Marian, Julia, Beth, Harvey, and Don were in bathing. The deep water enclosed by the walk and piling surrounding the boat house made a safe bathing place for them,—safe at least from the alligators, though the water was deep. Harvey and Don were the only ones in the party who knew how to swim.
The other children struggled hard to learn. Harvey was a very willing teacher, but did not know exactly how to impart his knowledge. He said:
"Why, it's very easy. See, you just have to start out like this, and there you are."
Thereupon, they started out as directed, but, alas, they were not there as he said. Their feet grew unaccountably light so that their heads disappeared under the water. However, they enjoyed even the ducking.
Don reveled in the water frolic as much, if not more, than any of them. He was ever ready to do the children's bidding, and ever kept a watchful eye on his charges. Beth, however, was his especial care. He seemed to feel an ownership for her.
Don, too, tried to encourage the children in their efforts to swim. He plunged out into deep water, and then looked persuasively back at the children nearer shore, as if to say:
"Follow me. It's really very easy."
Beth as usual proved the venturesome one, and started out after Don.
Mrs. Davenport, who was sitting on the wharf doing some fancy work and at the same time watching the children, called:
"Beth, do be careful or you'll get into trouble."
"Why, mamma, I am careful."
Mrs. Davenport again became absorbed in her work. Suddenly, she was startled by screams from the children. Above the other voices she heard Marian calling:
"Don, Don, save her."
Poor Mrs. Davenport sprang to her feet in a frenzy of terror. It was as she expected. She saw her beloved Beth sinking. She was so horrified that for a second or two she could not cry out.
Harvey was near Beth, but made no effort to rescue her.
"Harvey, Harvey," screamed Mrs. Davenport, "save her."
But even as she cried another was swimming to the rescue, and this was faithful Don. He had no idea of letting his beloved little mistress drown. He grabbed her by her bathing suit and swam towards the shore with her.
"Why, Mrs. Davenport, we didn't think you'd be frightened. It's only play," called Harvey.
How proud the delighted dog was. He thought he had really saved Beth's life. He did not know that she was just pretending for the fun of having him come to her.
Day after day, the children struggled to learn to swim, but with rather poor success.
At last, they thought of trying light logs to keep them up. This proved quite successful. They placed the log across their chests, and under their armpits, and then made their hands and feet go. This was quite like swimming. After a time they tried it even in the deep water inside the boat house.
One day Beth ran down ahead of the others. Don, for a wonder, was not with her that morning. She thought she would have some fun all by herself.
Her log was in the boat house. She fearlessly jumped into deep water with it, but somehow, she got beyond the range of the walk. In trying to paddle back to it, her log slipped away from her. Then she grew very much frightened.
It was a case of swim or sink. Terrified as she was, she had presence of mind to keep her hands and feet going. To her surprise, she did not sink. She had only a little ways to go and made it without very much effort.
When the other children came, she was all excitement.
"Just see. I can swim, I can swim."
Beth hastened to show off her wonderful accomplishment. She was disgusted when Harvey laughed at her.
"Why, Beth, you swim in regular dog fashion. You claw the water just like Don. You ought to go like this."
She tried striking out with her arms as he bid, but could not swim that way. Whereupon, she declared:
"I like swimming dog fashion best."
One evening Mr. Davenport came home and said:
"Mary, how would you like to go down to the seashore for a week?"
"And take us?" exclaimed Beth.
Mr. Davenport was in a teasing mood.
"I will take Marian because she has been good, but as to you, I must find out first from mamma if any bad girl has been around here lately. We can't take bad girls with us."
Beth held her breath for her mother's answer.
"Well, James, for a wonder we have had an unusually good girl here for the past week. If we go, she may go too."
Beth danced a jig in the intensity of her joy.
"Where are we going, papa?"
"Down to Fort George Island, which is at the mouth of the St. Johns. We will leave to-morrow morning. Can you be ready by that time, Mary?"
"I guess so."
Mrs. Davenport was accustomed to her husband's desire to start at a moment's notice. He had made a like suggestion many times before.
At Beth's earnest solicitation, she was allowed to take Don with her.
The next morning, when they boarded the boat for Fort George's, Beth was very much surprised to behold Julia.
"Why, Julia, how nice of you to come down to see us off, but how did you know we were going?"
"I didn't come to see you off; I'm going to Fort George, too. Your papa was over last night and persuaded papa and mamma to go."
"Oh goody, goody, goody."
Julia and Beth took possession of the boat from the first moment. They inspected it from one end to the other. They made friends with the captain and those under him. They went up even to the pilot house and helped run the boat, or, at least, they thought they were helping. The morning proved a very happy one for them.
The trip delighted their parents also. They were content to sit still and watch the St. Johns as it curved and widened on its course to the ocean. There is hardly a more picturesque river in America.
As they neared the sea, its briny odor was wafted to them by the breeze. Great sand dunes rose on both sides of the river.
Upon reaching Fort George, the Davenport party drove in the 'bus to the hotel, over the hardest of shell roads. Magnificent palms lined the way on both sides. All the foliage, in fact, was extremely luxuriant. The island was more tropical than anything that the Davenports had seen, so far, in Florida.
A gentleman in the 'bus proffered the information to Mr. Davenport that the island had once been visited by Talleyrand. He said it had been owned by French grandees who carried on an extensive slave trade from the island.
When questioned about the mounds of shells that are so numerous at Fort George, the gentleman explained that for many centuries the Indians had congregated on the island in oyster season, and held high festivals. They probably feasted on oysters and corn, and these mounds were the result.
The week that followed was one of almost unalloyed bliss to Julia and Beth. They got into very little mischief, although they simply lived out of doors, and up in the trees.
Each morning, a number of the people from the hotel went in surf bathing. Beth was always one of the party. Mrs. Davenport did not care to go in, but she generally sat on the beach and watched the bathers.
Since Beth had learned how to swim, she caused her mother much anxiety. She was very venturesome, and would often swim far out beyond her depth.
Don did not enjoy salt water as much as he did fresh, and therefore he often rested beside Mrs. Davenport.
One morning only children went in bathing. All the men were away fishing, and the women did not care for the sport. Mrs. Davenport was unusually anxious, and she warned Beth to stay near shore with the other children. Beth obeyed pretty well at first, but before she knew it she was out where the water was over her head.
"Beth, it's time to come in," called her mother.
Beth raised her head and spurted out some water.
"Why, mamma, I'm coming."
"No, you're not. You're going out," and Mrs. Davenport sprang to her feet in sudden terror.
"Why, mamma, I'm swimming as hard as ever I can."
In fact, Beth was trying her very best to reach shore, but notwithstanding her desperate efforts, she was slowly but surely drifting out to sea. One of those treacherous undertows that abound on the Florida coast had her in its deadly power.
Mark Charlesworth, one of the boys, rushed to the side of Beth's mother.
"Oh, Mrs. Davenport, she'll surely drown unless some one saves her. A boy was drowned just that way last winter."
Mrs. Davenport was almost frenzied. She could not swim and she knew that personally she could not rescue her child. She looked in vain for assistance.
The other children had come from the water, and rushed frantically up and down the beach wringing their hands in terror.
Beth realized that her position was critical, and she struck out with such desperate energy that soon she felt her strength failing her. Terror seized upon her so that she feared she could not keep up another instant.
"Mamma," she screamed, "I'm sinking."
Mrs. Davenport's heart grew leaden. Was there no hope for her child? Must she stand helpless and see her drown? No, no, there must be some way of saving her. She would not despair.
"Dearie, don't give out," she cried; "mamma will save you."
The words strengthened Beth to strive anew. At this instant, Mrs. Davenport's eye rested upon Don lying fast asleep in the shade. Her heart seemed to jump into her mouth in the intensity of a new hope.
"Don, Don, go to Beth," she cried.
But Don would not heed. He did not realize the danger. He was tired and wished to sleep.
"Beth, call Don."
Beth who was drifting farther and farther away heard, and yelled:
"Don, Don."
The dog immediately pricked up his ears. Then he jumped to his feet.
"Don, Don."
At that second appeal, he bounded into the water.
Mrs. Davenport felt like falling on her knees in thanksgiving.
"Dearie, don't give up. Don's coming."
Beth heard and her strength revived sufficiently for her to struggle afresh against that terrible undertow.
The big waves swirled around Don who swam directly towards Beth.
Mrs. Davenport's heart almost stood still while her anxious eyes kept watch on her struggling child and the noble dog.
"Thank God, the eddy has Don too in its wake and is helping him on to my child. Beth's strength again seems to be failing. Will she be able to hold out? On, Don, on. Supposing he cannot make it. Supposing the child sinks before he reaches her?" These seconds of watching seemed an eternity to the frantic mother.
"Thank God, he is almost within reach of her. Bravo, Don, bravo. He has Beth fast by the bathing suit. Brave, brave dog. Now he has headed towards shore. Will he ever be able to make it with that awful undertow to work against besides the extra precious burden he carries? How heroically he struggles. Oh, noble, noble Don, you will save her yet, and keep a mother's heart from breaking. Yes, he is slowly but surely making headway against the eddying waters. Now, now, his feet surely touch bottom. Yes, and Beth knows it and struggles to her feet. Thank God, she is still conscious."
Though Beth was very much frightened, she was in no way harmed by her watery experience, and rushed straight to her mother's open arms, both unmindful of the wetting Mrs. Davenport received.
Don pricked up his ears, and wagged his tail from side to side. He could not understand why they did not notice him immediately as they had done before when he rescued Beth. Really, it was enough to ruffle the patience of any dog. He barked to attract attention. Thereupon, Mrs. Davenport turned to him, and patted him while tears trickled down her cheeks.
"Yes, Don, we know what a very noble fellow you are, and love you with all our hearts. We'll never forget what you've done."
Beth said nothing, but patted Don who expressed his appreciation as best he could by licking Beth's hands and face. If he could have talked, he would have said:
"Little mistress, I'm so glad I could show my love for you. I do dearly love you all, and am thankful that I saved you. Life with you is better than it was at sea. I will always be faithful to you."
This narrow escape of Beth's made Mrs. Davenport wish to return home. She said she would not stay with the children where the water was treacherous. The following day, therefore, they all returned to Jacksonville.
It must not be imagined that Beth always romped. Although she was a tomboy, she was a very industrious little girl. She did not go to school the first year she was in Florida, and on rainy days she learned how to sew.
Mr. Davenport started a bank in Jacksonville, and soon after was elected president of the State's fair. He was a liberal-minded citizen, and therefore accepted the position, wishing to advance the standard of Florida exhibits.
Beth became interested in the undertaking. She asked to enter the lists herself and compete for prizes.
Mr. Davenport thought it an excellent idea that children should be encouraged to exhibit, and therefore offered prizes for juvenile displays.
Beth decided to make a dress all by herself. Her mother suggested that she was rather young for such a big undertaking, and that, perhaps, she had better first dress a doll, but Beth would not listen to such a thing.
Mrs. Davenport, therefore, bought the material and a pattern, and gave them to Beth. She offered to cut out the dress, but Beth thought that this would not be honorable nor fair. She must do it all by herself. Mrs. Davenport admired the spirit, and encouraged it in her, although she feared she might make a failure.
Beth, however, had one great quality of success,—perseverance. She would never give up anything in which she was interested, until she had succeeded. For the next three days, she could not be enticed from her work.
"Beth, please, come with me," begged Harvey, who came quite regularly to persuade her from her undertaking. But she was deaf to all persuasion. Julia had no better success, and it ended by Beth infecting Julia with the sewing fever. Julia brought material for a dress over to the Davenports' and went to work on it. She sewed faithfully for an hour or two, and then jumped up in disgust.
"Oh, botheration, Beth; I can't get the horrid thing right, and I'm not going to try."
"Let me help you, Julia. Maybe we'll get prizes."
"Oh, bother prizes. Let's quit."
"No, I'm going to finish this dress. Please stay and sew with me."
"If I do, what will you do for me?"
"Anything you want me to."
"All right then, I'll stay, but when you've finished, you have to go up in a tree with me and spend the night. We'll be like the captive princess."
They had just finished a fairy tale of a princess confined in a tower which she never left during many years. The tower was well provisioned so that she did not starve.
"It'll be great fun," continued Julia. "We'll take plenty of food up with us. I'm so glad you promised to go."
"May I tell mamma about it?"
"No."
"Then I won't go. I know mamma wouldn't like it, Julia, and it's wrong to worry her."
"And it's downright wicked to break one's word. You aren't going to be wicked, are you?"
Beth looked worried. "Please don't ask me to play princess, Julia."
"But you just have to, Beth; that's all there is about it."
This was Julia's ultimatum. She persisted in remaining with Beth until the dress was finished, although, she, herself, did comparatively little sewing. She even stayed nights at the Davenports for fear Beth would betray her secret.
Beth worked so steadily that Mrs. Davenport feared that she would make herself sick, and was glad when finally Beth jumped up and said:
"There, mamma, it's finished. Buttonholes and all. I guess it's all right, isn't it?"
The dress was very creditably made for so young a girl. Mrs. Davenport was justly proud of it and of Beth.
"Mrs. Davenport," began Julia, "can't Beth stay all night with me?"
"Yes, I'll be glad to have her out of doors. Run along, Beth."
Beth, however, held back. "I'd rather stay with you, mamma."
"Why, child, what is the matter?"
"Oh, she's just tired from this everlasting sewing, Mrs. Davenport;" and then Julia whispered to Beth, "You're not going to be wicked and break your word, are you? I'll never speak to you again if you don't come."
Thus pressed, Beth reluctantly kissed her mother and departed.
"We'll go over to my house, and get enough food for supper and breakfast."
Away they hurried to the Gordons. Julia robbed the larder to quite an extent.
"Mamma, I'm going back to Beth's. You don't mind, do you?"
"No."
Thereupon, avoiding observation, they ran back to Beth's. They selected a grand water oak with immense spreading branches that would effectually screen them from view. Besides, it was quite a ways from the house, which suited Julia's purpose.
Julia, carrying the provisions, scrambled up into the tree as nimbly as a squirrel, crying:
"Isn't this the grandest fortress you ever did see?"
Beth was too busy climbing to answer. She was a natural born climber, but she lacked practice. Besides, her plumpness would prevent her from ever being quite as agile as Julia.
"This will be my bedroom. See, I do not have to build any bed. These branches and leaves make a perfect resting-place," declared Julia.
"Yes, but suppose you fell asleep and rolled out. You'd break your neck."
"I don't roll out of bed at home, and I'm not going to here."
"But I do, and I don't want to break my neck. I guess I'll stay awake all night, but I'll lie down."
As Beth spoke, she lay back on some inviting looking branches. Their appearance, however, proved deceitful. They were not as strong as they looked, and she came very near having the tumble that she dreaded. Luckily, however, she caught on to a strong branch, and with Julia's assistance was soon in comparative safety.
"I guess I'd better sit up all the time."
"I reckon you'll do nothing of the sort. I'll tell you what: You may have my bedroom, and I'll find another higher up."
Although Beth was still trembling from the narrowness of her escape, she did not wish to take advantage of Julia's generosity, but the latter insisted.
Thus persuaded, Beth, cautiously this time, tried reclining on the branches. She found that they really made a delightful bed.
"It is beautiful, Julia. Why, I don't believe I should be afraid to sleep here. These limbs would keep me from falling."
"And here is another bed just as good. You see I'm right across the hall from you. I didn't have to go to the next floor as I feared at first. It's nicer being near each other, isn't it, Beth?"
"Yes, much nicer, but wouldn't you rather have this room, Julia? It is so lovely."
"No, it isn't. Mine is best. I can look way up to the sky."
"Why, that isn't nice at all. I wouldn't sleep in a room without a roof. Mine has a roof painted green."
"I don't care, mine's nicer."
"No, it isn't. Mine is."
Whereupon they had a fuss, such as all children sometimes have. They declared that "they didn't like each other," and that one was "hateful" and the other "too mean to live," and that "they'd never speak again."
In a minute or two after, they were talking as lively as two young magpies. They had figuratively kissed and made up.
"Now," said Julia, "I'm going to draw the portcullis so we can never go down unless some one comes to release us."
"I don't care to stay here always."
"We're only playing, goosie, but you have to stay until morning because you promised."
After that one thrust, Julia relented and tried to be as nice as she possibly could, and Beth had such a good time that her conscience stopped troubling her.
The minutes passed so quickly that they both were surprised to see how low the sun was. The captive ladies decided it was time to eat supper, so they divided supplies, using their laps as tables.
Beth, the unfortunate, had not taken a mouthful when a great pinching bug dropped on her head. She jumped to her feet screaming, and her supper was all scattered to the ground. She decided to go after it.
"Where are you going, Beth?"
"After my supper."
"But the portcullis is drawn."
"I'm going to have my supper, portcullis or no portcullis."
Already it was growing so dark that objects were becoming indistinguishable. Suddenly Beth uttered a cry.
"What's the matter?"
"I,—I thought it was a bear. It's only Don, however, and he's eaten up all my supper, the mean thing, and now he's run away."
"Never mind, Beth. You can have half of mine."
They ate their scanty meal in silence. It was growing so dark that immediately after supper they went to bed.
Neither of the children felt comfortable, but neither would own it.
"Isn't this heaps of fun, Beth?"
"Yes, heaps, Julia."
Then each of them let a great sigh escape. Silence prevailed for awhile. All the world seemed asleep. Such stillness was terrifying to the children.
"Are you asleep, Julia?"
"No, but I thought you were."
Again they were quiet until it had grown pitch dark.
"I can't sleep."
"Neither can I, but it's fun, isn't it?"
"It's a sperience, Julia."
Again two great sighs, and then quiet once more.
Suddenly, there was a hoot right above them. Julia and Beth both gave such a start that they almost tumbled out of the tree. Then two scared whispers were heard:
"What was that?"
"I don't know."
Another hoot.
"I wish we were together, Julia."
"So do I. Say, Beth, I believe there's room for you here with me. Let's try it."
"I'm afraid to come."
"Don't be a 'fraid cat."
"I'm not, only——" For the third time that melancholy hoot above them.
"Julia, come to me."
"I won't do it. I spoke first You come here."
Solitude was so terrifying that Beth risked the trip across for companionship. Fortunately, the hoot did not occur during her trip to Julia, or she would probably have landed on the ground.
The space proved rather narrow, and rather perilous for two, but Beth and Julia snuggled together very close.
Soon the hooting began again, and continued at regular intervals.
"I believe it's a hoot-owl."
"So it is."
Although they knew it was only an owl, the melancholy cry was neither conducive to sleep nor to high spirits. The children found it decidedly depressing. They talked awhile in whispers. The sound of one's own voice even is startling in such a situation. Very often they sighed, and sometimes there was a pensive quietness broken only by the hoot-owl.
"What time do you s'pose it is, Julia?"
"I think it must be twelve at least. They're not coming for us to-night. They've forgotten us."
Their parents had not forgotten them, but when meal-time came and they did not appear, the Davenports supposed they were over at the Gordons', and the Gordons thought they were at the Davenports'. The children often stayed for meals without asking, and so neither family worried.
About half-past eight the Gordons decided to go and bring Julia home. When they walked in at the Davenports, the first question asked them was:
"Why did you not bring the children with you?"
"The children? Why, they are here, are they not?"
Anxiety immediately possessed every one present. Mrs. Davenport's first thought was of the river, and her heart became leaden. She gave voice to her fear.
"Nonsense," answered Mr. Davenport decidedly, although he himself was not so sure as he seemed; "they are not drowned."
With lanterns to aid them, a search was begun through the grounds.
Two scared little girls presently saw lights flitting like fireflies below them.
"Perhaps it's burglars."
"Or—or the Prince to rescue us."
"I don't want any Prince; Julia. I want my mamma. I'm tired of being a Princess. I want to go home. Let's call."
"But what if they are burglars."
"Burglars don't carry lights, do they?"
Then they heard voices calling:
"Julia, Beth."
"Here we are, papa. Here, up in this big tree."
This answer brought relief to many hearts. Even Julia was not sorry to descend again to earth, and be once more an ordinary girl. Romance is not always as pleasant as being practical. Let children who are inclined to run away from home, remember this.
"I'm going to double the recipe, Maggie."
"Law, honey, yo' hadn't best. I 'lows it's more partickiler to get good dat way."
"I can't help it. I want plenty of it so the judges can all have a taste. They'll be sure to give me a prize."
Beth had on an apron in which she was almost lost. In her hand, she held an open cook book from which she read:
"'The whites of five eggs.' Twice five is ten. Give me ten eggs, Maggie."
The good-natured Maggie counted out the desired number.
"I'll break dem for yo', honey."
"No, Maggie, I must do it every bit myself or it wouldn't be fair. Oh, dear me. The yolk has got into this one so it's no good. Another egg, please, Maggie."
All ten of the whites were finally in one dish. Beth tried to beat them and spattered them not only over herself but over the pantry floor.
"Whites of eggs are very slippery, Maggie."
"I wouldn't beat more'n half at a time, honey."
Beth accepted the suggestion and succeeded in getting a good stiff froth from the eggs. Next, she measured out the other ingredients. She tried to be careful, but somehow she spilled flour not only over the pantry floor but also over herself.
"Beth, you are a powdered beauty," called a boyish voice from the open pantry door.
"Why, Harvey, where did you come from?"
"Oh, I came to see you, and your mother told me I'd find you here. What are you making?"
"Wait until I put this pan in the oven, and I'll tell you all about it. Maggie," added Beth to the cook, "you're not to peep at my cake even. Promise me."
"Law, honey, I won't even go into the kitchen if yo' don't want me to. I'll stay here in de pantry until yo' calls me, but I fear you'll forget it."
"No, indeed, I won't."
The precious cake was consigned to the oven, and then Beth joined Harvey on the piazza.
"I've made an angel's cake, Harvey, and I'm going to get a prize for it. Mamma says the only way to learn to cook is just to cook."
All this time, Harvey had been holding one hand behind him. Beth now noticed that he was hiding something.
"What have you there?" she asked.
Harvey looked bashful. "Well, ever since I came so near burning you up, I've been saving my money to buy you a present, and here it is."
Beth drew in her breath at sight of a beautiful dog collar. "Oh, it's for Don, and what's this mark on it? 'Don. Owned by Beth Davenport.' Oh, it's too lovely for anything. Where is Don? I must try it on him."
The prize cake was all forgotten. Away she and Harvey scampered.
Don was out near the stable. The collar fitted him exactly, and the children talked and admired it for some time.
Suddenly Beth gasped, "Oh, my cake," and ran as fast as she could back to the kitchen.
Upon opening the oven, an avalanche of smoke came forth. The cake was burned to charcoal.
The heart-broken little cook sat down on the floor and cried bitterly. Maggie stuck her head through the pantry window.
"For de law's sake—dat beau'ful cake. I knew I jes' ought to have 'tended it."
"Maggie, Maggie, why didn't you tell me it was time to look at it?"
"Sure, honey, didn't yo' tol' me I must have nuffin to do with it?"
"Yes, but——" the sentence ended in sobs.
"Never mind, Beth," said Harvey; "Maggie will make you another, won't you, Maggie?"
"I don't want her to make me another. I was going to take a prize with this one, and the judges won't give prizes for burnt cake, boo-hoo."
Suddenly Beth resolved not to cry over spilt milk. She jumped to her feet.
"Harvey, run away. I'm going to make another cake, and I won't let it burn. I'll get the prize yet."
Harvey reluctantly departed. Beth immediately went to work and made another. When once it was in the oven, she watched it so carefully that Maggie feared it would be spoiled by overzeal. For a wonder, it was a great success. A professional cook could not have made a better-looking cake.
By this time, it was growing so late that Beth did not wait to make frosting.
She took her dress and cake over to the Fair building, which was about a quarter of a mile from her home. She was in plenty of time to make her entries.
Dollie was grazing in the pasture when Beth returned. This reminded her of her great desire to ride Dollie, so she called the horse to her, and she came running at the call. Dollie was always sure of sugar from Beth.
Beth put her hand up against the horse and whispered:
"I wish I might ride you, Dollie. I know I could. I'll go and ask mamma if I may."
Away ran Beth to her mother.
"Mamma, may I ride Dollie this morning?"
"No, dear, I'm going to use Dollie myself. I'm going to get Mrs. Corner, who is to spend the day with me. We are going to the races this afternoon."
"Won't you bring Laura back, too?"
"She probably can't come. She goes to school, you know."
"Mamma, will you let me ride Dollie sometime?"
"Yes, dear, sometime, but don't tease now."
Beth took this as a decided promise. She told Maggie, January, Harvey, and Julia that she was to ride Dollie; that her mamma had said so. She did nothing but talk about the matter the whole morning.
Mrs. Davenport returned with Mrs. Corner in time for luncheon. About two o'clock Beth ran into the library where her mother and her guest were having a cozy chat before starting for the races. She had thought so much about her ride that she took it for granted that Mrs. Davenport must know her thoughts.
"Mamma, I'm going now. May I?"
At this particular moment the conversation between the two women was especially absorbing so that Mrs. Davenport hardly heeded Beth.
"May I, mamma?"
Mrs. Davenport glanced towards her for a second. She took it for granted that Beth wished to play with either Julia or Harvey.
"All right. Run along, dear."
In the seventh heaven of happiness, Beth skipped up-stairs.
She decided that it would never do to ride in an ordinary dress, and believed that her mother would not object if she borrowed her riding habit. Beth knew just where to find it. The skirt was one of those now old-fashioned affairs that almost swept the ground even on a grown-up person.
However, Beth was not to be daunted. She heroically jumped into the skirt, but found that the belt was almost twice too large for her. This necessitated the use of a safety pin. She took a step towards the bureau, and fell sprawling over the floor, tangled in yards of trailing skirt. She tried to rise, and tripped again. For a moment, she rested on the floor, thinking to herself that it must be a much harder matter to manage a habit than a horse. Then, gathering up the unruly skirt in both hands, she managed to reach the bureau where she pinned the skirt tightly around her. But even now her troubles were not over.
The waist proved almost as big a problem as the skirt. She buttoned it on over her own dress, but even then it was about twice too large for her.
She looked at herself in a glass, and burst forth into hearty peals of laughter.
"I declah"—already she pronounced "declare" almost like the darkies—"I feel like a cat dressed up in clothes. It can't move without tumbling all over itself, and neither can I."
She held up her arms and flapped them. They were almost lost in the voluminous sleeves. Her hands were not to be seen at all.
"I never can manage a horse without hands," she murmured.
She overcame this difficulty by pinning up the bothersome sleeves.
Next, she jammed her mother's riding hat down on her curls. It, too, was much too large for her, and had some blond frizzes sewn across the front of it. The hat with its false front added the finishing touch of rakishness to Beth. She, however, was as proud as a peacock over her attire.
As fast as her awkward skirt would allow, she hurried in search of January.
He was very much amused over her appearance.
"Missy, I declah, yo' looks like a rag bag dat needs some rags to fill it out. Whaffor don't yo' get chuck full of somethin'?"
She would not heed such remarks, but said with great dignity:
"I wish the saddle put on Dollie."
"I'm skeered yo'r maw won't like me to."
"But she told me I might ride."
Still January hesitated.
"I dunno as I kin kotch Dollie."
"You can try. Hurry, January."
For once Dollie was easily caught and saddled. January helped Beth to mount. Nobody but him saw the start. He was so much interested that he walked down as far as the gate and opened it.
Dollie did not seem to wish to go for Beth, but the latter settled the question with a switch cut by January. She headed Dollie in the direction of the Fair grounds.
There was more driving than usual on the shell road, because of the Fair and the races. Many a person turned, stared, and smiled to see that quaint little figure on Dollie going along so primly.
A young lady, a cousin of Beth's, was spending the winter in Jacksonville that year, and was very popular in society. On this particular afternoon she, too, was driving on the shell road and chanced upon Beth. She and her escort laughed so heartily over the child's ludicrous appearance that Beth, at first, was inclined to be offended. However, she drew Dollie up alongside of the carriage.
"Are you laughing because we're going slow? I'm not a bit afraid. Say, Cousin Lulu, would you like to have a race with me?"
Lulu and her escort laughed harder than ever. Beth tried to look more dignified.
"I bet I could beat you, Cousin Lulu. Are you afraid I would? Come on and try."
The young man in the carriage leaned forward.
"Do you ride well enough for that?"
"Of course, I do."
This was hardly true, as she had never ridden at a fast pace in her life. She did not think it necessary to own to this, however.
The young man was highly amused.
"Well, little lady, we'll try your skill. If you reach the Fair grounds gate before we do, I'll give you a box of candy. Now when I count three and say go, we'll both start. Now one, two, three, go."
Beth gave Dollie a cut with the switch. She was bound to win that box of candy.
Dollie, surprised by the sudden blow, leaped forward, almost unseating Beth who, however, managed in some way not to fall.
The young man had a fine horse which also started forward at a good fast pace, and soon nosed ahead of his rival.
Dollie, not to be outdone, quickened her gait. Both horses began to feel the contagion of the race, especially Dollie who had been, as January said, a race horse in her day. Her mouth tightened on the bit.
Beth's blood quickened too. After she found she could cling on, she was not a particle frightened but began to enjoy the sport.
The young man turned to Lulu, saying:
"She does well for such a little thing, doesn't she?"
He touched his horse with the whip. It went faster. Whereupon Dollie took the bit so completely that Beth had no control over her. Her racing blood was thoroughly aroused, and it would have taken an extremely strong hold to quiet her. She simply flew, and Beth began to be scared. The words of January flashed through her mind: "She'll go so fast, you'll wish you hadn't got on her."
Nose to nose the horses sped over the hard shell road. The situation grew critical for Beth.
She wondered what her mother would say if she were thrown and her lifeless body were carried home.
"She will be so sorry that she scolded me yesterday. I wish I could tell her that I know I deserved it. I don't want to die."
The world seemed more beautiful than ever now that death seemed near her.
"Whoa, Dollie, whoa," she cried.
But Dollie paid not the slightest attention. With head curved well down she sped as fast as in her palmiest racing days. Slowly but surely she forged ahead of her fast rival.
"The horse is running away with the child. Stop her, stop her," cried Cousin Lulu in alarm.
Her warning came too late.
They were now opposite the Fair grounds, which had a very high fence surrounding them. There were two gates, one for pedestrians and the other for carriages.
Dollie swerved in at the foot passageway and her helpless rider could not stop her. People scattered in every direction before the runaway horse. Even the gate-keeper stepped aside, dropping his tickets in his fright.
"Oh, what shall we do? She'll surely be killed. She'll be dragged from her horse. Her dress has caught on the gate," cried Cousin Lulu with her heart in her mouth.
Beth let go the reins and held with one hand to the saddle pommel, and with the other to Dollie's mane. This saved her. Her skirt tore loose from the gate. Onward flew horse and child.
Cousin Lulu and her escort hastened after through the driveway. Far ahead of them they saw Dollie and Beth flying towards the race track with lightning speed.
Mr. Davenport chanced to come from the Fair building at this very minute.
"Oh, Uncle James," screamed Lulu, "Dollie is running away with Beth."
He hardly understood, but saw the runaway horse now nearing the race track and hastened after it.
With the long memory of a horse, Dollie recognized the track as a scene of bygone triumphs, and made straight for it. No rider urged her on as of old, no rivals were by her side; but Dollie of her own accord started around that course at a breakneck speed with a little girl clinging wildly to her mane.
People were already gathering on the grandstand and they held their breath for very fear, Beth held hers also. Dollie needed all of her breath for her solitary run. On, on, she flew. Beth clung closer, while people sprang to their feet in their anxiety over the outcome.
By this time Beth was hatless. Her long curls and the clumsy torn skirt were flying backwards.
On, on they came. People leaned far over the stand. Jockeys ran out on the track. One of them cried enthusiastically:
"It is a beautiful run if only the little one isn't killed."
Dollie in truth was making a wonderful run for a horse that had no competition. With long swinging strides she came around the track, and her speed remained unabated. If people had not been so fearful for the child's life, some one might have thought to time Dollie, and it is very probable that it would then have been proved that she was fully equaling her record if she was not breaking it.
Mr. Davenport ran up the track in an agony of fear, ready to head off the runaway animal if it seemed advisable. The jockeys followed in his wake.
"That is the child's father. How terrible it must be for him," said some of the spectators.
Dollie's speed remained unabated.
When she was three-quarters of the way around, Mr. Davenport was almost within hailing distance of his brave little girl who still clung to the excited horse.
Mr. Davenport was undecided whether to try to stop the horse or not, for fear a sudden stop might unseat his child.
Beth saw her father and grew excited.
"Oh, papa," she cried, taking her hand from the pommel to wave it to him.
The action came near being fatal. Dollie was making the curve. Beth swayed, and Mr. Davenport and many another spectator shuddered, fearing she would be dashed to death. She, however, proved a better rider than they expected. She was growing accustomed to the rapid motion of the horse, and gained confidence thereby. She straightened herself, clinging with one hand and gathering up the reins that had been hanging loose, with the other. Then she pulled on them again, crying:
"Whoa, Dollie, whoa."
Dollie perhaps was tiring of her mad run, for she heeded the frantic appeal. Gently as any well-regulated machinery, she slackened speed.
Delighted at the success of her horsemanship, Beth repeated the action, crying:
"Whoa—nice Dollie." Then in a tumult of relief she shouted:
"Hurrah, I'm not going to die after all."
People on the grandstand heard the sweet childish cry of joy and saw Dollie a moment after come to a standstill. Instantly a wild outburst of enthusiasm followed. People clapped and stamped wildly, shouting themselves hoarse. Mr. Davenport, too agitated for speech, rushed up to Beth, and clasped her close to his heart. The jockeys clustered around, and they too clapped their hands in approval.
"Why are all the people shouting?" asked Beth.
Mr. Davenport gave her a convulsive hug and answered:
"They are shouting for you, my dear."
For a few seconds Beth was quite overcome, and then she whispered to her father:
"I guess they're not shouting for me, but for Dollie. I didn't really want her to go so fast, but I couldn't stop her at first. In fact, I thought I was going to be killed, sure. I am very, very glad I was not thrown."
If she was glad, Mr. Davenport was more so, but he was still too overcome to say much. Beth was rather surprised to have him hug and kiss her so often, for generally he was not a demonstrative man.
Presently Beth said:
"Papa, I know how to ride now, don't I? And say, papa, I won a box of candy from Cousin Lulu's beau."
One of the jockeys heard her. He grinned his approval and said:
"She's got pluck enough to be one of us. I reckon she's born with a liking for horses. My, didn't the old mare go!"