Volume I Part 26 (1/2)
”Because I am persuaded of the contrary.”
”I don't believe your horse will like it,” said Thorn.
”My horse is always of my mind, Sir; or if he be not, I generally succeed in convincing him.”
”But there is somebody else that deserves to be consulted,”
said Mrs. Thorn. ”I wonder how little Fleda will like it.”
”I will ask her when we get to our first stopping-place,” said Mr. Carleton, smiling. ”Come, Fleda!”
Fleda would hardly have said a word if his purpose had been to put her under the horse's feet instead of on his back. But she came forward with great unwillingness, and a very tremulous little heart. He must have understood the want of alacrity in her face and manner, though he took no notice of it otherwise than by the gentle kindness with which he led her to the horse-block, and placed her upon it. Then mounting, and riding the horse up close to the block, he took Fleda in both hands, and bidding her spring, in a moment she was safely seated before him.
At first it seemed dreadful to Fleda to have that great horse's head so near her, and she was afraid that her feet touching him would excite his most serious disapprobation.
However, a minute or so went by, and she could not see that his tranquillity seemed to be at all ruffled, or even that he was sensible of her being upon his shoulders. They waited to see the stage-coach off, and then gently set forward. Fleda feared very much again when she felt the horse moving under her, easy as his gait was, and looking after the stage-coach in the distance, now beyond call, she felt a little as if she was a great way from help and dry land ? cast away on a horse's back. But Mr. Carleton's arm was gently pa.s.sed round her, and she knew it held her safely, and would not let her fall; and he bent down his face to her, and asked her so kindly and tenderly, and with such a look too, that seemed to laugh at her fears, whether she felt afraid? and with such a kind little pressure of his arm that promised to take care of her, that Fleda's courage mounted twenty degrees at once. And it rose higher every minute; the horse went very easily, and Mr. Carleton held her so that she could not be tired, and made her lean against him; and before they had gone a mile Fleda began to be delighted. Such a charming way of travelling! Such a free view of the country! and in this pleasant weather, too, neither hot nor cold, and when all nature's features were softened by the light veil of haze that hung over them, and kept off the sun's glare, Mr. Carleton was right. In the stage-coach Fleda would have sat quiet in a corner, and moped the time sadly away; now she was roused, excited, interested, even cheerful; forgetting herself, which was the very thing of all others to be desired for her. She lost her fears; she was willing to have the horse trot or canter as fast as his rider pleased; but the trotting was too rough for her, so they cantered or paced along most of the time, when the hills did not oblige them to walk quietly up and down, which happened pretty often. For several miles the country was not very familiar to Fleda. It was, however, extremely picturesque; and she sat silently and gravely looking at it, her head lying upon Mr. Carleton's breast, her little mind very full of thoughts and musings, curious, deep, sometimes sorrowful, but not unhappy.
”I am afraid I tire you, Mr. Carleton!” said she, in a sudden fit of recollection, starting up.
His look answered her, and his arm drew her back to her place again.
”Are _you_ not tired, Elfie?”
”Oh no! ? You have got a new name for me, Mr. Carleton,” said she, a moment after, looking up and smiling.
”Do you like it?”
”Yes.”
”You are my good genius,” said he, ”so I must a peculiar t.i.tle for you, different from what other people know you by.”
”What is a genius, Sir?” said Fleda.
”Well, a sprite, then,” said he, smiling.
”A sprite?” said Fleda.
”I have read a story of a lady, Elfie, who had a great many little unearthly creatures, a kind of sprites, to attend upon her. Some sat in the ringlets of her hair, and took charge of them; some hid in the folds of her dress and made them lie gracefully; another lodged in a dimple in her cheek, and another perched on her eyebrows, and so on.”
”To take care of her eyebrows?” said Fleda, laughing.
”Yes; to smooth out all the ill-humoured wrinkles and frowns, I suppose.”
”But am I such a sprite?” said Fleda.
”Something like it.”
”Why, what do I do?” said Fleda, rousing herself in a mixture of gratification and amus.e.m.e.nt that was pleasant to behold.
”What office would you choose, Elfie? what good would you like to do me?”
It was a curious wistful look with which Fleda answered this question, an innocent look, in which Mr. Carleton read perfectly that she felt something was wanting in him, and did not know exactly what. His smile almost made her think she had been mistaken.
”You are just the sprite you would wish to be, Elfie,” he said.