Part 11 (1/2)
”That's exactly what I mean _to_ do,” replied Natalie, with an emphatic little nod. ”I'm beginning to believe we don't know half we should know about the stables.”
”I should imagine that Mrs. Vincent would be a far better judge of what was proper for young ladies than a couple of perfectly lawless girls who have been brought up on a Southern ranch or something. _I_ call them perfect hoydens and they would not be countenanced a moment in the Back Bay,” was Isabel's superior opinion.
”A Southern ranch?” echoed Rosalie, ”You're mixed in your geography, Isabel. They have plantations and estates in the South, but the ranches are out West. But I don't wonder you prefer b.u.mping along as you do on the old Senator. You match him all right, all right. But just you wait until we leave you behind when we've learned to ride like Peggy and Polly, for we're going to do it, you can just bet your best hat.”
”Thank you, I never indulge in betting or slang. Both are vulgar in the extreme. And as to riding like a circus performer, I have higher aims in life.”
”Going in for the trapeze? They say it's fine to reduce embonpoint.”
No reply was made to Rosalie's gibe and the lesson went on in its usual uneventful manner. Meanwhile Peggy and Polly were having a glorious game of tag, for the Columbia Heights grounds were very extensive, and drives led in every direction. When pursued and pursuer were in a perfect gale of merriment, and Tzaritza giving way to her most joyous cavortings, a sudden turn brought them upon Mrs. Vincent. She was seated upon a rustic bench in one of the cosy nooks of the grounds and Tzaritza, bounding ahead, was the first to see her, and Tzaritza never forgot a kindness.
The next second she had dropped upon the ground at Mrs. Vincent's feet, her nose buried in her forepaws--Tzaritza's way of manifesting her allegiance and affection. Then up she rose, rested her feet upon the bench and for the second time laid her head upon Mrs. Vincent's shoulder. Before that gratified lady had time to do more than place an arm about the big dog's neck, Peggy's and Polly's chargers had come to a halt in front of her and at word of command stood as still as statues.
The girls slipped from the horses' backs, as bonny a pair as ever thrilled an older woman's soul.
”Oh, Mrs. Vincent, we've had such a race!” cried Polly, smiling into Mrs. Vincent's face with her irresistible smile.
”Isn't it good just to be alive on such a day?” smiled Peggy, turning to her as she would have turned to Mrs. Harold, her face alight. Aunt Katherine had been Peggy's only ”wet blanket” and, it had not been wrapped about her long enough to destroy her absolute confidence in grown-ups. Perhaps Miss Sturgis would threaten it, but all that lay in the future.
”And to be just fifteen with all the world before you, and such animals beside you,” answered Mrs. Vincent, stroking Tzaritza and nodding toward the horses.
”Yes, aren't they just the dearest ever? Who could help loving them?”
”Will they stand like that without being tied?”
”Oh, yes, they have always obeyed me perfectly. I wish you could see Roy and the others. Some day you must come out to Severndale, Mrs. Vincent, and see my four-footed children. I've such a lot of them.”
”Tell me something of your home and home-life, dear. We are not very well acquainted, you know, and that is a poor beginning.”
It was a subject dear to Peggy's heart, and she needed no urging. Seated beside Mrs. Vincent, for half an hour she talked of her life at Severndale, Polly's interjections supplying little side-lights which Mrs. Vincent was quick to appreciate, though Polly did not realize how they emphasized Peggy's picture of her home.
”And you really raised those splendid horses yourself? I have never seen their equal.”
”But if you only knew how wonderfully intelligent they are, Mrs.
Vincent! Of course, Silver Star is now Polly's horse, but she has learned to understand him so perfectly, and ride so beautifully, that he loves her as well as he loves me and obeys her as well.”
For a moment or two Mrs. Vincent's face wore an odd expression.
”Understand” a horse? To be ”loved” by one? Did she ”understand” those in her stable? Did they ”love” her? She almost smiled. It was such a new viewpoint. Yet, why not? The animals upon her place were certainly entirely dependent upon her for their happiness and comfort. But had she ever given that fact a serious thought?
Slipping an arm about each girl as they sat beside her she asked:
”What do you think of our horses, and of Dawson? For a little fifteen-year old la.s.sie you seem to have had a remarkable experience.”
Peggy colored, but Polly blurted out:
”I think he's a regular old hypocrite and so does Peggy. Why, Shelby would have forty fits if any of our horses' feet were like Jack-o'-Lantern's, or their bits as dirty as the Senator's.”
”Oh, Polly, please don't!” begged Peggy. But it was too late. ”What is this?” asked Mrs. Vincent quickly.
”Well, I dare say I've made a mess of the whole thing. I generally do, but Peggy and I do love animals so and hate to see them abused.”