Part 20 (2/2)
Darkeih departed, and in half an hour's time the overseer appeared at the foot of the porch steps, red and heated from his rapid walk from the Three-Mile field.
”What's wrong, Mistress Patricia?” he asked quickly.
Patricia opened her lovely eyes. ”Nothing is wrong, Woodson. What should be? I sent for you, because I want to go to Rosemead.”
”To Rosemead!” exclaimed the overseer.
”Yes, to Rosemead, and I want a couple of men to take me.”
The overseer gave a short, vexed laugh. ”I can't spare the men, Mistress Patricia. You ought to have known that every man jack on the plantation is busy cutting. If I had a known this was all that was wanted! Fegs! I thought something dreadful was the matter.”
”Something dreadful is the matter,” said the young lady calmly. ”I am bored to death.”
”Sorry for ye, missy, but I can't spare the men.”
”Oh, yes, you can!” said Patricia with unruffled composure.
The overseer, knowing his lady, began to weaken.
”Anyhow, you wouldn't want two men. You might go on a pillion behind old Abraham. I could spare _him_.”
”I shall not go a-horseback. 'Tis too hot and dusty. I shall go in one of the sail-boats--the Bluebird, I think.”
”Now, in the name of all that's contrary, what do you want to do that for, Mistress Patricia?” cried the hara.s.sed overseer. ”It's twice as far by water.”
”I'll reach Rosemead before dark. The men can bring the boat back to-night, and Major Carrington will send me home on a pillion to-morrow.”
”Have you forgotten that to-morrow is Sunday?” said the overseer severely, and with a new-born anxiety for the proper observance of the holy day. ”Will you have the Colonel pay a fine for you?”
”I will go to service with the Carringtons then, and come home on Monday,” said the lady serenely.
”There's a squall coming up this afternoon.”
”There isn't a cloud in the sky,” said his mistress with calm conviction, looking straight before her at a low, tumbled line of creamy peaks along the horizon.
”If the Colonel were here--”
”He would say, 'Woodson, do exactly as Mistress Patricia tells you.'”
This with great sweetness.
The overseer gave it up. ”I reckon he would, missy,” he said with a grin. ”You wind him and all of us around your finger.”
”'Tis all for your good, Woodson,” with a soft, bright laugh. Then, coaxingly, ”Am I to have the Bluebird?”
”I reckon so, Mistress Patricia, seeing that you have set your heart upon it,” said the still reluctant overseer.
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