Part 7 (1/2)

”Now get busy in earnest,” she said to the half-piqued lad, whose face wore an expression of ”do or die” as he again mounted his steed.

”You can just bet your last nickel I'm going to! Great Scott, do you think I'm going to let _this_ beat me out, or that yelling mob out yonder see me put out of commission? Now fire away. Show me how to keep my legs clamped and to sit in the saddle instead of on this beast's left ear.”

As Peggy was a skilled teacher and Jean an apt pupil the combination worked to perfection, and when in a half-hour's time they joined the main body of the cavalcade, Jean had at least learned where a saddle rests and had trained his legs to ”clamp” successfully.

Meanwhile, back on Severndale's broad piazza Peggy was the subject of a livelier discussion than she would have believed possible, and the upshot of it was a decision which carried Neil Stewart, Mrs. Harold, herself, and Polly off to Was.h.i.+ngton early the following morning to visit a school of which Mrs. Harold knew. Mrs. Stewart was very courteously asked to accompany the party of four, which was to spend three or four days in the Capital, but Mrs. Stewart was distinctly chagrined at her failure to carry successfully to a finish the scheme which she felt she had so carefully thought out. Alas, she could not understand that she sorely lacked the most essential qualities for its success--unselfishness, disinterestedness, the finer feeling of the older woman for the younger, and all that goes to make womanhood and maternal instinct what they should be. She felt that her reign at Severndale was ended and nothing remained but to make as graceful a retreat as possible. So she declined the invitation, stating that she was very anxious to visit some friends in Baltimore and would take this opportunity to do so, going by a later train.

Neil Stewart did not press his invitation. He wanted Mrs. Harold and the girls to himself for a time and knowing that it would be his last opportunity to see them for many months, resolved to make the most of it. Not by word or act had he expressed disapproval of Mrs. Stewart's rather extraordinary line of conduct since her arrival at Severndale, though evidences of it were to be seen at every turn, and both Harrison's and Mammy's tongues were fairly quivering to describe in detail the experiences of the past month.

Harrison was wise enough not to criticise, but she lost no opportunity for asking if she were to carry out this, that, or some other order of Mrs. Stewart's, until poor Neil lost his temper and finally rumbled out:

”Look here, Martha Harrison, how long have you been at Severndale?”

”Nigh on to twenty years, sir, and full fifteen years with that blessed child's mother before she ever heard tell of this place. I took care of her, as right well you know, long before she was as old as Miss Peggy.”

”And have I ever ordered any changes made in her rules?”

”None to my knowledge, sir. They was pretty sensible ones and there didn't seem any reason to change them.”

”Well, you're pretty long-headed, and until you _do_ see reason to change 'em let 'em stand and quit pestering _me_. You're the Exec. on this s.h.i.+p until I see fit to appoint a new one and when I think of doing that I'll give you due notice.”

But Mammy would have exploded had she not expressed her views. Harrison had chosen the moment when Captain Stewart had gone to his room just before supper that eventful Sunday evening, but Mammy spoke when she carried up to him the little jug of mulled cider for which Severndale was famous and which, when cider was to be had, she had never failed to carry to ”her boy,” as Neil Stewart, in spite of his forty-six years, still seemed to old Mammy.

Tapping at the door of his sitting-room, she entered at his ”Come in.”

She found him standing before a large silver-framed photograph of Peggy's mother. It had been taken shortly before her death and when such a tragic ending to their ideal life had least been dreamed possible. A fancy-dress ball had been given by the young officers stationed at the Academy and Mrs. Stewart had attended it gowned as ”Marie Stuart,”

wearing a superb black velvet gown and the widely-known ”Marie Stuart coif and ruff” of exquisite Point de Venice lace. She had never looked lovelier, or more stately in her life, and that night Neil Stewart was the proudest man on the ballroom floor. Then he had insisted upon a famous Was.h.i.+ngton photographer taking this beautiful picture and--well, it was the last ever taken of the wife he adored, for within another month she had dropped asleep forever.

Good old Mammy's eyes were very tender as she looked at her boy, and instead of saying what she had come to say: ”ter jist nach.e.l.ly an'

pintedly 'spress her min',” she went close to his side and looking at the lovely face smiling at her, said:

”Dar weren't never, an' dar ain' never gwine ter be no sich lady as dat a-one, Ma.s.sa Neil, lessen it gwine be Miss Peggy. She favor her ma mo'

an' mo' every day she livin', an' I wisht ter Gawd her ma was right hyer dis minit fer ter _see_ it, dat I do.”

”Amen! Mammy,” was Captain Stewart's reply. ”Peggy needs more than we can give her just now, no matter how hard we try. The trouble is she seems to have grown up all in a minute apparently while we have been thinking she was a child.”

Neil Stewart placed the photograph back upon the top of the bookshelf and sighed.

”No, sir, _dat_ ain't it. Deed tain't. She been a-growin' up dis long time, but we's been dozin' like, an' ain't had our eyes open wide 'nough. An' now we's all got shook wide awake by _somebody else_.”

Mammy paused significantly. Neil Stewart frowned.

”Just as well maybe. But don't light into me. I'm all frazzled out now.

Harrison's hints are like eight inch sh.e.l.ls; Dr. Llewellyn's like a highly charged electric battery; Jerome fires a blunderbuss every ten minutes and even Shelby and Jess use pop-guns. Good Lord, are you going to let drive with a gatling? Clear out and let me drink my cider in peace, and quit stewing, for I tell you right now the fire-brand which has kept the kettles boiling is going to be removed.”

”Praise de Lawd fo' _dat_ blessin' den. It was jist gwine ter make some of dem pots bile over if it had a-kep' on, yo' hyer me? Good-night, Ma.s.sa Neil, drink yo' cider an' thank de Lawd fo' yo' mercies.”

”Good-night, Mammy. You're all right even if I do feel like smacking your head off once in a while. Used to do it when I was a kid, you know, and can't drop the habit.”