Part 7 (1/2)

”Ah, Rosamond,” began a voice well known, ”had you come a moment sooner, a drowsy lord you would have found.”

”Beshrew the idea of a lord of sixteen!” cried Rosamond, pettishly.

”Where is the sense in leaving home and sailing away to another land to study what could be very well learned right here, and the better to look into troubles that may never come?”

”I must fit myself in the very best way for the future,” manfully answered the lad.

”And prithee, are there not fields to till, crops to watch, and hands to guide, that one must fly across the ocean in search of usefulness?”

”My father is able to look after his fields, his crops, and his servants, cousin Rosamond, and it was a fine course of study that fitted him to be the man he is. And thankful I am that he hath both means and the willingness wherewith to fit me to follow in his footsteps.”

”We have had many pleasant times together,” sighed Rosamond.

”As boy and girl, yes. I go now to prepare myself to take a man's place in affairs, would'st hinder me?”

”Yes!” snapped Rosamond. ”I would indeed!”

She was a petted beauty, this Rosamond, and being seventeen was both much admired and sought after.

”Yes,” she repeated, ”I would hinder you from such folly! You have been well taught already. Here is our own William and Mary College, no mean place of learning; why is it not fully good enough, pray tell me?”

”I seek helps of all kinds, my cousin, and would study midst the treasures and libraries of the Old World, nor can any one hinder me.”

”Then will I turn my thoughts another way,” said Rosamond, ”and that will not please your mother.”

There was no reply.

”What say you to that?” asked the haughty beauty.

”It is my desire to think chiefly at present of the study on which my heart is set,” was the sensible reply; ”but,” Lionel added, more hotly, ”I want to follow the course I have marked out, and I will!”

There was ever something about the warm air of the South that made her sons impetuous in speech, yet they were also chivalrous, gentle to the weak, and kind and courteous in speech.

So when Rosamond began to cry and to say, ”What need to be so harsh with a poor little cousin who meant no harm?” Lionel exclaimed:

”Forgive me, Rosamond, I meant not to be unkind. But I feel within me the need of preparation such as is before me. Yet I would not be too hasty in speech. I pray you, forgive me, dear.”

”Ah, how sweet is the spirit of my Fairy Prince,” smiled Sally. ”Who would not love so gentle a voice, and one who so quickly says 'forgive'?”

Then she looked around with the scared expression always quick to come over her face whenever she dared to say or to think, ”My Fairy Prince.”

Nearly every evening after this, Sally would hover near the arbor, but so warm was the weather that the young people would go in the family coach for long drives, while Sir Percival and Lady Gabrielle would start away in the shay, taking their slower way through sweet, gra.s.sy roads, along by the quiet dingle and flowery dell.

Then off would roam Sally, perhaps loitering around fair Ingleside, or returning to her beloved pine woods and leafy oak-tree.

One evening, as Sally was returning through Lover's Lane, she saw Mammy Leezer coming toward her, and very glad she was to meet the good-looking old colored woman. Mammy came on with her usual slow step, and said, as Sally drew near:

”Hot, isn't it, honey?”

”Yes, it is hot,” Sally made answer, ”but this is a pretty evening for those who can go riding.”

Mammy tossed her independent old head.