"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."
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," criedMrs. 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.
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," answeredMinervy, 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,Iis."
"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."
"AndIstarted 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 whenJerome 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. "WhenIdies, 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.]
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 sheis," 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 other side, and the two strong, robust girls, upon whom fortune and Nature had smiled so kindly, led their less fortunate little sister to the great house.