS


When Mrs. Harold's little breakfast party returned to her sitting-room,
she dropped into her favorite chair before the blazing log fire,
motioning to the others to gather about her. Polly and Peggy promptly
perched upon the arms of her chair, nestling close; Durand squatted,
Turk-fashion, upon a big cushion at her feet. Wheedles leaned with
unstudied grace against the mantel-shelf, while Happy, Ralph, and
Shortie seated themselves upon the big couch whose capacity seemed to be
something like the magic tent of the Arabian Nights' tale, and capable
of indefinite expansion.

"What is it, Little Mother?" asked Wheedles, while Durand glanced up
with his deep, dark eyes, and a slight quiver of the sensitive mouth.

"Just a little plan I have for Dunmore's happiness today" she answered,
alluding to a second-classman who had been severely injured upon the
football field late in October, and who had been paralyzed ever since.
His people lived far away and it was difficult for them to reach him,
and the day would have been a sad one but for his chums in the Academy
and his many friends.

Among these latter none were more devoted than Mrs. Harold and Polly,
for Lewis Dunmore had been one of the Little Mother's boys since he
first entered the Academy and she was nearly heart-broken at the serious
outcome of his accident, as no hope was entertained of his recovery.

All knew this, and the tenderest sympathy went out to the sick lad who
had never for a moment ceased to hope for ultimate recovery and whose
patience, courage and cheerfulness under conditions so terrible, filled
with admiration the hearts of all who knew him.

Polly had been untiring in her devotion to him, and "the little foster-
sister," as he called her, spent many an hour in the hospital, reading,
talking, or whistling like a bird, for whistling was Polly's sole
accomplishment. Peggy often went with her, for she loved to make others
happy, and many a weary hour was made less weary for him by the two
girls, and Peggy had sent many a dainty dish from Severndale, or the
fruit and flowers for which it was noted. She knew Polly and Mrs.
Howland had planned something for Christmas day, but waited for them to
tell her, feeling delicate about asking questions. She had sent over
every dainty she could think of and great bunches of mistletoe.

Mrs. Harold smiled upon the young faces she loved so dearly and said

"Yesterday morning Polly and I sent up a lot of Christmas greens and a
tree for Lewis, and later went up to dress it, arranging with the nurses
to put it in his room when he was sleeping that it might be the first
thing his eyes fell upon when he wakened this morning. He has probably
been looking at it many an hour, but we told the nurses we would come up
about ten-thirty to give him the presents. We wanted to make it a merry
hour for him, and so a lot of nonsensical things were put on for his
friends also, among them you boys and some others to whom I have
written, and who will meet us there. Can you join us?"

"Can we! Well why not? Sure! Poor old chap!" were some of the hearty
responses.

"I knew I could count upon you, so let us start at once. Go get ready,
girls."

The girls flew to their room and a moment later came back coated and
furred, for the walk up to the hospital on the hill was a bleak one. The
boys were inured to all sorts of weather, and their heavy overcoats were
a safe protection against it. It was a merry, frolicking party which set
forth, and as they crossed the athletic field a lively snowballing took
place, for a light snow had fallen the day before, turning the Yard into
a beautiful white world.

Mrs. Harold was not to be outdone by any of her young people, but
catching up handfuls of snow in her woolen-gloved hands tossed snowballs
with the best of them.

The contrast from the joy, the vigorous health of the group entering
Dunmore's room to the still, helpless figure lying upon the cot was
pathetic. The invalid could not move his head, but his great brown eyes,
and fine mouth smiled his welcome to his friends, and he said:

"Oh, it was great! Great! I saw it the first thing when I woke up. And
the holly and mistletoe up here over my bed. I don't see how they got it
hung there without my knowing when they did it."

"That was our secret," cried Polly. "And Peggy sent over the mistletoe
from Severndale, though she didn't know we were to have the tree."

"Peggy, you are all right," was Dunmore's hearty praise. "But that tree
is the prettiest thing ever. I'm as crazy as a kid about it. I sort of
dreaded Christmas, but you people have fixed it up all right and I'm no
end grateful. It's a great day after all."

Peggy who was standing where Dunmore could not see her glanced at Polly.
Polly nodded in quick understanding. "The day all right," and the poor
lad helpless as some lifeless thing. The girls' eyes filled with quick
tears which they hastened to wink away, for not for worlds would they
have saddened what both knew to be the last Christmas Lewis could pass
in this world, and Polly cried:

"Now, Tanta, let us have the presents!" For an hour the room was the
scene of a happy merrymaking, as Shortie, because he was "built on lines
to reach the top-gallants," they said, distributed the gifts, funny or
dainty, and Lewis' bed looked like a stand in a bazaar. Mrs. Harold had
given him a downy bathrobe; Peggy had made him a hop pillow; Polly had
made up a nonsense jingle for each day for a month, sealing each in an
envelope and labelling it with dire penalties if read before the date
named.

But best of all, the class had sent him his class-ring and when it was
slipped upon his finger by his roommate, the poor lad broke down
completely.

Mrs. Harold hastened to the bedside and the others did their best to
relieve the situation.

The class-ring is never worn by a second-classman until the last exam is
passed by the first class. Then the new class-rings blossom forth in all
their glory, for this ring is peculiarly significant: It is looked
forward to as one of the greatest events in the class' history, and is a
badge of union forever.

Realizing that Dunmore could not be with them when the time came for
them to put on their own, his classmates had unanimously voted to give
him his as a Christmas gift, and nothing they could have done could
possibly have meant so much to him. He was prouder than he had ever been
before in his life, but--with the gift came the faint premonition of the
inevitable; the first doubt of future recovery; the first hint that
perhaps he had been harboring false hopes, and it almost overwhelmed
him, and Mrs. Harold read it all in a flash. But Peggy saved the day.
Slipping to his side she said:

"Aren't you proud to be the very first to wear it? They wanted to give
you a Christmas present, but couldn't think of a single thing you'd
enjoy while you were so ill. Then they thought of the ring. Of course
you could enjoy THAT, and there was no reason in the world that you
shouldn't either, and the other boys will be happy seeing you wear it
and count the days before they can put theirs on. And it is such a
beauty, isn't it? We are all so glad you've got it. You can just wiggle
your finger and crow over the others every time they come to visit you."

Lewis looked up at her and smiled. He understood better than she guessed
why she had talked so fast, and was grateful, but the pang was beneath
the smile nevertheless.

Then dinner-hour drawing near the white-capped nurse came in as a gentle
hint that her patient had had about all the excitement he could stand,
and Mrs. Harold suggested their departure. Their last glance showed them
Lewis Dunmore looking at his class-ring, for he could move that arm just
enough to enable him to raise the hand within his range of vision.

The week following was a happy one for all. Each afternoon an informal
dance was given in the gymnasium and the girls pranced to their hearts'
content. As the week drew to an end the weather grew colder and colder
until with Saturday came a temperature which froze College Creek solid.
This was most unusual for the season, but was hailed with wild
rejoicings by the boys and girls, for skating is a rare novelty in
Annapolis.

Saturday dawned an ideal winter day, clear, cold, and white.

"Can you skate, Peggy?" asked Polly, diving into her closet for a pair
of skates which she had brought South with her, though with small hope
of using them.

"Y--e--s," answered Peggy, doubtfully. "I can skate--after a fashion,
but I'm afraid my skating will not show to very great advantage beside
yours, you Northern lassie."

"Nonsense. I'll wager one of Aunt Cynthia's cookies that you can skate
as well as I can, though you never would admit it."

There had not been much chance for stirring exercise for the girls since
the snow fell and really cold weather set in, for there was not much
pleasure in riding under such conditions, and they had both missed the
healthy outdoor sport. But the prospect of skating set them both a-
tingle to get upon the ice and they were eagerly awaiting the official
order from the Academy, for no one is allowed upon the ice until it is
pronounced entirely safe by the authorities, and the Commandant gives
permission. Of course, this does not apply to the townspeople or to that
section of the creek beyond the limits of the Academy, but it is very
rigidly enforced within it. As the girls were eager to learn whether the
brigade would have permission that afternoon, they went over to hear the
orders read at luncheon formation, and came back nearly wild with
delight to inform Mrs. Harold that not only was permission granted but
that the band would play at the edge of the creek from four until six
o'clock.

"And if THAT won't be ideal I'd like to know what can be," cried Polly,
and scarcely had she spoken when the telephone rang.

"Hello. Yes, it's Polly. Of course we can. What time! To the very
minute. Yes, Peggy's right here beside me and fairly dancing up and down
to know what we are talking about. No, don't come out for us; we will
meet you at the gate at three-thirty sharp. Good-bye," and snapping the
receiver into its socket, Polly whirled about to catch Peggy in a
regular bear hug and cry:

"It was Happy. He and the others want us ALL to come over at three-
thirty. Aunt Janet, too. They have an ice-chair for her; they borrowed
it from someone. Oh, won't it be fun!"

Peggy's dark eyes sparkled, then she said: "But my skates. They are 'way
out at Severndale."

Without a word Mrs. Harold walked to the telephone and a moment later
was talking with Harrison. The skates would be sent in by the two
o'clock car. Promptly at three-thirty the girls and Mrs. Harold entered
the Maryland Avenue gate where they were met by Shortie, Wheedles,
Happy, Durand and Ralph; Durand promptly appropriating Peggy, while
Ralph, cried:

"Come on, Polly, this is going to be like old times up at Montgentian."

It would have been hard to picture a prettier sight than the skaters
presented that afternoon, the boys in their heavy reefers and woolen
watch-caps; the girls in toboggan caps and sweaters. Over in the west
the sky was a rich rosy glow, for the sun sinks behind the hills by
four-thirty during the short winter afternoons. The Naval Academy band
stationed at the edge of the broad expanse of the ice-bound creek was
sending its inspiring strains out across the keen, frosty air which
seemed to hold and toy with each note as though reluctant to let it die
away.

The boys took turns in pushing Mrs. Harold's chair, spinning it along
over the smooth surface of the ice in the wake of Peggy, Polly and the
others, who now and again joined hands to "snap-the-whip," "run-the-
train," or go through some pretty figure. Polly and Ralph were clever at
this and very soon Peggy caught the trick. The creek was crowded, for
nearly half the town as well as the people from the Yard were enjoying
the rare treat.

The band had just finished a beautiful waltz to which all had swung
across the creek in perfect rhythm, when one of the several enlisted
men, stationed along the margin of the creek, and equipped with stout
ropes and heavy planks in the event of accident, sounded "attention" on
a bugle. Instantly, every midshipman, officer, or those in any way
connected with the Academy, halted and stood at attention to hear the
order.

"No one will be allowed to go below the bridge. Ice is not safe," rang
out the order.

Nearly every one heard and to hear was, of course, to obey for all in
the Academy, but there are always heedless ones, or stupid ones in this
world, and in the numbers gathered upon the ice that afternoon there
were plenty of that sort, and it sometimes seems as though they were
sent into this world to get sensible people into difficulties. Of course
the heedless ones were too busy with their own concerns to pay heed to
the warning. A group of young girls from the town were skating together
close to the lower bridge. Durand and Peggy were near the Marine
Barracks shore, when they became aware of their reckless venturing upon
the dangerous ice.

"Durand, look," cried Peggy. "Those girls must be crazy to go out there
after hearing that order."

"They probably never heard it at all. Some of those cits make me tired.
They seem to have so little sense. Now I'll bet my sweater that every
last person connected with the Yard heard it, but, I'd bet TWO sweaters
that not half the people from the town did, yet there was no reason they
shouldn't. It was read for their benefit just exactly as much as ours,
but they act as though we belonged to some other world and the orders
were for our benefit, but their undoing."

"Not quite so bad as all that, I hope," laughed Peggy, as they joined
hands and swung away. A moment later she gave a sharp cry. Durand had
turned and was skating backward with Peggy "in tow." He spun around just
in time to see a little girl about ten years of age throw up her hands
and crash through the rotten ice. Peggy had seen her as she laughingly
broke away from the group of older girls to dart beneath the bridge.

"Quick! Beat it for help," shouted Durand, flinging off his reefer and
striking out for the screaming girls. He had not made ten strides when a
second girl in rushing to her friend's assistance, went through too, the
others darting back to safer ice and shrieking for help. Durand now had
a proposition on hand in short order, but Peggy's wits worked rapidly:
If she left Durand to go for help he would have his hands more than
full. Moreover, the alarm had already been sounded and the Jackies were
coming on a run. So she did exactly as Durand was doing: laid flat upon
the ice and worked her way toward the second struggling victim. Durand
had caught the child and was doing his best to keep her afloat and
himself from being dragged into the freezing water, but Peggy's victim
was older and heavier.

"Oh, save me! Save me!" she screamed.

"Hush. Keep still and we'll get you out," commanded Peggy, doing her
utmost to keep free of the wildly thrashing arms, while holding on to
the girl's coat with all the strength of desperation. It would have gone
ill with the girl and Peggy, however, had not help come from the bridge
where the Jackies had acted as such men invariably do: promptly and
without fuss. In far less time than seemed possible, two of them, with
ropes firmly bound about their bodies, were in the water, while two more
pulled them and their struggling charges to safety, and two more in the
perfect order of their discipline drew Peggy and Durand from their
perilous situation, and just then Mrs. Harold's party came rushing up,
she and Polly white with terror.

"Peggy, Peggy, my little girl! If anything had happened to you," cried
Mrs. Harold, gathering her into her arms.

"But there hasn't. Not a single thing, Little Mother. I'm not hurt a
bit, and only a little wet and that won't hurt me because my clothes are
so thick." But the girl's voice shook and she trembled in spite of her
words, for the last few minutes had taxed both strength and courage.

Meantime the boys had gathered about Durand, but boy-like made light of
the episode though down in their hearts they knew it had required pluck
and steady nerve to do as he had done, and their admiration found
expression in hauling off their reefers to force them upon him, or in
giving him a clip upon the back and telling him he was "all right," and
to "come on back to Bancroft for a rub-down after his bath." But no one
underrated the courage of either and they were hurried home to be cared
for, though it was many hours before Mrs. Harold could throw off the
horror of what might have happened, and Peggy was a heroine for many a
day to her intense annoyance.




CHAPTER X

A DOMESTIC EPISODE


In spite of the scare all had received the previous Saturday, the New
Year's eve hop was thoroughly enjoyed, for neither Durand nor Peggy was
the worse for the experience, and the old year was danced out upon
light, happy toes, only one shadow resting upon the joyous evening.

For over a year, there had been an officer stationed at the Academy who
had been a source of discord among his fellow-officers, and a martinet
with the midshipmen. He was small, petty, unjust, and not above
resorting to methods despised by his confreres. He was loathed by the
midshipmen because they could never count upon what they termed "a
square deal," and consequently never knew just where they stood.

There were several who seemed to have incurred his especial animosity,
and Durand in particular he hated: hated because the boy's quick wits
invariably got him out of the scrapes which his mischievous spirit
prompted, and "Gumshoes," as the boys had dubbed the officer, owing to
his habit of sneaking about "looking for trouble," was not clever enough
to catch him.

And thus it came about that, being once more circumvented by Durand on
New Year's eve in a trivial matter at which any other officer would have
laughed, he resorted to ways and means which a man with a finer sense of
honor would have despised and--again he failed. But his chance came on
New Year's day, when Durand, led into one of the worst scrapes of his
life by Blue, fell into his clutches and the outcome was so serious that
the entire brigade was restricted to the Yard's limits for three months,
and gloom descended not only upon the Academy but upon all its friends.

Naturally, with her boys debarred from Middies' Haven, Mrs. Harold could
do little for the girls, and their only sources of pleasure lay in such
amusements as the town afforded and these were extremely limited. So
much time was spent at Severndale with Peggy, and it was during one of
these visits that Mrs. Harold figured in one of the domestic episodes of
Severndale. They were not new to Peggy for she was Southern-born and
used to the vagaries and childlike outbreaks of the colored people. But
even though Mrs. Harold had lived among them a great deal, and thought
she understood them pretty thoroughly, she had yet to learn some of the
African's eccentricities.

January dragged on, the girls working with Captain Pennell and Dr.
Llewellyn. During the month, one of the hands, Joshua Jozadak Jubal
Jones, by the way, fell ill with typhoid fever, and was removed to the
hospital. From the first his chances of recovery seemed doubtful, and
"Minervy" his wife, as strapping, robust a specimen of her race as poor
Joshua was tiny and, as she expressed it, "pore and pindlin'," was in a
most emotional frame of mind. Again and again she came up to the great
house to "crave consolatiom" from Miss Peggy, or Mammy Lucy, though,
truth to tell, Mammy's sympathies were not very deeply enlisted. Minervy
Jones did not move in the same SOCIAL SET in which Mammy held a
dignified position: Mammy was "an emerged Baptis'"; Minervy a "Shoutin'
Mefodist," and a strong feeling existed between the two little colored
churches. Peggy visited the hospital daily and saw that Joshua lacked
for nothing. Mrs. Harold was deeply concerned for Peggy's sake, for
Peggy looked to the well-being of all the help upon the estate with the
deep interest which generations of her ancestors had manifested, indeed
regarded as incumbent upon them and part of their obligation to their
dependents.

Days passed and poor Joshua grew no better, Minervy meanwhile spending
most of her time in Aunt Cynthia's kitchen where she could sustain the
inner woman with many a tidbit from the white folks' table, and
speculate upon what was likely to become of them if her "pore lil
chillern were left widderless orphans." It need hardly be added that the
prospective "widderless orphans" were left to shift largely for
themselves while she was accepting both mental and physical sustenance.

It was upon one of these visits, so indefinitely prolonged that Mammy's
patience was at the snapping point, that she decided to give a needed
hint. Entering the kitchen she said to Aunt Cynthia:

"'Pears ter me yo' must have powerful lot o' time on han', Sis' Cynthy."

"Well'm I AIN'T. No ma'am, not me," was Cynthia's prompt reply, for to
tell the truth she was beginning to weary of doling out religious
consolation and bodily sustenance, yet hospitality demanded something.

"Well, I reckons Miss Peggy's cravin' fer her luncheon, an' it's high
time she done got it, too. Is yo' know de time?"

"Cou'se I knows de time," brindled Cynthia, "but 'pears lak time don'
count wid some folks. Kin YO' see de clock, Mis' Jones?"

The question was sprung so suddenly that Minerva jumped.

"Yas'm, yas'm, Mis' Johnson, I kin see hit; yis, I kin," answered
Minervy, craning her neck for a pretended better view.

"Well, den, please, ma'am, tell me just 'zactly what it IS."

This was a poser. Minervy knew no more of telling time than one of her
own children, but rising from her chair, she said:

"I 'clar ter goodness, I'se done shed so many tears in ma sorrer and
grief over Joshua dat I sho' is a-loosin' ma eyesight." She then went
close to the clock, looked long and carefully at it, but shook her head
doubtfully. At length a bright idea struck her and turning to Cynthia
she announced:

"Why, Sis' Cynthia, I believes yo' tryin' ter projec' wid me; dat clock
don' STRIKE 'TALL. But I 'clar I mus' be a-humpin' masef todes dera
chillern. I shore mus'."

"Yes, I'd 'vise it pintedly," asserted Cynthia, while Mammy Lucy added:

"It's sprisin' how some folks juties slips dey min's."

Three days later word came to Severndale that Joshua could hardly
survive the day and Peggy, as she felt duty bound, went over to
Minervy's cabin. She found her sitting before her fire absolutely idle.

"Minervy," she began, "I have had word from the hospital and Joshua is
not so well. I think you would better go right over."

"Yas'm, yas'm, Miss Peggy, I spec's yo' sees it dat-a-way, honey, but--
but yo' sees de chillern dey are gwine car'y on scan'lus if I leaves
'em. My juty sho' do lie right hyer, yas'm it sho' do."

"But Minervy, Joshua cannot live."

"Yas'm, but he ain' in his min' an' wouldn't know me no how, but dese
hyer chillerns is ALL got dey min's cl'ar, an' dey STUMMICKS empty.
No'm, I knows yo' means it kindly an' so I teks hit, but I knows ma
juty," and nothing Peggy could say had any effect.

That night Joshua died. The word came to Severndale early the following
morning.

"Well," said Mrs. Harold, "from her philosophical resignation to the
situation yesterday, I don't imagine she will be greatly overcome by the
news."

"Mh--um," was Mammy's non-committal lip-murmur, and Peggy wagged her
head. Mrs. Harold and Polly were spending the week at Severndale, and
were dressing for breakfast. Their rooms communicated with Peggy's and
they had been laughing and talking together when the 'phone message
came.

"Mammy," called Peggy. "Please send word right down to Minervy."

"Yas, baby, I sends it, and den yo' watch out," warned Mammy.

"What for?" asked Peggy.

"Fo' dat 'oman. She gwine mak one fuss DIS time ef she never do again."

"Nonsense, Mammy, I don't believe she cares one straw anyway. She is the
most unfeeling creature I've ever seen."

"She may be ONfeelin' but she ain' ON-doin', yo' mark me," and Mammy
went off to do as she was bidden.

Perhaps twenty minutes had passed when the quiet of the lower floor was
torn by wild shrieks and on-rushing footsteps, with voices vainly
commanding silence and decorum: commands all unheeded. Then came a final
rush up the stairs and Minervy distraught and dishevelled burst into
Mrs. Harold's room, and without pausing to see whom she was falling
upon, flung her arms about that startled woman, shrieking:

"He's daid! He's daid! Dem pore chillern is all widderless orphans. I
felt it a-comin'! Who' gwine feed an' clothe and shelter dose pore
lambs? Ma heart's done bruck! Done bruck!"

"Minervy! Minervy! Do you know what you are doing! Let go of Mrs. Harold
this instant," ordered Peggy, nearly overcome with mortification that
her guest should meet with such an experience at Severndale. "Do you
hear me? Control yourself at once."

She strove to drag the hysterical creature from Mrs. Harold, but she
might as well have tried to drag away a wild animal. Minervy continued
to shriek and howl, while Mammy, scandalized beyond expression, scolded
and stormed, and Jerome called from the hall below.

Then Mrs. Harold's sense of humor came to her rescue and she had an
inspiration, for she promptly decided that there was no element of grief
in Minervy's emotions.

"Minerva, Minerva, HAVE you ordered your mourning? You knew Joshua could
not live," she cried.

Had she felled the woman with a blow the effect could not have been more
startling. Instantly the shrieks ceased and releasing her hold Minervy
struck an attitude:

"No'm, I HASN'T! I cyant think how I could a-been so careless-like, an'
knowin' all de endurin' time dat I boun' fer ter be a widder. How could
I a-been so light-minded?"

"Well, you have certainly got to have some black clothes right off. It
would be dreadful not to have proper mourning for Joshua."

Meanwhile Peggy and Polly had fled into the next room.

"I sho' mus', ma'am. How could I a-been so 'crastinatin' an' po' Joshua
a-dyin' all dese hyer weeks. I am' been 'spectful to his chillern; dat I
ain't. Lemme go right-way an' tink what I's needin'. But please ma'am,
is YO' a widder 'oman? Case ef yo' is yo's had spurrience an' kin tell
me bes' what I needs."

It was with difficulty that Mrs. Harold controlled her risibles, so
utterly absurd rather than pathetic was the whole situation, for not one
atom of real grief for Joshua lay in poor, shallow Minervy's heart. Then
Mrs. Harold replied:

"No, Minervy. I am not a widow; at least I am only a GRASS widow, and
they do not wear mourning, you know."

"No'm, no'm, I spec's not. But what mus' I git for masef an' does po'
orphans!"

"Well, you have a black skirt, but have you a waist and hat? And you
would better buy a black veil; not crape, it is too perishable; get
nun's veiling, and--"

"Nun's veilin'? Nun's veilin'?" hesitated Minervy. "But I ain' NO NUN,
mistiss, I'se a WIDDER. I ain' got no kind er use fer dem nunses wha'
don' never mahry. I'se been a mahryin' 'oman, _I_ is."

"Well you must choose your own veil then," Mrs. Harold managed to reply.

"Yas'm, I guesses I better, an' I reckons I better git me a belt an'
some shoes, 'case if I gotter be oneasy in ma min' dars no sort o'
reason fer ma bein' uneasy in ma FOOTS too, ner dem chillern neither.
Dey ain' never is had shoes all 'roun' ter onct, but I reckons dey
better he fitted out right fer dey daddy's funeral. Dey can't tend it
hut onct in all dey life-times no how. And 'sides, I done had his life
assured 'gainst dis occasiom, an' I belongs ter de sassiety wha' burys
folks in style wid regalions. Dey all wears purple velvet scaffses ober
dey shoulders an' ma'ches side de hearse. Dar ain' nothin' cheap an' no
'count bout DAT sassiety. No ma'am! An' I reckons I better git right
long and look arter it all," and Minervy, still wiping her eyes, hurried
from the room, Mammy's snort of outrage unheeded, and her words:

"NOW what I done tole yo', baby? I tells yo' dat 'oman ain' mo'n ha'f
human if she IS one ob ma own color. _I_'S a cullured person, but she's
jist pure nigger, yo' hyar me?" and Mammy flounced from the room.

Polly and Peggy reentered Mrs. Harold's room. She had collapsed upon the
divan, almost hysterical, and Polly looked as though someone had dashed
cold water in her face. Peggy was the only one who accepted the
situation philosophically. With a resigned expression she said:

"THAT'S Minervy Jones. She is one type of her race. Mammy is another.
Now we'll see what she'll buy. I'll venture to say that every penny she
gets from Joshua's life-insurance will be spent upon clothes for herself
and those children."

"And _I_ started the idea," deplored Mrs. Harold.

"Oh, no, you did not. She would have thought of it as soon as she was
over her screaming, only you stopped the screaming a little sooner, for
which we ought to be grateful to you. She is only one of many more
exactly like her."

"Do you mean to tell me that there are many as heedless and foolish as
she is?" demanded Mrs. Harold.

"Dozens. Ask Harrison about some of them."

"Well, I never saw anything like her," cried Polly, indignantly. "I
think she is perfectly heartless."

"Oh, no, she isn't. She simply can't hold more than one idea at a time.
Just now it's the display she can make with her insurance money. They
insure each other and everything insurable, and go half naked in order
to do so. The system is perfectly dreadful, but no one can stop them.
Probably every man and woman on the place knows exactly what she will
receive and half a dozen will come forward with money to lend her, sure
of being paid back by this insurance company. It all makes me positively
sick, but there is no use trying to control them in that direction. I
don't wonder Daddy Neil often says they were better off in the old days
when a master looked after their well-being."

An hour later Minervy was driving into Annapolis, three of her boon
companions going with her, the "widderless orphans" being left to get on
as best they could. She spent the entire morning in town, returning
about three o'clock with a wagonful of purchases. Poor Joshua's remains
were being looked after by the Society and would later come to
Severndale.

Mrs. Harold and the girls were sitting in the charming living-room when
Jerome came to ask if Miss Peggy would speak with Minervy a moment.

"Oh, DO bring her in here," begged Mrs. Harold.

Peggy looked doubtful, but consented, and Jerome went to fetch the
widow.

When she entered the room Mrs. Harold and the girls were sorely put to
it to keep sober faces, for Minervy had certainly outdone herself; not
only Minervy, but her entire brood which followed silently and
sheepishly behind her. Can Minervy's "mourning" be described? Upon her
head rested a huge felt hat of the "Merry Widow" order, and encircling
it was a veil of some sort of stiff material, more like crinoline than
crape. There were YARDS of it, and so stiff that it stuck straight out
behind her like a horse's tail. Under the brim was a white WIDOW'S
ruche. Her waist was a black silk one adorned with cheap embroidery, and
a broad belt displayed a silver buckle at least four inches in diameter,
ornamented with a huge glass carbuncle at least half the buckle's size.
On her own huge feet were a pair of shining patent-leather shoes
sporting big gilt buckles, and each child wore PATENT-LEATHER DANCING
POMPS.

"Why, Minervy," cried Peggy, really distressed, "How COULD you?"

"Why'm, ain' we jist right? I thought I done got bargains wha' jist
nachally mak' dat odder widow 'oman tek a back seat AN' sit down. SHE
didn't git no sich style when James up an died," answered Minervy,
reproach in her tone and eyes.

"But, Minervy," interposed Mrs. Harold. "That bright red stone in the
buckle; how can you consider THAT MOURNING? And your veil shouldn't
stick--I mean it ought to hang down properly."

Minervy looked deeply perturbed. Shifting from one patent-leather-shod
foot to the other, she answered:

"Well'm, well'm, I dare say you's had more spurrience in dese hyer
t'ings 'n I is, but dat ston certain'y did strike ma heart. But ef yo'
say 'taint right why, pleas ma'am git a pair o' scissors an' prize it
out, tho' I done brought de belt fer de sake ob dat buckle. Well,
nemmine. I reckons I kin keep it, an' if I ever marhrys agin it sho will
come in handy."

The combined efforts of Mrs. Harold, Peggy and Polly eventually got
Minervy passably presentable as to raiment, but there they gave up the
obligation.

On the following Sunday the funeral was held with all the ceremony and
display dear to the African heart, but "Sis Cynthia, Mammy Lucy and
Jerome were too occupied with domestic duties to attend." "I holds masef
clar 'bove sich goin's-on," was Mammy's dictum. "When _I_ dies, I
'spects ter be bur'rid quiet an' dignumfied by ma MISTISS, an' no sich
crazy goin's on as dem yonder."

Later Minervy and her "nine haid ob chillern" betook themselves into the
town of Annapolis where matrimonial opportunities were greater, and,
sure enough, before two months were gone by she presented herself to
Peggy, smiling and coy, to ask:

"Please, ma'am, is yo' got any ol' white stuff wha' I could use fer a
bridal veil?"

"A BRIDAL veil?" repeated Peggy, horrified at this new development.

"Yas'm, dat's what I askin' fer. Yo' see, Miss Peggy, dat haid waiter
man at de Central Hotel, he done fall in love wid ma nine haid o' po'
orphanless chillern an' crave fer ter be a daddy to 'em. An' Miss Peggy,
honey, Johanna she gwine be ma bride's maid, an' does yo' reckon yo's
got any ole finery what yo' kin giv' her? She's jist 'bout yo' size,
ma'am."

Johanna was Minervy's eldest daughter.

"Yes. I'll get exactly what you want," cried Peggy, her lips set and her
eyes snapping, for her patience was exhausted.

Going to her storeroom Peggy brought to light about three yards of white
cotton net and a pistachio green mull gown, long since discarded. It was
made with short white lace sleeves and low cut neck.

"Here you are," she said, handing them to Minervy who was thrown into a
state of ecstacy. "But wait a moment; it lacks completeness," and she
ran to her room for a huge pink satin bow. "There, tell Johanna to pin
THAT on her head and the harlequin ice will be complete."

But her sarcasm missed its mark. Then Peggy went to her greenhouses and
gathering a bunch of Killarney roses walked out to the little burial lot
where the Severndale help slept and laying them upon Joshua's grave said
softly:

"YOU were good and true and faithful, and followed your light."

[Footnote: NOTE--The author would like to state that this episode
actually did take place upon the estate of a friend.]




CHAPTER XI

PLAYING GOOD SAMARITAN


February had passed and March was again rushing upon Severndale. A cold,
wild March, too. Perhaps because it was coming in like a lion it would
go out like a lamb. It is nearly a year since we first saw Peggy Stewart
seated in the crotch of the snake-fence talking with Shashai and
Tzaritza, and in that year her whole outlook upon life has changed. True
it was then later in the month and spring filled the air, but a few
weeks make vast changes in a Maryland springtide. And Daddy Neil was
coming home soon! Coming in time for an alumni meeting during June week
at the Academy, and Mr. Harold was coming also. These facts threw every
one at Severndale, as well as Mrs. Harold and Polly into a flutter of
anticipation. But several weeks--yes, three whole months in fact--must
elapse before they would arrive, for the ships were only just leaving
Guantanamo for Hampton Roads and then would follow target practice off
the Virginia Capes.

Mrs. Harold and Polly were going to run down to Hampton Roads for a
week, to meet Mr. Harold, but Commander Stewart's cruiser would not be
there. He was ordered to Nicaragua where one of the periodical
insurrections was taking place and Uncle Sam's sailor boys' presence
would probably prove salutary. At any rate, Neil Stewart could not be at
Hampton Roads, and consequently Peggy decided not to go down with her
friends, though urged to join them. Meanwhile she worked away with
Compadre and as March slipped by acquired for Severndale a most valuable
addition to its paddock.

It all came about in a very simple manner, as such things usually do.

All through Maryland are many small farms, some prosperous, some so
slack and forlorn that one wonders how the owners subsist at all. It
often depends upon the energy and industry of the individual. These
farmers drive into Annapolis with their produce, and when one sees the
animals driven, and vehicles to which they are harnessed, one often
wonders how the poor beasts have had strength to make the journey even
if the vehicle has managed to hold together. Often there is a lively
"swapping" of horses at the market-place and a horse may change owners
three or four times in the course of a morning.

It so happened that Peggy had driven into Annapolis upon one of these
market days, and having driven down to the dock to make inquiry for some
delayed freight, was on her way back when she noticed a pair of flea-
bitten gray horses harnessed to a ramshackle farm wagon. The wagon
wheels were inches thick with dry mud, for the wagon had probably never
been washed since it had become its present owner's property. The
harness was tied in a dozen places with bits of twine, and the horses
were so thin and apparently half-starved that Peggy's heart ached to see
them. Pulling up her own span she said to Jess:

"Oh, Jess, how CAN any one treat them so? They seem almost too weak to
stand, but they have splendid points. Those horses have seen better days
or I'm much mistaken and they come of good stock too."

"Dey sho' does, missie," answered Jess, pleased as Punch to see his
young mistress' quick eye for fine horseflesh, though it must be
admitted that the fine qualities of these horses were well disguised,
and only a connoisseur could have detected them.

As they stood looking at the horses the owner came up accompanied by
another man. They were in earnest conversation, the owner evidently
protesting and his companion expostulating. Something impelled Peggy to
tarry, and without seeming to do so, to listen. She soon grasped the
situation: The horses' owner owed the other man some money which he was
unable to pay. The argument grew heated. Peggy was unheeded. The upshot
was the transfer of ownership of one of the span of horses to the other
man, the new owner helping unharness the one chosen, its mate looking on
with surprised, questioning eyes, as though asking why he, too, was not
being unharnessed. The new owner did not seem over-pleased with his
bargain either (he lacked Peggy's discernment) and vented his ill-temper
upon the poor horse. Presently he led him away, the mate whinnying and
calling after his companion in a manner truly pathetic.

"Quick, Jess," ordered Peggy, "go and find out who that man is and where
he is taking that horse, but don't let him suspect why."

Jess scrambled out of the surrey, saying: "Yo' count on ME, Miss Peggy.
I's wise, I is; I ketches on all right."

Peggy continued to watch. The man sat down upon an upturned box near his
wagon, buried his face in his hands and seemed oblivious of all taking
place around him. Presently the horse turned toward him and nickered
questioningly. The man looked up and reaching out a work-hardened hand,
stroked the poor beast's nose, saying:

"'Taint no use, Pepper; he's done gone fer good. Everythin's gone, and I
wisht ter Gawd I was done gone too, fer 'taint no use. The fight's too
hard for us."

Just then he caught the eye of the young girl watching him. There was
something in her expression which seemed to spell hope: he felt utterly
hopeless. She smiled and beckoned to him. She was so used to being
obeyed that his response was as a matter of course to her. He moved
slowly toward the surrey, resting his hand upon the wheel and looking up
at her with listless eyes. "You want me, miss?" he asked.

Peggy said gently:

"I couldn't help seeing what happened; I was right here. Please don't
think me inquisitive, but would you mind telling me something about your
horses? I love them so, and--and--and--I think yours have good blood."

The furrowed, weatherbeaten face seemed transformed as he answered:

"Some of the best in the land, miss. Some of the best. How did ye guess
it?"

"I did not guess it; I knew it. I raise horses."

"Then you're Miss Stewart from Severndale, ain't ye?"

"Yes, and you?"

"I'm jist Jim Bolivar. I live 'bout five mile this side of Severndale.
Lived there nigh on ter twenty year, but YO' wouldn't never know me, o'
course, though I sometimes drives over to yo' place."

"But how do you expect to drive back all that distance with only one
horse? Did you sell the other, or only lend him?"

For a moment the man hesitated. Then looking into the clear, tender eyes
he said:

"He had ter go, miss. Everything's gone ag'in me for over a year; I owed
Steinberger fifty dollars; I couldn't pay him; I'd given Salt fer
s'curity."

"Salt?" repeated Peggy in perplexity.

"Yes'm, Pepper's mate. I named 'em Pepper 'n Salt when they was young
colts," and a faint smile curved the speaker's lips. Peggy nodded and
said:

"Oh, I see. That was clever. They DO look like pepper and salt."

"Did," corrected the man. "There ain't but one now. But Salt were worth
more 'n fifty dollars; yes, he were."

 "He certainly was," acquiesced Peggy. "Do you want to sell Pepper too?"

"I'd sell my HEART, miss, if I could get things fer Nell."

"Who is Nell?"

"My girl, miss. Nigh 'bout yo' age, I reckons, but not big an' healthy
an' spry like yo'. She's ailin' most o' the time, but we's mighty po,'
miss, mighty po'. We ain't allers been, but things have gone agin us
pretty steady. Last year the hail spoilt the crops, an' oh well, yo'
don't want ter hear 'bout my troubles."

"I want to hear about any one's troubles if I can help them. How shall
you get back to your place?"

"Reckon I'll have ter onhitch an' ride Pepper back, on'y I jist
natchelly hate ter see Nell's face when I get thar 'thout Salt. She set
sich store by them horses, an' they'd foiler her anywheres. I sort ter
hate ter start, miss."

"Listen to me," said Peggy. "What does Nell most need?"

"Huh! MOST need? Most need? Well if I started in fer ter tell what she
MOST needs I reckon you'd be scart nigh ter death. She needs everythin'
an' seems like I can't git nothin'."

"Well what did you hope to get for her?" asked Peggy, making a random
shot.

"Why she needs some shoes pretty bad, an' the doctor said she ought ter
have nourishin' things ter eat, but, somehow, we can't seem ter git many
extras."

"Will you go into the market and get what you'd like from Mr. Bodwell?
Here, give him this and tell him Miss Stewart sent you," and hastily
taking a card from her case, Peggy wrote upon it:

"Please give bearer what is needed," and signed her name. "Get a good
thick steak and anything else Nell would like."

The man hesitated. "But I ain't askin' charity, miss."

"This is for NELL, and maybe I'll buy Pepper--if SHE will sell him,"
flashed Peggy, with a radiant smile.

"I'll do as yo' tell me, miss. Mebbe it's Providence. Nell always says:
'The good Lord'll tell us how, Dad,' an' mebbe she's right, mebbe she
is," and worn, weary, discouraged Jim Bolivar went toward the market.
During his absence Jess returned.

"Dat man's a no' 'count dead beat, Miss Peggy. Yas'm, he is fer a fac',
an' he gwine treat dat hawse scan'lous."

Peggy's eyes grew dark. "We'll see," was all she said, but Jess
chuckled. Most of the help at Severndale knew that look. "Jess,
unharness that horse and tie him behind the surrey," was her next
astonishing order.

"Fo' de Lawd's sake, Miss Peggy, what yo' bown' fer ter do? Yo' gwine
start hawsestealin'?" Jess didn't know whether to laugh or take it
seriously. When Jim Bolivar returned Pepper was trying to reason out the
wherefor of being hitched behind such a handsome vehicle as Peggy's
surrey, and Jess was protesting:

"But--but--butter," stammered Jess, "Miss Peggy, yo' am' never in de
roun' worl' gwine ter drive from de town an' clar out ter Severndale wid
dat disrep'u'ble ol' hawse towin' 'long behime WE ALL?"

"I certainly am, and what is more, Jim Bolivar is going to sit on the
back seat and hold the leader. He has got to get HOME and he can't
without help. Mr. Bolivar, please do as I say," Peggy's voice held a
merry note but her little nod of authority meant "business."

"But look at me, miss," protested Bolivar. "I ain't fit ter ride with
yo', no how."

"I am not afraid of criticism," replied Peggy, with the little up-
tilting of the head which told of her Stewart ancestry. "When I know a
thing is right I DO it. Steady, Comet. Quiet, Meteor," for the horses
had been standing some time and seemed inclined to proceed upon two legs
instead of four. "We'll stop at Brooks' for the shoes, then we'll go
around to Dove's; I've a little commission for him."

"Yas'm, yas'm," nodded Jess.

The shoes were bought, Peggy selecting them and giving them to Bolivar
with the words: "It will soon be Easter and this is my Easter gift to
Nellie, with my love," she added with a smile which made the shoes a
hundred-fold more valuable.

Then off to the livery stable.

"Mr. Dove, do you know a man named Steinberger?"

"I know an old skinflint by that name," corrected Dove.

"Well, you are to buy a horse from him. Seventy-five dollars OUGHT to be
the price, but a hundred is available if necessary. But do your best.
The horse's name is Salt--yes--that is right," as Dove looked
incredulous, "and he is a flea-bitten gray--mate to this one behind us.
Steinberger bought him today, and I want you to beat him at his own game
if you can, for he has certainly beaten a better man."

"You count on me, Miss Stewart, you count on me. Whatever YOU say goes
with me."

"Thank you, I'll wait and see what happens."

Their homeward progress was slower than usual, for poor half-starved
Pepper could not keep pace with Comet and Meteor. About four miles from
Annapolis Bolivar directed them into a by-road which led to an isolated
farm, as poor, forlorn a specimen as one could find. But in spite of its
disrepair there was something of home in its atmosphere and the dooryard
was carefully brushed. Turkey red curtains at the lower windows gave an
air of cheeriness to the lonely place. As they drew near a hound came
bounding out to greet them with a deep-throated bark, and a moment later
a girl about Peggy's age appeared at the door. Peggy thought she had
never seen a sweeter or a sadder face. She was fair to transparency with
great questioning blue eyes, masses of golden hair waving softly back
from her face and gathered into a thick braid. She walked with a slight
limp, and looked in surprise at the strange visitors, and her big blue
eyes were full of a vague doubt.

"It's all right, honey. It's all right," called Bolivar. "'Aint nothin'
but Providence a-workin' out, I reckon, jist like yo' say.

"We have brought your father and Pepper home. Salt is all right, Nelly.
You will see him again pretty soon."

"Oh, has anything happened to Salt, Dad?" asked the girl quickly.

"Well, not anything, so-to-speak. Jist let Miss Stewart, here, run it
and it'll come out all right. I'm bankin' on that, judgin' from the way
she's done so far. She's got a head a mile long, honey, she has, an' has
mine beat ter a frazzle. Mine's kind o' wore out I reckon, an' no
'count, no more. Come long out an' say howdy."

Nelly Bolivar came to the surrey and smiling up into Peggy's face, said:

"Of course I know who you are, everybody does, but I never expected to
really, truly know you, and I'm a right proud girl to shake hands with
you," and a thin hand, showing marks of toil, was held to Peggy. There
was a sweet dignity in the act and words.

Peggy took it in her gloved one, saying:

"I didn't suspect I was so well known. For a quiet girl I'm beginning to
know a lot of people. But I must go now, it is getting very late. Your
father is going to bring Pepper over to see me soon and maybe he will
bring you, too. He has such a lot to tell you that I'll not delay it a
bit longer. Good-bye, and remember a lot of pleasant things are going to
happen," and with the smile which won all who knew her, Peggy drove
away.

If people's right ears burn when others are speaking kindly of them,
Peggy's should have burned hard that evening, for Nelly Bolivar listened
eagerly as her father told of the afternoon's experiences and Peggy's
part in them.

Two days later Salt was delivered at Severndale. Dove had been as good
as his word. Shelby gave him one glance and said:

"Well, if some men knew a HOSS as quick as that thar girl does, there'd
be fewer no 'count beasts in the world. Put him in a stall and tell Jim
Jarvis I want him to take care of him as if he was the Emperor. I know
what I'm sayin', an' Miss Peggy knows what she's a-doin', an' that's
more 'n I kin say for MOST women-folks."

So Salt found himself in the lap of luxury and one week of it so
transformed him that at the end of it poor Pepper would hardly have
known his mate. Yet with all the care bestowed upon him the poor horse
grieved for his mate, and never did hoof-beat fall upon the ground
without his questioning neigh.

Peggy visited him every day and was touched by his response to her
petting; it showed what Nelly had done for him. But she was quick to
understand the poor creature's nervous watching for his lost mate, and
evident loneliness. At length she had him turned into the paddock with
the other horses, but even this failed to console him. He stood at the
paling looking down the road, again and again neighing his call for the
companion which failed to answer. Peggy began to wonder what had become
of Jim Bolivar. Two more weeks passed. Mrs. Harold and Polly had
returned from Old Point and upon a beautiful April afternoon Polly and
Peggy were out on the little training track where Polly, mounted upon
Silver Star, was taking her first lesson in hurdles; a branch of her
equestrian education which thus far had not been taken up.

Star was beautifully trained, and took the low hurdles like a lapwing,
though it must be confessed that Polly felt as though her head had
snapped off short the first time he rose and landed.

"My gracious, Peggy, do you nearly break your neck every time you take a
fence?" she cried, settling her hat which had flopped down over her
face.

"Not quite," laughed Peggy, skimming over a five-barred hurdle as though
it were five inches. "But, oh, Polly, look at Salt! Look at him! He acts
as though he'd gone crazy," she cried, for the horse had come to the
fence which divided his field from the track and was neighing and pawing
in the most excited manner, now and again making feints of springing
over.

"Why I believe he would jump if he only knew how," answered Polly
eagerly.

"And I believe he DOES know how already," and Peggy slipped from Shashai
to go to the fence. Just then, however, the sound of an approaching
vehicle caught her ears, and the next instant Salt was tearing away
across the field like a wild thing, neighing loudly with every bound,
and from the roadway came the answering neigh for which he had waited so
long, and Pepper came plodding along, striving his best to hasten toward
the call he knew and loved. But Pepper had not been full-fed with oats,
corn and bran-mashes, doctored by a skilled hand, or groomed by Jim
Jarvis, as Salt had been for nearly four blissful weeks, and an empty
stomach is a poor spur. But he could come to the fence and rub noses
with Salt, and Peggy and Polly nearly fell into each other's arms with
delight.

"Oh, doesn't it make you just want to cry to see them?" said Polly, half
tearfully.

"They shan't be separated again," was Peggy's positive assertion. "How
do you do, Mr. Bolivar? Why, Nelly, have you been ill?" for the girl
looked almost too sick to sit up.

"Yes, Miss Peggy, that's why Dad couldn't come sooner. He had to take
care of me. He has fretted terribly over it too, because--"

"Now, now! Tut, tut, honey. Never mind, Miss Peggy don't want to hear
nothin' 'bout--"

"Yes she does, too, and Nelly will tell us, She is coming right up to
the house with us--this is my friend Miss Polly Howland, Nelly--Nelly
Bolivar, Polly--and while you go find Shelby, Mr. Bolivar, and tell him
I say to take--oh, here you are, Shelby. This is Mr. Bolivar. Please
take him up to your cottage and take GOOD care of him, and give Pepper
the very best feed he ever had. Then turn him out in the pasture with
Salt. "We will be back again in an hour to talk horse just as fast as we
can, and DON'T FORGET WHAT I TOLD YOU ABOUT PEPPER'S POINTS."

"I won't, Miss Peggy, but I ain't got to open more'n HALF an eye no
how."

Peggy laughed, then slipping her arm through Nelly's, said:

"Come up to the house with us. Mammy will know what you need to make you
feel stronger, and you are going to be Polly's and my girl this
afternoon."

Quick to understand, Polly slipped to Nelly's

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