FORTESCUE AND ROSES AND BIRDSEYE
The Christmas sun was shining brilliantly, and it was not so
desperately cold as the day before. Betty had hopes that the thin skim
of snow would melt, so that the scent would lie for the fox-hunt the
next morning. She ran downstairs as soon as she was dressed, and found
the Colonel standing on the hearth-rug, his back to the fire, and his
eyes turned resolutely away from Rosehill. Betty kissed him all over
his face, and commanded him to be cheerful, as everybody should be on
Christmas morning. Then Aunt Tulip and Uncle Cesar were called in for
their simple gifts, and Kettle appeared with them, his clothes clean
and respectable-looking. There was much talk between the Colonel and
Uncle Cesar over Christmas days long past, and the Colonel, whatever
his heart might be, carried out to the letter Betty's injunction to be
cheerful. As for Kettle, the sight of his Christmas stocking and his
treasures, the collars and the gorgeous red cravat, and the magnificent
prospect of a pair of new shoes, completely overwhelmed him. He could
only look first at Betty and then at Aunt Tulip, and say to himself:
"This is the fust Chris'mus I ever see; the fust Chris'mus I ever see."
"Didn't you ever have a Christmas stocking before, Kettle?" asked Betty.
"Naw, Miss," answered Kettle. "I done heah 'bout 'em, but I ain't never
had none befo'."
Kettle's bliss was further augmented when Aunt Tulip put a standing
collar around his neck and tied the flaming red necktie under his chin.
All was then swallowed up in Kettle's rapture over his own appearance.
He stood before the old-fashioned mirror over the pier table, his head
barely reaching the top; his mouth came open as if it were on hinges,
his eyes danced in his head, and words failed him. There are moments of
rapture when speech is a superfluity, and so it was with Kettle when he
beheld himself in his first cravat, and that a large one of brilliant
red.
"Now, boy," said Aunt Tulip severely, who did not believe in wasting
indulgences on boys, "now that Miss Betty and ole Marse done been so
good to you, you got to do all you kin to holp along. You got to pick
up chips an' fotch water an' black ole Marse's shoes an' do everything
you know how."
"I cert'n'y will," answered Kettle fervently. And then the divine
spirit of gratitude appeared in his eyes, and he said:
"An' I ain' gwine to fergit that you washed my clo'es."
"An' washed you, too," replied Aunt Tulip. "An' you got to do it
yourself every day, or I'll see to you."
This awful and indefinite threat impressed Kettle with a wholesome fear
of the most harmless creature on earth--Aunt Tulip.
Then breakfast was served, and Kettle received his first lessons in
bringing in batter-cakes. In the intervals between the relays of hot
batter-cakes, Kettle glued his eyes to his own image in the glass with
a vanity second only to that of Narcissus.
Of course, the Colonel had to hear all about the party, and who was
there, and if the regulation Christmas festivities were thoroughly
carried out.
"Once," said the Colonel, "we celebrated Christmas that way at
Rosehill, with an unstinted hospitality. Now----"
"Haven't I told you," cried Betty, sternly from across the table, "that
you were not to make a single complaint against Fate on Christmas Day?
Didn't I tell you yesterday I knew this was going to be the pleasantest
Christmas I ever had? So far it certainly has been. The dance last
night was the most heavenly thing--my gown is in ribbons, but I can
mend it up all right, and put in a couple of new breadths later in the
week. And Mr. Fortescue told me he thought that a white muslin gown at
Christmas time, with scarlet ribbons and a wreath of geranium leaves,
with moss rosebuds, was the most beautiful and poetic costume a girl
could wear."
The Colonel's white teeth showed under his trim gray moustache.
"Fortescue knows how to pay compliments, my dear," he said.
"All right," cried Betty. "A man who doesn't know how to pay
compliments and isn't equal to telling colossal fibs to the girl he is
dancing with, isn't the man for me."
When breakfast was over Uncle Cesar brought in the only melancholy news
of the day. Old Whitey had gone lame, and there was no going to church
that day, nor was it likely that he would be fit to ride the next
day at the hunt. Betty sighed deeply. The crust of snow was rapidly
disappearing, and the ground would be in good condition for the hunt.
However, Betty was of a hopeful nature, and felt sure that a horse
would drop down out of the clouds for her to ride.
The Christmas dinner was to be served at the old-fashioned hour of four
o'clock, so when breakfast was over and Betty had paid a visit to old
Whitey, she went up to her room and, throwing herself upon her bed,
began to make up her lost arrears of sleep. The Colonel was downstairs
absorbed in his new histories, which Betty had given him for his
Christmas gift, and Betty slept peacefully until it was quite three
o'clock, and the winter sun was beginning to decline. Then, as she lay
awake thinking pleasant thoughts, her door was noiselessly opened, and
Kettle appeared above his red cravat, carrying a big bouquet of white
roses. He laid the roses down on Betty's pillow, and said:
"The gent'man who fotch 'em is downstairs--Mr. Fortescue."
Betty sat up and buried her face in the fresh roses. She knew them
well. They came from the greenhouse at Rosehill, and she herself had
taught them to bloom late and luxuriantly.
"Tell the gentleman I will be down immediately," she said, and then,
running to her mirror, proceeded to make a fetching toilette out of
very simple elements. Her well fitting dark blue gown set off her
slender figure, and when she came into the sitting-room, carrying her
huge bunch of roses, Fortescue, who sat talking to the Colonel, thought
she looked like a peach ripening on the southern wall.
"I thank you so much," said Betty sweetly to Fortescue. "I tended the
roses in the greenhouse at Rosehill as long as we lived there. We have
no greenhouse here, so we couldn't bring the rosebushes with us. But I
always had roses for Christmas."
"And I hope you will always have roses for Christmas," replied
Fortescue gallantly.
Then they sat and talked gaily together as young people do, of dances
and hunting and all of the great affairs of youth, the Colonel putting
in a word occasionally. Fortescue was lucky enough to be asked to all
the Christmas parties.
"I should like," he said, "to give a party at Rosehill, but I don't
know how. I am only a man, you know. I should wish to do it right, but
I am afraid I can't make it quite as it ought to be on short notice.
Now, next Christmas, if I can get leave, I will have a party, too. That
is, if you, Miss Betty, will help me."
The Colonel liked the modesty of this speech, and at once said that
Betty would help.
Then Betty told the melancholy story of old Whitey's lameness.
Fortunately, Sally Carteret, knowing that old Whitey had to be saved
for the hunt, had invited Betty to go with her to the party that
evening at Red Plains, which was close by.
"Do you mean," asked Fortescue, "that you are to miss the hunt?"
"I am afraid so," said poor Betty dolefully.
"But that isn't to be thought of," cried Fortescue. "I have several
horses at Rosehill, and I can give you a mount. Birdseye, that I
rode over here, is the gentlest and kindest horse that ever stepped.
Although not a regular hunter, she can get along the road and over the
fences all right."
"Oh!" exclaimed Betty, jumping up, "do let me see her! Granddaddy, may
I ride Birdseye to-morrow morning?"
The Colonel hesitated a moment.
"I should require, my love," he said, "to see Birdseye. Perhaps she has
never had a side-saddle on her, or known what a riding-skirt is."
"We can try her," suggested Fortescue.
Betty ran out into the little hall, and, picking up a red scarf, threw
it over her head, calling back to the Colonel:
"Don't you dare, Granddaddy, to come out on the porch. You can see from
the window."
Fortescue was not a foot behind Betty, and they both ran to where
Birdseye, dancing to keep herself warm, stood under a great holly tree.
From the kitchen window peeped a little round, black face.
"We can try Birdseye with that little black boy," said Fortescue. "She
wouldn't hurt a baby."
Betty beckoned to Kettle, who came out willingly enough, his
constitutional grin over-spreading his face.
"Run to the stable and get a horse-blanket," said Betty, which Kettle
proceeded to do, and returned in a couple of minutes.
But Kettle's face suddenly changed when Fortescue, catching him by the
shoulder, wrapped the horse-blanket around him as if it were a skirt,
and Betty supplied a couple of hair-pins with which to fasten it. Then
Fortescue, flinging the boy on Birdseye's back, put the reins in his
hand, saying:
"Now, you little scamp, gallop around the lawn."
Kettle, his scared eyes nearly bouncing out of his little black face,
his grin wholly disappeared, was quite incapable of taking a gallop
around the lawn of his own initiative. He clung desperately to the
reins, and began to stutter.
"G-g-g-g-ood Gord A'mighty, Miss Betty! I's jes' skeered to death of
this heah hoss!"
Birdseye, however, well bred, well behaved, and intelligent, paid no
attention to the squirming, frightened burden upon her shapely back.
Fortescue, taking her by the bridle, led her to the paling around the
little lawn, and then, with a twig broken from a big holly tree, gave
her a sharp cut on the flank. Birdseye knew what was expected, and,
rising, she made a beautiful standing jump over the paling. At that
Kettle, with a yell, dropped the reins and grabbed the mare around the
neck with both arms. Not even this could disturb Birdseye's admirable
poise. Fortescue himself made a standing leap over the paling and,
running Birdseye around, made her do another beautiful jump over the
paling. By that time, not even fear of Fortescue or love of Betty could
keep Kettle on Birdseye's back another minute. As soon as she came to a
standstill, he tore off the horse-blanket and, dropping to the ground,
ran as fast as his short legs could carry him into the kitchen, and
disappeared.
The Colonel, who was watching from the window, tapped his approval on
the window-pane. Fortescue then mounted, and, riding off some distance
in the field, came back at a swinging gallop, and Birdseye took the
paling most beautifully in her stride, flying over it like a bird.
Betty immediately fell deeply in love with Birdseye, and declared that
she must go upstairs and put on her habit, and test the horse for
herself. In a little while, she came down, more bewitching than ever to
Fortescue's eyes, in her trim black habit and little beaver hat.
Fortescue, mindful of Colonel Beverley's scrutiny, put Betty on
horseback in the old way, by taking her slim foot in his hand, and
Betty stiffening her knee and rising into the side-saddle, which had
been put on Birdseye's back. Betty did the standing leap beautifully
half a dozen times, and then, riding off in the field, turned and
came back, and Birdseye made a running leap like the flight of a
lapwing. Fortescue had no doubt that Betty was quite safe by her own
horsemanship on Birdseye's back. They were so interested in their
pastime that they forgot the passing of the hours. The Christmas
dinner at Holly Lodge was served at four o'clock, and just before the
hour Uncle Cesar came out of the house and said with a courtly bow to
Fortescue:
"Ole Marse, he say it is mos' fou' o'clock, an' you mus' come in an'
have Christmas dinner with Miss Betty an' him."
Fortescue demurred a little, meaning all the while to accept. His
riding clothes were hardly suitable, he said. But Betty clinched the
matter by saying to Uncle Cesar:
"Tell the Colonel that Mr. Fortescue will stay to dinner, and hopes his
riding clothes will be excused."
There was just time for Betty to skip upstairs and jump into a little
gown of a pale and jocund yellow, with an open neck, around which
she hung the Colonel's Christmas gift, the little locket. The elbow
sleeves showed her dimpled arms, and with deliberate coquetry she put
in her shining hair one of the white roses Fortescue had brought her,
and another over her innocent and affectionate little heart. When she
entered the sitting-room, which served also as a dining-room, Betty was
justly triumphant. She knew that she was looking her best.