CHAPTER VLESLIE MANOR
It was the opening day at Leslie Manor. Late the evening before the last girl had come straggling reluctantly back after a long summer vacation. This morning all was hustle and bustle. At the rear of the building the last trunks were being bumped down from the express wagon which had brought them from the railway station, and under the direction of Wesley Watts Mather, the dusky porter, janitor and general handy man, were being conveyed to the various rooms in which they and their owners would bide for the ensuing eight months, for Leslie Manor did not open its doors to its pupils until October first and closed them the first week in June. This was at the option of Miss Woodhull, the principal, who went abroad each June taking with her several of her pupils for a European tour, to return withher enlightened, edified charges in September. It was a pleasurable as well as a profitable arrangement for the lady who was absolutely free of encumbrance and could do as she chose.
Leslie Manor had once been the home of a widely known southern family whose fortunes had sadly decreased during the war and completely evaporated after it. For several years the place was entirely deserted and neglected, then Miss Woodhull, recently graduated from a New England college, and fairly bristling with degrees, for which she had exchanged the freshness, sweetness and spontaneity of youth and health, was ordered to spend at least a year in the south in the doubtful hope of recovering the youth and health.
Just where to find these valuable assets was the hardest question to answer. Her only relatives were an elderly maiden aunt and an irascible old uncle whose time was too filled with providing the wherewithal to maintain a very elaborate establishment for a very vain wife and three frivolous daughters, to leave any left over in which to think of the welfare of his only sister’s child. Moreover, his wifeand daughters could not endure her, and, truth to tell, they had about as much affinity for one another as have oil and water. They might flow side by side forever but never mingle.
The maiden aunt was her father’s sister, an austere dignified old party who resided most exclusively in her ancestral home on Beacon Street, and lived in a rut wornagesdeep by tradition, conviction and self-will. Virginia was, so-to-speak, heiress-presumptive. Not that she was likely to be supplanted by the birth of some one having greater claim to her aunt’s fortune. Her possible rivals for the very substantial income which her aunt enjoyed were foundling asylums, a new religious cult just then in its infancy in the hub of the universe, and innumerable “movements” and “reforms.”
She had sent Virginia through college, provided her with a fair allowance, bidden her make something of herself for the sake of her name and then washed her hands of all responsibility. In her own sight she had fulfilled all her duty. When Virginia Woodhull left —— College after attaining degrees galore, but in broken health, and with twenty-eight years checkedoff upon her life’s calendar, she seemed to have run plump up against a stone wall.
Dozens of positions were almost forced upon her. Mentally she was qualified to fill any of them, physicallynot one. Nor could she remain near the only relatives she possessed had they even cared two straws to have her remain.
While in this depressing state of mind and body a girl whom she had coached in the college graduated and was about to return to her home in Virginia. She was several years Virginia’s junior, pretty, warm-hearted and charming, and possessed the power of looking a little deeper below the surface than the average human being possesses. She invited Miss Woodhull to accompany her to Roanoke and fate stepped in and did the rest. The month was spent in a lovely old home, Virginia Woodhull gained in health and strength, and recovered something in the way of nerve control and mental poise. When the month ended she decided to “do” the state whose name she bore and spent the rest of the year in going from one point to another in it until she knew its entire topography by heart.
In the course of her journeyings she visited the Luray Caverns as a matter of course, and enroute came upon picturesque, deserted, decrepit Leslie Manor, and fell as enthusiastically in love with it as it was given to her repressed nature to fall in love.
Moreover, for a long time she had been obsessed with a desire to bring into this happy, easy-going, contented state something of the energy, progress, intellectual activities (as she gauged them) of New England. The general uplift inspired by the seat of learning she had just left after post-graduate courses unto the nth degree: To thoroughly stir things up and make these comfortable, contented, easy-going Virginians sit up and take notice of their shortcomings. She was given a work in life, though quite unsought, and she meant to undertake it exactly as she has undertaken her college course and make a fine job of it.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, according to the viewpoint taken, the aunt in Boston was ceremoniously tucked away in the tomb of her ancestors just as this resolution crystalized and Virginia Woodhull found herself in possessionof a very comfortable income, though said income had a string attached to it which was intended to yank it back to the religious cult before mentioned in the event of Virginia’smarriageor death. Either way considered, it was a rather dubious heritage. But it served to purchase Leslie Manor and the school became a fait accompli. This was in the early eighties and from its opening day the school had flourished. Perhaps this was due to New England energy and culture, or possibly some credit rested with Mrs. Bonnell, the matron, and real head of the house; a sweet lovable, gracious Southern gentlewoman whose own family and fortunes had vanished when she was a tiny child, but who had grown up with relatives in whose home love ruled supreme and in which the little Veronica Dulany had blossomed as a flower. At forty years of age she still retained a genuine love and understanding of her fellow-beings in spite of many sorrows, and the death when she was still a mere girl of husband and little daughter before she had been called Mrs. Percy Bonnell five years.
At any rate, for ten years Mrs. Bonnell hadruled supreme at Leslie Manor, engaging its servants as she saw fit, directing the household, economizing as she felt wisest; feeding hungry girls, cuddling the homesick ones, caring for the ailing ones, and loved by every creature human or animal upon the place. Miss Woodhull had no time for domestic matters and all the sentiment in her had been killed in her early childhood.
And curiously enough the academic force at Leslie Manor was about equally divided into Woodhull and Bonnell factions. Miss Stetson, the teacher of mathematics was in keen sympathy with Miss Woodhull, as was Miss Forsdyke the Latin teacher, and Miss Baylis, the teacher of history and literature, but Miss Dalton the gymnasium and physical culture teacher, and Miss Powell who had charge of the little girls, sided with Mrs. Bonnell as did Monsieur Santelle, and old Herr Professor Stenzel. Even Miss Juliet Atwell, who came twice each week for aesthetic dancing, and several other stunts, openly worshiped at the Bonnell’s shrine. Herr Stenzel’s admiration had more than once proved an embarrassingproposition to the lady, for Herr Stenzel loved the flesh pots of Leslie Manor and knew right well who presided over them. But Mrs. Bonnell was equal to a good many Herr Stenzels.
But in one sense we have wandered a long way from Beverly Ashby and opening day at Leslie Manor, though all these people vitally concern her.
Leslie Manor stood in the centre of a wide, rolling, thickly wooded estate encompassed by a holly hedge noted for miles around for its beauty and its prickly barrier to freedom. The house had been restored and added to in order to meet the demands of a school harboring sixty or seventy girls, though it still retained its old lines of beauty and its air of hominess.
Miss Woodhull’s first concern had been “to make the place sanitary,” the last word spelled with italics, and to this end modern improvements and conveniences had supplanted the old, easy-going expedients of domestic economy. Everything in Leslie Manor became strictly modern and up-to-date. The upper floors were arranged in the most approved single bed-chambers or suites for the teachers and theseniors, the lower ones were accurately divided into living, dining and reception rooms. In one wing were the model recitation rooms and Miss Woodhull’s office; in another the undergraduate’s rooms. Nor had the grounds been overlooked. They were very trim, very prim, very perfectly kept and made one realize this at every turn. It also made one wonder how the old owner would feel could he return from his nameless grave at Appomatox and be obliged to pace along the faultless walks where formerly he had romped with his children across the velvety turf. But he and his were dead and gone and the spirit of New England primness, personified in Virginia Woodhull, spinster aged fifty-seven, now dominated the place.
It was lovely to look upon, and compelled one’s admiration, though it left some indefinable longing unsatisfied. It was so orderly it almost made one ache.
Perhaps something of this ache unconsciously obsessed Beverly Ashby as she sat upon one of the immaculate garden seats, placed at the side of an immaculate gravel walk, and looked through a vista of immaculately trimmed treesat the dozens of girlsboilingout of the door of the wing in which most of the undergraduate’s rooms were situated, for all members of the under classes were housed in the south wing, the seniors rooming in the more luxurious quarters of the main building. Not that the seniors were the happier for their exaltation. They had enjoyed some pretty merry hours in that old south wing, but with the advent of the senior year were forced to live up to the dignity of the main building. The faculty occupied the north end of it.
Beverly had arrived the previous afternoon and, owing to the fact that she had never been at school before in all her fifteen years, nor journeyed very far afield from dear old Woodbine, she did not know a soul at Leslie Manor so far as she now knew.
The parting of the ways when Athol and Archie bade her good-by at Front Royal and, accompanied by Admiral Seldon, went on to Kilton Hall gave Beverly an entirely new sensation. She then fully realized that she was growing up and that the old happy-go-lucky days of boy and girl frolicking were slipping intothe background. That from that very spot where the roads branched she must begin her journey toward young-ladyhood, as the boys must begin theirs toward manhood, and the thought hurt like a physical pain. She didn’t want to grow up and leave those happy days behind.
She had been met at Front Royal by one of the teachers who was returning to the school. Beverly had tried to talk to her as she would have talked with any one at home. But Miss Baylis did not encourage familiarity upon the part of the pupils, and promptly decided that Beverly was one of those irresponsible, impulsive Southern girls who always proved such trials to her and Miss Woodhull before they could be brought to understand strict conventions. Consequently, she had met Beverly’s warm-hearted, spontaneous manner with frigid politeness and had relieved herself of the young girl’s society the moment the school was reached.
Luckily, Beverly had fallen into Mrs. Bonnell’s hands directly she reached Leslie Manor, so some of the ice coating in which she had made the five-mile drive from the railway station hadbeen thawed by that lovable lady. But she had passed a desperately lonely evening in her room unpacking and getting settled, and had gone to bed in a frame of mind rarely experienced by Beverly Ashby.
Her room-mate, like many other tardy ones, would not arrive until the next day, and the whole atmosphere of the place spelled desolation for Beverly.
Her first Waterloo had been encountered early that morning when, feeling lonelier than she ever had felt in all her life, she dressed early and ran out to the stable to visit Apache. He seemed as lonely and forlorn as his little mistress and thinking to cheer him as well as herself, she had led him forth by his halter and together they had enjoyed one grand prance down the driveway. Unluckily, Miss Baylis had seen this harmless little performance, and not being able to appreciate perfect human and equine grace, had been promptly scandalized. It was at once reported to Miss Woodhull and Beverly was informed that “such hoydenish actions should be relegated to the uncultured herd.”
Beverly did not ask whether she must numberherself among that herd but the fact had been implied nevertheless, and she smarted under what she felt to be an unmerited and unduly severe rebuke, if not an open insult.
She was still smarting as she sat hidden in her nook, and sorely in need of an antidote for the smart.
Presently it came in the homeopathic form of like curing like.
CHAPTER VINEW FRIENDS
Naturally, no real work was done on opening day. Miss Woodhull, stately and austere sat in her office directing her staff with the air of an empress. One of the old girls declared that all she lacked was a crown and sceptre, and the new ones who entered that office to be registered, “tagged” the above mentioned girl called it, came out of it feeling at least three inches shorter than when they entered. During her reign in Leslie Manor, Miss Woodhull had grown much stouter and one seeing her upon this opening day would scarcely have recognized in her the slender, hollow-eyed worn-out woman who had opened its doors to the budding girlhood of the land nearly thirty years before. She was now a well-rounded, stately woman who carried herself with an air of owning the state of her adoption, and looked comparatively youngerin her fifty-eighth year than she had in her twenty-eighth.
As Beverly sat in her nook watching the little girls of the primary grades run out to their playground at the rear of the building, the old girls of the upper classes pair off and stroll away through the extensive grounds, and the new ones drift thither and yonder like rudderless craft, she saw two girls come from Miss Woodhull’s office. One was a trifle shorter than Beverly and plump as a woodcock. She was not pretty but piquant, with a pair of hazel eyes that crinkled at the corners, a saucy pug nose, a mouth like a Cupid’s bow and a mop of the curliest red-brown hair Beverly had ever seen. Her companion was tall, slight, graceful, distinguished. A little aristocrat from the top of her raven black hair to the tips of her daintily shod feet was Aileen Norman and though only sixteen, she was the one girl in the school who could hold Miss Woodhull within the limits of absolute courtesy underallcircumstances. Although descended from New England’s finest stock, Miss Woodhull also possessed her full share of the New Englander’s nervous irritabilitywhich all the good breeding and discipline ever brought to bear can never wholly eradicate. Her sarcasm and irony had caused more than one girl’s cheeks to grow crimson and her blood to boil under their stinging injustice, for Miss Woodhull did not invariably get to the root of things. She was a trifle superior to minor details. But Aileen possessed an armor to combat just such a temperament and her companion, Sally Conant’s wits were sharp enough to get out of most of the scrapes into which she led her friend. So the pair were a very fair foil to each other and a match for Miss Woodhull. What their ability would prove augmented by Beverly’s characteristics we will learn later.
As they came down the steps from Miss Woodhull’s office, said office, by-the-by, being in the wing in which the recitation rooms were situated and quite separate from the main building, Sally’s eyes were snapping, and her head wagging ominously; Aileen’s cheeks were even a deeper tint than they ordinarily were, and her head was held a little higher. Evidently something of a disturbing nature had taken place.They did not see Beverly in her bosky nook and she did not feel called upon to reveal herself to them.
“It was all very well to stickthreeof us together when we were freshmen and sophomores, but juniors deservesomeconsideration I think. If Peggy Westfield had come back this year it would have been all well and good, but to put a perfect stranger in that room is a pure and simple outrage. Why we haven’t even an idea what she’s like, or whether she’ll be congenial, or nice, or—or—anything. Why couldn’t she have given us one of the girls we know?” stormed Sally.
“Because she likes to prove that she is great and we are small, I dare say,” answered Aileen. “Of course the new girl may be perfectly lovely and maybe we’ll get to like her a lot, but it’s theprincipleof the thing which enrages me. It seems to me we might have some voice in the choice of a room-mate after being in the school three years. There are a dozen in our class from which we could choose the third girl if we’ve got to have her, though I don’t see why just you and I couldn’t have a suite to ourselves.Mercy knows there are enough rooms in our wing and next year we’ll have to be in the main house anyway, and I just loathe the thought of it too.”
“Ugh! So do I! But let’s reconnoiter and try to spot our bugbear. I wonder if it wouldn’t be appropriate to call her by another name? We’ve got to share ourroomswith her even if we haven’t got to share our bed. Why didn’t the Empress tell us her name? the stubborn old thing! Just ‘a girl from Sprucy Branch will share your suite this year. She arrived last evening and has already arranged her things in A of Suite 10.’ A of course! The very nicest of the three bedrooms opening out of that study and the only one which has sunshine all day long. You or I should have had it. I don’t call it fair. She’s probably trying to make a good impression upon Miss Sprucy Branch. The name sounds sort of Japanesy, doesn’t it? Wonder if she looks like a Jap too?”
“Well if you are speaking of me I can tell you right now that Miss Woodhull hasn’t succeeded in making anytoopleasing an impression upon Miss Sprucy Branch and so far as keeping RoomA in suite 10, is concerned, either of you is welcome to it, because it would take just mighty little to make me beat it for the stables, mount Apache, habit or no habit, and do those thirty-five miles between this luck-forsaken place and Woodbine in just about four hours, and that is allowing something for the mountains too. Apache’s equal to a good deal better time, but I should hate to push him, when we were heading towardhome. That would pay up for any amount of delay. Thus far I haven’t found Leslie Manor as hospitable as our servant’s quarters at Woodbine.”
Beverly’s cheeks were as red as Aileen’s, and her eyes snapping as menacingly as Sally’s by the time she had come to the end of her very deliberately uttered speech, though she had not moved a hair’s breadth upon her bench, nor had she changed her position. Her head was propped upon her hand as her arm rested upon the back of the seat, but she was looking straight at the astonished girls as she spoke.
Never had there been a more complete ambush sprung upon a reconnoitering party, and for a moment both girls were speechless. Itwas Sally who saved the day by springing away from Aileen and landing upon the seat beside Beverly as she cried:
“Areyouto be our room-mate?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure. I’ve got to besomebody’sI suppose and I’ve been assigned A 10. And from your conversation, which I couldn’t very well help overhearing, you two seem to have been assigned B and C for study 10. But I’ve just given vent to my point of view.”
There was still a good bit of electricity in the atmosphere, but it must be admitted that for the past eighteen hours Beverly had been pretty steadily brushed the wrong way, and it was an entirely new experience for her. Add to this a good dose of homesickness and a sense of utter loss at her separation from Athol, and her present frame of mind is not difficult to understand.
“Are you BeverlyAshbyof Woodbine?” persisted Sally, while Aileen dropped down upon the seat beside Sally to listen.
“Yes,” was the laconic if uncompromising reply.
“Well that’s the best news I’ve heard since I left Richmond, and I’m just tickled nearly to death!” exclaimed Sally, spinning about to hug Aileen rapturously. This sudden change of base was so astonishing that Beverly’s sense of humor came to her rescue and she laughed.
Sally again pivoted toward her crying:
“Why I know you perfectly well! I’ve known you all my life! And you know me just as well as I know you. Don’t you know you do?”
“Not so that it overwhelms me,” laughed Beverly.
“Where did you meet Miss Ashby?” asked Aileen who felt it was about time she came in for this wholesale discovery of “auld acquaintance.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon. This is Aileen Norman, the third girl for suite 10. She’s from Charlottesville and ought to know your family too. I reckon you know hers. Everybody does. Just like they know yours. Why your mother and mine went to Catonsville to school together. Didn’t you know that? She was Sarah Wirt then. Why I think it’s too lovely for words! And we were just as mad asfury when we started out to hunt up the new girl we had to room with this year and here you aren’t a new girl at all but one we’ve always known. Why I’m so tickled I’m foolish. Hug me Aileen or it will all seem like a dream and I’ll wake up and find we’ve got to roost with someone like that stupid Electra Sanderson, or Petty Gordon, who can’t do a thing but talk about that midshipman at Annapolis to whom she says she’s engaged, and she’s only just seventeen. She makes me tired.”
“I hope you’ll forgive us for all we said as we came down the walk. We certainly had no personal feeling as you must understand, but we were pretty well stirred up over the idea of having to begin junior year with someone we didn’t know after having had the same room-mate for three years,” explained Aileen diplomatically, striving to pour a drop or two of oil upon perturbed waters.
“I couldn’t very well feel any resentment toward you or Miss Conant when I didn’t know either of you from Eve, and I’m sorry if I seemed to. The truth is I was lonely and homesick and just ready to light into anybody. IsMiss Woodhull always so high and mighty, and Miss Baylis so like an iceberg?”
“Mercy, did you fall into her clutches the first jump? She’s the limit! Oh, Miss Woodhull’s so deadly afraid she won’t uphold the dignity of dear Bosting and her Massy Alma Mater that she almost dies under the burden, but thank goodness, we don’t see much of her, and Miss Baylis issucha fool we laugh behind her back. She’s trying to make herself solid with the Empress because she thinks she will succeed to her honors when the high and mighty lady retires. But she’s harmless because all her airs and graces are veneer. Give her one good scratch some day and you’ll see how thin the veneer really is. But come on up to No. 10, and let’s get settled. Neither Aileen nor I had any heart to do a thing until we found out who had been popped into A. Cricky, but I’m glad it’syou,” and slipping her arm through Beverly’s right one while Aileen took possession of the left, all three hurried toward the house, Sally announcing:
“We’ll introduce you to all the nice girls and we’ll call ourselves the “Three Mousquetaires.”There may not be any such word, but that doesn’t matter in the least: It’s Frenchy and IloveFrench. And besides, we mean to band together to fight for our rights and down oppression,” asserted this young Jacobin, as arm in arm all three made their way to the pretty suite allotted to them on the second floor of the wing, for Beverly had entered Leslie Manor as a junior, her previous work under Norman Lee having well fitted her to do so.
CHAPTER VIIA RUNAWAY
By the end of October, the golden month, and always beautiful in Virginia, things had shaken into routine. During that time suite Number 10 had become one of the most popular in the school, as well as one of the most attractive, for, to the intense satisfaction of the trio their belongings were in as perfect harmony as themselves, Beverly’s things being pink, Sally’s the softest green and Aileen’s all white and gold. Consequently all went merry as a marriage bell.
But there had been hours of intense longing upon Beverly’s part for the freedom of bygone days and Athol. The brother and sister had been entirely too united in every way to find perfect compensation in the companionship of others, however warm the friendships formed, and each missed the other sorely. Of course letters had been exchanged during the month, but lettersare a poor substitute for the voice of those we love best. Only Mrs. Ashby realized how intense was the brother’s and sister’s longing to see each other. Archie, also, fumed under the enforced separation and vowed that “something was going to break loose mighty sudden if his people and Athol’s didn’t get busy anddosomething.”
Had Beverly been at liberty to ride Apache as formerly the ten miles separating the two schools would have meant merely a jolly cross country run, but she was only permitted to ride when the other girls rode, and under the supervision of a groom who was held responsible for his charges.
Nor had the boys been allowed to visit Beverly, the male sex being regarded by Miss Woodhull as a sort of natural enemy whose sole aim in life was to circumvent, deprive and rob hers of its just rights. Miss Woodhull was essentially a militant suffragette and her stanch admirers, Miss Baylis and Miss Stetson were her enthusiastic partisans. Miss Atwell, the teacher of esthetic dancing and posing, who came thrice weekly to instill grace into the graceless and emphasizeit in those who were already graceful, sat, so to speak, upon the fence, undecided which way to jump. She inclined strongly to the strictly feminine attitude of dependence upon the stronger sex, but was wise to the advantage of keeping in touch with those occupying the seats of the mighty at Leslie Manor.
At Kilton Hall rules were less stringent. The boys could ride every afternoon if they chose and often did so, ranging the country far and wide. Many a time they had gone tearing past Leslie Manor when the girls were stived up within and been exasperated at being “so near and yet so far,” as an old song puts it. Hence Archie’s frame of mind, and his determination to change the existing state of affairs before long if possible. Letters sent home by the boys and those Beverly wrote to her mother were the seeds sown which the three hoped would later start the “something doing.” Meanwhile Beverly chafed under the restraint, and such chafing generally leads to some sort of an outbreak.
It was Wednesday afternoon, October twenty-ninth, and riding-lesson day. Every Wednesdayand Saturday Andrew Jackson Jefferson, whose name was as queer a combination as himself, for he seemed to be about halfhorse, so wonderful was his understanding of those animals, and so more than wonderfultheirsof him, took his “yo’ng sem’nary ladies a-gallopin’ th’oo de windin’s ob de kentry roads,” proud as a Drum Major of his charges.
And well he might be, for Andrew Jackson Jefferson had not only entire charge of the horses belonging to Leslie Manor, but he had bought them, and he knew good horseflesh. So the Leslie Manor horses as well as the half dozen boarded there by the students, were always a credit to the school. Their coats shone like satin, their hoofs were spick and span, no shoes ever clicked for want of the proverbial nail, fetlocks were trimmed like a bridegroom’s hair, and manes and forelocks brushed to the silkiness of a bride’s. Harness and bits were scrupulous. Jefferson knew his business.
When Apache was sent to Leslie Manor he was such a contrast to the other horses that Jefferson at first looked askance at him, but Apache was a wise little beast. As a preliminarymove he gently nozzled Jefferson, then by way of showing him that he was not to be taken too seriously, he flew up into the air, executed a wild fling and descended upon the exact spot from which he had risen, which exhibition so tickled Jefferson that he grinned broadly and announced to his underlings:
“Dat’s some hawse! Yo’ hyar me! Befo’ he’s done been in dis hyre stable a week he gwine ter be eatin’ outer ma hand,” and Apache verified the statement by becoming Jefferson’s abject slave before four days had passed, and Beverly basked in reflected glory, for was she not Apache’s “Yo’ng Mist’ess?”
“Kyant tech dat chile nothin’ ’boutridin’”, was Jefferson’s fiat when he saw Beverly astride her little mouse-colored and white mount. “Shepaht ob dat hawse!”
There had already been several riding lessons since school opened, and each time Jefferson’s delight in his newest charges increased. Born and brought up with the race, Beverly knew how to handle the negroes, and Jefferson as promptly became her slave as Apache had become his.
Now the prescribed route for these riding excursions was within a five-mile radius of the school. “No further,” said Miss Woodhull. Those bounds seemed safe from encroachment upon the part of the Kilton Hall students, even had their Wednesday and Saturday mornings and afternoons not been entirely given over to athletics, thus precluding excursions upon horseback.
As a rule Jefferson took out eight or ten girls, but this particular Wednesday afternoon several had obtained permission to go to town with Mrs. Bonnell to do some shopping, have some photographs taken, see the dentists and what not, so the riders were reduced to Sally, Aileen, Petty Gaylord, Hope MacLeod, a senior, and Beverly. All were well mounted and each was looking her best in her trim habit.
It was customary for the party to stop at the porte cochere to be inspected by Miss Woodhull, but on this particular afternoon Miss Woodhull was absent at a social function in the neighborhood and the duty devolved upon Miss Stetson, the teacher of mathematics, a strong-minded lady with very pronounced views. Shedressed as nearly like a man as was compatible with law and decency, wore her hair short, and affected a masculine stride. She came from Miss Woodhull’s state.
Jefferson drew up his cavalcade of five and awaited the appearance of Miss Stetson whom he despised with all your true negro’s power to despise “white folks what doesn’t know dey is white.” Miss Stetson insisted upon calling him Mr. Jefferson, affirming that “the race nevercouldbe self-respecting or, indeed, wholly emancipated, until treated as the equals of the white race.”
She now strode out upon the piazza, cast a critical eye upon the horses, nodded and said:
“Very fit. Very fit. Quite in order. You are to be commended Mr. Jefferson, but er—isn’t there something a little peculiar in the appearance of your horses’ er—er—headgear? Theireyesseem to be exposed more than usual; and look somewhat bare, so to speak. Can it be possible that you have forgotten something?”
“Fergot?” queried Jefferson, looking from one animal to the other. “Ah cyant see nothin’ I’se done fergot, Miss Ste’son. What it look lak ain’t on de hawses, ma’am?”
“Why their eyes seem so prominent. They seem toseetoo much, er—”
Beverly was attacked with a sudden paroxysm of coughing. Jefferson nearly disgraced himself, but managed to stammer:
“We doesn’t ingen’ally put blinders on de saddle hawses, Miss, but ef yer says so I’ll tak ’em long back ter de stables an’ change de saddle headstalls fer dekerridgeones, tho’ it sure would look mighty cur’ous.”
“No! No! Certainly not. It was merely a remark in passing. You are the better judge of the requirements I dare say,” and Miss Stetson beat a hasty retreat, entirely forgetting to warn her charges against venturing beyond bounds.
Could she have seen Beverly’s lips set she might have grown suspicious. The riding party started, Jefferson muttering:
“Ma Lawd! dat ’oman suah do make me tired. Blinders on ma saddle hawses! Huh! ‘Mr. Jefferson’. Reckon I bettah tek ter callin’ her Sis’ Angeline,” Angeline being Miss Stetson’s christian name.
When the grounds of the school were left afew miles behind her Beverly drew up to Sally’s side and said significantly:
“She did not tell us to keep within bounds.”
“She forgot to. She was too busy missing the blinders,” laughed Sally. Beverly laughed softly and continued:
“You girls hold in your horses when we’ve gone a little further. I want to ride on ahead with Jefferson. I’ve a word to say and I’ve an idea he is in a receptive mood.”
“What are you up to, Bev?” asked Aileen.
“Just watch out. We’ll take a new route today unless I’m much mistaken,” and touching Apache lightly with her heel she cavorted to Jefferson’s side. He had been too absorbed in his thoughts of Miss Stetson to leave room for any others: Your darkie is not unlike a horse in that respect; his brain is rarely capable of holdingtwoideas at once. Perhaps that explains why darkies and horses are usually in such accord.
As Apache careened against Jumbo’s side the big horse gave a plunge forward which jerked Jefferson’s wits back to his surroundings. That was exactly what Beverly wished.
“Lor’ Miss Bev’ly, you done scare Jumbo an’ me foolish,” he exclaimed, striving to bring Jumbo down to his usual easy pace, for the tall hack had resented the little broncho’s familiarity, though he could not know that his own grandsire and Apache’s were the same.
“Jefferson, will you do something to please me this afternoon?” she asked eagerly.
“I shore will if it aint gwine ter get me into no fuss wid de Misses,” temporized Jefferson.
“It won’t get you into any fuss with anybody. Miss Woodhull is not at home and Miss Stetson was too busy trying to find out where the horses had lost their blinders to tell usnotto take the road to Kilton Hall.”
Jefferson almost chortled.
“So, when we come to that road will you turn down it and leave the rest to me? And don’t be surprised or frightened at anything Apache may do.”
“I aint scared none at what you an’ dat hawse doin’. He’s got sense and—” added Jefferson with concession—“so has you. I aint got no time ter be a troublin’ ’bout you-all. It’s dese yo’ng ladies I has ter bat my eyes at; an’ deyshore do keep me busy sometimes. Now what I tell you? Look at dat?” and as though in sympathy with Beverly’s schemes, Chicadee, the little mare Petty Gaylord was riding chose that moment to shy at some leaves which fluttered to the ground and, of course, Petty shrieked, and then followed up the shriek with the “tee-hee-hee,” which punctuated every tenth word she spoke whether apropos or not.
That was exactly the cue Beverly needed. A slight pressure of her knee upon Apache’s side was sufficient. He was off like a comet, and to all intents and purposes entirely beyond his rider’s control.
Sally and Aileen laughed outright. Petty stopped her giggle to scream: “Oh, she’s being run away with!”
“Not so much as it would seem,” was Hope MacLeod’s quiet comment as she laid in place a lock of Satin Gloss’s mane, and quieted him after his sympathetic plunge.
“Well ef she is, sheis, but I’m bettin’ she knows whar she a-runnin’at,” said Andrew Jackson Jefferson more quietly than the situation seemed to warrant. “But just de sameI’m thinkin’ we might as well fool oursefs some,” and he hastened his pace, the others doing likewise. It would never do to let one of his charges be run away with and not make an effort to save her from a possible calamity.
CHAPTER VIIICLIMAXES
Meanwhile the runaways were having the very time of their lives. Not since that two-mile race to Four Corners for the letter which proved the wedge to divide her own and Athol’s ways, had Beverly been able to “let out a notch,” as she put it. Nor had the little broncho been permitted to twinkle his legs as they were now twinkling over that soft dirt road. Virginia roads were made for equestrians,notautomobiles. Head thrust forward as far as his graceful slender neck permitted, ears laid back for the first unwelcome word to halt, eyes flashing with exhilaration, and nostrils wide for the deep, full inhalations and exhalations which sent the rich blood coursing through each pulsing artery, little Apache was enjoying his freedom as much as his rider. In two seconds they were at the top of a rise of ground, down at the further sideand out of sight of the others. Then, to make the exhibition realistic, Beverly drew out her hat pin, gave it a toss to the side of the road, and the wind completed the job by whisking her soft felt hat off her head and landing it upon the roadside bush.
Oh, it was glorious! Five miles? What were five miles to the little beastie which had many a time pounded off twenty-five without turning a hair? Or to Beverly who had often ridden fifty in one day with Uncle Athol and her brother? Just a breather. And when there swept through the gateway of Kilton Hall a most exalted, hatless, rosy-cheeked, dancing-eyed lassie mounted upon a most hilarious steed, the gate-keeper came within an ace of having apoplexy, for she was a portly old body.
But Beverly did not pause for explanations. Her objective point was the athletic field at the rear of the building and her appearance upon it might have been regarded in the light of a distinct sensation. It would never do to forsake too promptly the role of being run away with. There were coaches and referees upon tennis court, cinder path and football field, and boysgalore, in every sort of athletic garb, performing every sort of athletic stunt.
When Beverly set out to do anything she rarely omitted any detail to make it as near perfect as possible. As she tore across the lawn which led to the field her sharp eyes discovered Athol upon one of the tennis courts and closer at hand a lot of other boys sprinting, gracefully or otherwise, around the cinder path, taking hurdles placed about a hundred feet apart.
Now, if there was one thing in this world upon which Apache and his young mistress agreed more entirely than another, it was the pure delight of skimming over a fence. A five-footer was a mere trifle. The three-foot hurdles upon the cinder path a big joke. The tennis nets? Pouf!
If Beverly really was tugging upon Apache’s bridle he was not permitting anything so trivial as a girl’s strength to bother him, and her knees told him quite a different story as he swept upon the cinder path, took two hurdles like a deer and was off over the tennis courts and over a net before the astonished players could draw a full breath.
Then they woke up!
“It’s a runaway!” cried Mr. Cushman, who had charge of the football coaching, to be echoed by the tall quarter back in football togs, as both broke away in pursuit, the whole field quickly taking the alarm also. But that tennis court held one individual whose wits worked as quickly as the star performer’s, and there and then shrilled across it a high-pitched, peculiar whistle which they both knew mighty well, and the four-legged one obeyed instanter by wheeling so suddenly that he put a very realistic climax upon the scene by nearly unseating the two-legged one, as he tore pell mell for the whistler and came to a sudden halt in front of him, to the increased astonishment of the general audience.
“Gee whiz, Bev! What’s let loose?” cried Athol, trying to respond to Apache’s nozzling, whinnying demonstrations of delight and reach his sister’s extended hands at the same time, while Archie did his record-breaking sprint across the gridiron, and the whole field came boiling toward them.
“Ihave. Don’t you see I’ve been run away with? It’s lucky Apache turned in here,”answered Beverly, with remarkable calmness for one so lately escaped from disaster or sudden death, as she brushed back her flying locks, for—well—reasons.
“Run away nothing!Yourun away with! Piffle. Ah, cut it out Apache! I know you’re ready to throw a fit at seeing me, but keep bottled up for a minute, won’t you?” he ended as Apache lay hold of his tennis shirt and tried to jerk him into attention. But he gave the bony little head a good-natured mauling nevertheless, as Archie rushing up exclaimed:
“You’re a winner, Bev!” Then the others surrounded them, the two coaches really concerned lest the young lady had suffered some mishap, and Mr. Cushman brushing the boys aside as he asked:
“Are you faint? Can we be of any assistance?” and Mr. Ford, the new instructor from Yale and mighty good to look upon (so decided Beverly in the space of one glance) pressed to her side to ask: “Were you riding alone when your mount bolted?”
Before Beverly could draw breath to reply the answer came from another quarter.
Now there is no such accomplished actor, (or liar) upon the face of the round world as your genuine darkey. Indeed he can do both so perfectly that he actually lives in the characters he temporarily creates and believes his own prevarications, and that, it must be admitted, issome achievement.
When Beverly departed so suddenly upon her self-elected route, Jefferson naturally had but a very hazy idea of her intentions. He knew Kilton Hall lay over five miles straight ahead, and he knew, also that Beverly’s brother was at school there, but Jefferson did not possess an analytical mind: It could not out-run Apache. He knew, however, that he must put up a pretty good bluff if he wished to save his kinky scalp upon his return to Leslie Manor, so he set about planning to “hand out dat fool ’oman a corker.” Moreover, Petty was inclined to take the situation seriously. Petty was sweetly romantic, but stupidly literal. At times a hopeless combination. The riding party had cantered along in the fleeing Beverly’s wake for a little more than a mile when Petty spied the hat upon the bush. Nothing further was needed to confirm her misgivings.
“Shehasbeen run away with, girls! She has! I think it’s perfectly awful not to ride faster. She may be lying on the road d-e-a-d-!”
By this time Jefferson thought it might be politic to manifest more concern, so throwing a well-assimilated anxiety into voice and manner he said hastily:
“Now you fo’ yo’ng ladies jist come ’long careful an’ orderly, so’s not ter bring no mo’ trebbulations, ’pon us an’ I’ll light out fer dat run-way. Ma Lawd, I’se been clar distracted fer de las’ ten minutes fer ter know which-a-way ter tu’n! I aint really believe Miss Bev’ly is in no danger ’twell Miss Petty done got me so sympathizin’, but now I’se shore rattled an’ I’se gwin’ ter find out fer sartin. Come on yo’ Jumbo! Wo’k yo’ laigs fer fair,” and under touch of the spur the big horse broke into a gait which bade fair to speedily overhand the scapegraces,providing Jefferson let him do so.
A turn in the road simplified the problem.
“Now don’ yo’ tak ter sweatin’ yo’self so’s I has ter spend a hull hour a-coolin’ yo’ down,” admonished Jefferson when well out of sight. “We’ll git there, an’ when we does we’ll mak’one fair show down,” and thereupon Jefferson restrained his steed to a long swinging run which told off the miles without making him turn a hair until Kilton Hall was in sight.Thenthe dusky actor and his mount prepared to make their spectacular entré. Pulling up at the roadside Jefferson threw his cap upon the ground, twisted his tie awry, and let fly the belt of his riding blouse, then dismounting, he caught up a few handfuls of dust and promptly transformed big bay Jumbo into as disreputable looking a horse as dust rubbed upon his muzzle, his chest and his warm moist flanks could transform him. It was this likely pair which came pounding across the athletic field of Kilton Hall at the moment of Mr. Ford’s question, the human of the species, with eyes rolling until they were nearly all whites, shouting as he drew near:
“My Lawd-a-mighty, Miss Bev’ly, is yo’ hu’t? Is yo’ daid?”
It was a good enough bit of acting to have won the actor fame and fortune. As a matter of fact, Beverly gave one glance at the fly-away figure, then clasping both arms around Apache’s neck, buried her face in his mane and to all intentsand purposes collapsed into a paroxysm of tears, to the entire dismay of Mr. Cushman, and the skeptical “sizing up” of the situation by Mr. Ford, more lately from the campus. It was Athol who promptly turned a few handsprings behind their backs and Archie who rolled over upon the grass chortling.
“Don’t be alarmed! Don’t be alarmed, my good man. Your young lady is none the worse for her involuntary run (just here a distinct snort came from the ground behind Mr. Cushman) though I dare say a little unstrung and exhausted. But we stopped her mount (“yes you did!” came sotto voce from Athol) and now we will lead your mistress back to the house where Mrs. Kilton will be delighted to minister to her comfort. Are you too nervous to ride to the rear entrance, Miss Ashby?” for during the few words spoken Mr. Cushman had discovered that this was Athol Ashby’s sister, had the resemblance left any doubt of that fact.
Beverly resumed an upright position, hastily wiped away her tears, (onecanlaugh as well as weep them) and answered:
“Oh, no sir. Of course I was a little startledat first, but Apache is never vicious, and it was only the need of exercise which made us—him—bolt, you know.”
The acrobat came to an upright position and very nearly upset the whole show.
Meantime Jefferson with many flutterings and gesticulations, had dismounted and managed to work his way to Archie’s side and whisper:
“Don’t yo’ let on, will yo’ suh?”
“Not on your sweet life. It’s the best ever. But where’s the rest of the bunch? There mustbesome. You always take out a full fledged seminary.”
“Praise Gawd der aint but fo’ dis time, an’ dey’s yander on de pike some—’ers. But I’se near scared blue.”
“Gray, you mean. Keep cool. I’ll fix it all right. Oh, Mr. Cushman the groom had to leave the other young ladies back yonder on the road and he’s a good bit upset about it. Hadn’t he better ride back to them? They’ll be scared blue you know.”
“Certainly. Certainly. By all means. Return to them at once. This young lady will be carefully looked after,” and Jefferson lost no time in going.
“You’d better bring the whole outfit—I—er—I mean you’d better bring the other young ladies to the Hall,” called Mr. Ford, deciding that if Beverly was a sample of the Leslie Manor girls it would be just as well to see more of the material. Had he caught the sudden flash in Archie’s eyes perhaps he would have grown a bit wiser.
Twenty minutes later all five girls were seated in Mrs. Kilton’s cozy living room, the boys, and the instructors who had shifted into drawing-room garments in record time, serving hot chocolate and little iced cakes.
As they were not expected home until five anyway there was no cause for concern. There would be no alarm at Leslie Manor. Meanwhile Jefferson, who had looked after the horses, was holding the floor in the servant’s quarters. If a report of that afternoon’s experiences did reach Leslie Manor he meant to have first scoop.
After an hour spent very delightfully, for Mr. Ford was attention itself to Beverly, to Archie’s ill-concealed disgust, Hope MacLeod advised a move toward home. As they were about to start Beverly asked sweetly:
“Oh, dear Mrs. Kilton, would you mind if Athol showed me his room? You know we have never before in all our lives been separated and I get so homesick for him and his traps it just seems as though I couldn’t stand it.”
“Why of course you may go up, my dear,” smiled kindly Mrs. Kilton. She was too wholesome to see the least impropriety in so simple a request.
“Oh, hold on a second, Ath. Keep her a minute until I rush up and stow a few of our duds. We didn’t stop to slick things up when we shifted,” and Archie bounded away.
“Come on now, Bev. I reckon he’s had time to make Number 70 presentable,” said Athol three minutes later, and the brother and sister went demurely from the room.