Joe, while Annie, who was growing apathetic under a culmination of
troubles, busied herself in making the lemonade, and then sat down by
her baskets to wait. She could see through the gathering dusk the merry
crowd upon the beach, as they scattered about gathering driftwood for a
fire. She heard every now and then, above the sound of the waves, a gay
shout of laughter, and, nearer at hand, the restless stamping of the
horses. She turned her back to the beach half pettishly, and sat
watching Mr. Harry's sorrel as he nervously tossed his head and switched
his tail, trying to keep off the sand flies. From that she fell to
wondering how Mr. Harry happened to be there, and what Mr. Lane thought
about it, and if there would be a fight. There probably would not, she
reflected, with some regret, for gentlemen did not always fight when
they should. (She had heard through the butcher's boy the story of
Peter's prowess, and the knowledge had given some slight comfort.) Her
reflections were suddenly interrupted by the sound of steps crashing
toward her through the underbrush, and she looked up with a fast-beating
heart. Her first thought was that it was Peter coming to make up, and
she resolutely stiffened herself to withstand him, but a second glance
showed her that it was Mr. Lane.
"Where's Joe?" he demanded.
"I don't know, Mr. Lane."
"Where's Peter, then?"
"I don't know. The two o' them hasn't been here since supper."
"Well, damn it! I've got to find some one." Mr. Lane was evidently
excited. "See here, Annie," he said, "you're a good girl. Just give a
message to Mrs. Carter from me, will you, please? Tell her a boy rode
out on a bicycle with a telegram calling me back to New York
immediately, and I had to ride back to the house without finding her in
order to catch the ten-o'clock train. Don't say anything to Miss Ethel,
and here's something to buy a new dress. Good-bye."
"Thank you, sir. Good-bye."
He hastily rebuckled his horse's bridle, led him into the lane out of
sight of the beach, and mounted and galloped off. Annie looked after
him with wide eyes; his bearing was not very jaunty; she wondered if Mr.
Harry had whipped him. It did not seem likely, for Mr. Lane was the
larger of the two; but for the matter of that, she reflected, so was the
grocer's man larger than Peter. She did not understand it, but she
slipped the bill into her pocket with a shrug of her shoulders. She
could afford to be philosophic over other people's troubles.
It was growing dark in among the trees and she was beginning to feel
very lonely. A big red moon was rising over the water, and a bright fire
was crackling on the beach. The sound of singing was mingled with the
beating of the surf. Annie wandered out from the shadow of the trees and
strolled up the beach away from the camp-fire and the singers. Presently
she dropped down in the shadow of a sand dune and sat with her chin in
her hands pensively watching the black silhouettes against the fire. By
and by she saw two figures strolling along the beach in her direction.
She recognized them as Miss Ethel and Mr. Harry, and she crouched down
behind the dune until they passed. She felt lonelier than ever as she
watched them disappear, and the first thing she knew, she had buried her
head in her arms and was crying to herself--but not very hard, for she
was mindful of the ride home, and she did not wish to make her eyes red.
Not for the world would she have let Peter know that she felt unhappy.
Suddenly into the midst of her misery came the sound of scrunching sand
and the smell of cigarette smoke. Then, without looking up, she felt
that some one was standing over her and that that some one was Peter.
She held her breath and waited like a little ostrich, with her head
burrowed into the sand.
Peter it was, and a mighty struggle was going on within his breast, but
love is stronger than pride, and his Irish heart conquered in the end.
He bent over and touched her shoulder lightly.
"Annie!" he whispered.
She held her breath and kept her face hidden.
He dropped on his knee in the sand beside her. "Annie, darlin', don't be
cryin'. Tell me what's the trouble." He forcibly transferred her head
from the sand bank to his shoulder, and her tears trickled down his
neck. "Is it yer finger that's hurtin' ye?"
She raised a tear-stained face with a quick smile quivering through at
this purely masculine suggestion.
"It's not me finger; it's me feelin's," she breathed into his ear. Peter
tightened his arms around her. "But they're not hurtin' any more," she
added with a little laugh.
"An' this time we'll be friends f'r always?"
She nodded.
"Gee!" he whispered. "I've been spendin' the week in hell thinkin' ye
didn't care nothin' for me."
"So uv I," said Annie.
As they sat watching the rippling path of moonlight on the water, from
far down the beach they could hear the voices singing, "It's the spring
time of life and the world is all before us." Annie laughed happily as
she listened.
"I was wishin' a while ago that I was Miss Ethel 'cause she has
everything she wants, but I don't wish it any more. She hasn't got you,
Petey."
"And I'm thinkin' she isn't wantin' me," said Peter, with his eyes on
the beach above them, where Miss Ethel and Mr. Harry were coming toward
them hand in hand. The two stopped suddenly as they caught sight of
Annie and Peter and hastily dropped each others' hands. Then Miss Ethel
ran forward with a conscious little laugh.
"Annie, you shall be the first to congratulate me--but it's a secret;
you mustn't tell a soul."
Annie looked back with shining eyes. "I'm engaged, too," she whispered.
"You dear!" said Miss Ethel, and she put her arm around her and kissed
her.
Peter and Mr. Harry stood a moment eyeing each other awkwardly, then
they reached out across the gulf that separated them and shook hands.
X
A PARABLE FOR HUSBANDS
Blue Gipsy's filly had broken two pairs of shafts, kicked a hole through
a dash-board, and endeavoured to take a fence carriage and all, in a
fixed determination not to become a harness-horse. It was evident that
she had chosen her career and meant to stick to it.
"Break her to the shafts if you have to half kill her," Mr. Harry had
said, but there were some things that Mr. Harry did not understand so
well as Peter.
"Where's the use in spoilin' a good jumper for the sake o' makin' a poor
drivin' horse?" Peter had asked the trainer, and he had added that the
master was talking through his hat.
Peter had already explained the matter to Mr. Harry, but Mr. Harry was
very much like the filly; when he had made up his mind he did not like
to change. Peter decided to talk it over once more, however, before he
risked another groom. The first groom had dislocated his shoulder, and
he refused to have any further intercourse with Blue Gypsy's filly.
Poor Peter felt himself growing old under the weight of his
responsibilities. Three years before he had been a care-free groom at
Willowbrook; now, since Miss Ethel had married Mr. Harry, he was
coachman at Jasper Place, with seven horses and three men under him.
Occasionally he gazed rather wistfully across the meadow to where the
Willowbrook stables showed a red blur through the gray-green trees. He
had served there eleven years as stable-boy and groom, and though he had
more than once tasted the end of a strap under Joe's vigorous dominion,
it had been a happily irresponsible life. Not that he wished the old
time back, for that would mean that there would be no Annie waiting
supper for him at night in the coachman's cottage, but he did wish
sometimes that Mr. Harry had a little more common sense about managing
horses. Blue Gypsy's filly trotting peaceably between shafts! It was in
her blood to jump, and jump she would; you might as well train a bull
pup to grow up a Japanese poodle and sleep on a satin cushion.
Peter, pondering the matter, strolled over to the kitchen and inquired
of Ellen where Mr. Harry was. Mr. Harry was in the library, she said,
and Peter could go right through.
The carpet was soft, and he made no noise. He did not mean to listen,
but he had almost reached the library door before he realized and then
he stood still, partly because he was dazed, and partly because he was
interested.
He did not know what had gone before, but the first thing he heard was
Miss Ethel's voice, and though he could not see her, he knew from the
tone what she looked like, with her head thrown back and her chin up and
her eyes flashing.
"I am the best judge of my own actions," she said, "and I shall receive
whom I please. You always put the wrong interpretation on everything I
do, and I am tired of your interfering. If you would go away and leave
me alone it would be best for us both--I feel sometimes as though I
never wanted to see you again."
Then a long silence, and finally the cold, repressed tones of her
husband asked: "Do you mean that?"
She did not answer, except by a long indrawn sob of anger. Peter had
heard that sound before, when she was a child, and he knew how it ought
to be dealt with; but Mr. Harry did not; he was far too polite.
After another silence he said quietly: "If I go, I go to stay--a long
time."
"Stay forever, if you like."
Peter turned and tiptoed out, feeling unhappy and ashamed, as he had
felt that other time when he had overheard. He went back to the stables,
and sitting down with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands,
he pondered the situation. If he were Mr. Harry for just ten minutes, he
told himself fiercely, he would soon settle things; but Mr. Harry did
not understand. When it came to managing horses he was too rough, as if
they had no sense; and when it came to managing women, he was too easy,
as if they were all sense. Peter sighed miserably. His heart ached for
them both: for Miss Ethel, because he knew that she did not mean what
she said, and would later be sorry; for Mr. Harry, because he knew that
he did mean what he said--terribly and earnestly. Neither understood the
other, and it was all such a muddle when just a little common sense
would have made everything happy. Then he shrugged his shoulders and
told himself that it was none of his business; that he guessed they
could make up their quarrels without help from him. And he fell to
scolding the stable-boy for mixing up the harness.
In about half an hour, Oscar, the valet, came running out to the stables
looking pleased and excited, with an order to get the runabout ready
immediately to go to the station. Oscar was evidently bursting with
news, but Peter pretended not to be interested, and kept on with his
work without looking up.
"The master's going in to New York and I follow to-night with his
things, and to-morrow we sail for England! Maybe we'll go from there on
a hunting trip to India--I'm to pack the guns. There's been trouble," he
added significantly. "Mrs. Jasper's in her room with the door banged
shut, and the master is pretty quiet and white-like about the gills."
"Shut up an' mind yer own business," Peter snapped, and he led out the
horses and began putting on the harness with hands that trembled.
As he drew up at the stepping-stone, Mr. Harry jumped in. "Well,
Peter," he said, in a voice which was meant to be cheerful, but was a
very poor imitation, "we must drive fast if we're to make the
four-thirty train."
"Yes, sir," said Peter, briskly clicking to the horses, and for once he
thanked his stars that the station was four miles away. A great resolve
had been growing in his mind, and it required some time and a good deal
of courage to carry it out. He glanced sideways at the grim, pale face
beside him, and cleared his throat uneasily.
"Beggin' yer pardon," he began, "I was at the library door to ask about
the filly, an' without meanin' to, I heard why you was goin' away."
A quick flush spread over Mr. Harry's face, and he glanced angrily at
his coachman.
"The devil!" he muttered.
"Yes, sir," said Peter. "I suppose ye'll be dischargin' me, Mr. Harry,
for speakin', but I feel it's me dooty, and I can't keep quiet. Beggin'
yer pardon, sir, I've knowed Miss Ethel longer than you have. I was
servin' at Willowbrook all the time that ye was in boardin' school an'
college. Her hair was hangin' down her back an' she was drivin' a pony
cart when I first come. I watched her grow and I know her ways--there
was times, sir, when she was most uncommon troublesome. She's the kind
of a woman as needs managin', and if ye'll excuse me for sayin' so, it
takes a man to do it. Ye're too quiet an' gentleman-like, Mr. Harry.
Though I guess she likes to have ye act like a gentleman, when ye can't
do both she'd rather have ye act like a man. If I was her husband----"
"You forget yourself, Peter!"
"Yes, sir. Beg yer pardon, sir, but as I was sayin', if I was her
husband, I'd let her see who was master pretty quick, an' she'd like me
the better. And if she ever told me she would be glad for me to go away
an' never come back, I'd look at her black like with me arms folded,
and I'd say: 'Ye would, would ye? In that case I'll stay right here an'
niver go away.' An' then she'd be so mad she'd put her head down on the
back o' the chair an' cry, deep like, the way she always did when she
couldn't have what she wanted, an' I'd wait with a frown on me brow, an'
when she got through she'd be all over it, an' would ask me pardon
sorrowful like; an' I'd wait a while an' let it soak in, an' then I'd
forgive her."
Mr. Harry stared at Peter, too amazed to speak.
"Yes, sir," Peter resumed, "I've watched Miss Ethel grow up, and I knows
her like her own mother, as ye might say. I've drove her to and from the
town for thirteen years, and I've rode after her many miles on
horseback, an' when she felt like it she would talk to me as chatty as
if I weren't a groom. She was always that way with the servants; she
took an interest in our troubles, an' we all liked her spite o' the
fact that she was a bit over-rulin'."
Mr. Harry knit his brows and stared ahead without speaking, and Peter
glanced at him uneasily and hesitated.
"There's another thing I'd like to tell ye, sir, though I'm not sure how
ye'll take it."
"Don't hesitate on my account," murmured Mr. Harry, ironically. "Say
anything you please, Peter."
"Well, sir, I guess ye may have forgotten, but I was the groom ye took
with ye that time before ye was married when ye an' Miss Ethel went to
see the old wreck."
Mr. Harry looked at Peter with a quick, haughty stare; but Peter was
examining the end of his whip and did not see.
"An' ye left me an' the cart, sir, under the bank, if ye'll remember,
an' ye didn't walk far enough away, an' ye spoke pretty loud, and I
couldn't help hearin' ye."
"Damn your impertinence!" said Mr. Harry.
"Yes, sir," said Peter. "I never told no one, not even me wife, but I
understood after that how things was goin'. An' when ye went away
travellin' so sudden, I s'picioned ye wasn't feelin' very merry over the
trip; an' I watched Miss Ethel, and I was sure she wasn't feelin' merry,
for all she tried mighty hard to make people think she was. When they
was lookin', sir, she laughed an' flirted most outrageous with them
young men as used to be visitin' at Willowbrook, but I knew, sir, that
she didn't care a snap of her finger for any o' them, for in between
times she used to take long rides on the beach, with me followin' at a
distance--at a very respectful distance; she wasn't noticin' my troubles
then, she had too many of her own. When there weren't no one on the
beach she'd leave me the horses an' walk off by herself, an' sit on a
sand dune, an' put her chin in her hand an' stare at the water till the
horses was that crazy with the sand flies I could scarcely hold 'em. An'
sometimes she'd put her head down an' cry soft like, fit to break a
man's heart, and I'd walk the horses off, with me hands just
itchin'--beggin' yer pardon, sir, to get a holt o' you, for I knew that
ye was the cause."
"You know a great deal too much," said Mr. Harry, dryly.
"A groom learns considerable without meanin' to, and it's lucky his
masters is if he knows how to keep his mouth shut. As I was sayin', Mr.
Harry, I knew all the time she was longin' for ye, but was too proud to
let ye know. If ye'll allow the impertinence, sir, ye made a mistake in
the way ye took her at her word. She loved ye too much not to be willin'
to forgive ye for everything; and if ye'd only understood her an'
handled her right, she wouldn't 'a' throwed ye over."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, if ye'll excuse me speakin' allegorical like, as she's the kind
of a woman as needs a sharp bit and a steady hand on the bridle, an'
when she bolts a touch o' the lash--not too much, for she wouldn't stand
it, but enough to let her see who's master. I've known some women an'
many horses, sir, an' I've noticed as the blooded ones is alike in both.
If ye 'll excuse me mentionin' it, Miss Ethel was badly broke, sir. She
was given the rein when she needed the whip, but for all that, she's a
thoroughbred, sir, an' that's the main thing."
Peter imperceptibly slowed his horses.
"If ye don't mind, Mr. Harry, I'd like to tell ye a little story. It
happened six or seven years ago when ye was away at college, and if Miss
Ethel is a bit unreasonable now, she was more unreasonable then. It was
when the old master first bought Blue Gypsy--as was a devil if there
ever was one. One afternoon Miss Ethel takes it into her head she wants
to try the new mare, so she orders her out, with me to follow. What does
she do but make straight for the beach, sir, an' gallop along on the
hard sand close to the water-line. It was an awful windy day late in
October, with the clouds hangin' low an' the waves dashin' high, and
everything sort o' empty an' lonesome. Blue Gypsy wasn't used to the
water, an' she was so scared she was 'most crazy, rearin' an' plungin'
till ye would a swore she had a dozen legs--not much of a horse for a
lady, but Miss Ethel could ride all right. She kept Blue Gypsy's head to
the wind an' galloped four or five miles up the beach, with me poundin'
along behind, hangin' on to me hat for dear life.
"'Twas ebb-tide, but time for the flood, and I was beginning to think
we'd better go back, unless we wanted to plough through the loose
shingle high up, which is mighty hard on a horse, sir. But when we come
to the Neck, Miss Ethel rode straight on; I didn't like the looks of it
much, but I didn't say nothin' for the Neck's never under water an'
there weren't no danger. But what does she do when we comes to the end
o' the Neck, but turn to ride across the inlet to the mainland, which
ye can do easy enough at low tide, but never at high. The sand was
already gettin' oozy, an' with the wind blowin' off the sea the tide was
risin' fast. Ye know what it would 'a' meant, sir, if she'd gone out an'
got caught. An' what with that unknown devil of a Blue Gypsy she was
ridin', there was no tellin' when it would happen.
"'Miss Ethel,' I calls, sort o' commandin' like, for I was too excited
for politeness, 'ye can't go across.'
"She turns around an' stares at me haughty, an' goes on.
"I gallops up an' says: 'The tide's a risin', Miss Ethel, an' the inlet
isn't safe.'
"She looks me over cool an' says: 'It is perfectly safe. I am goin' to
ride across; if you are afraid, Peter, you may go home.'
"With that she whips up an' starts off. I was after her in a minute,
gallopin' up beside her, an' before she knew what I was doin' I reaches
out me hand an' grabs hold o' the bridle an' turns Blue Gypsy's head. I
didn't like to do it, for it seemed awful familiar, but with people as
contrary as they is, sir, ye've got to be familiar sometimes, if ye're
goin' to do any good in the world.
"Well, Mr. Harry, as ye can believe, she didn't like it, an' she calls
out sharp and imperative for me to let go. But I hangs on an' begins to
gallop, an' with that she raises her crop an' cuts me over the hand as
hard as she can. It hurt considerable, but I held on an' didn't say
nothin', an' she raised her arm to strike again. But just at that moment
a wave broke almost at the horses' feet, an' Blue Gypsy reared, an' Miss
Ethel, who wasn't expectin' it, almost lost her balance an' the crop
dropped on the sand.
"'Peter,' she says, 'go back an' get me that crop.'
"But by that time I'd got the bit in me teeth, sir, an' I just
laughs--ugly like--an' keeps holt o' the bridle an' gallops on. Well,
sir, then she was 'most crazy, an' she tries to shake off me arm with
her fist, but she might as well have tried to shake down a tree. I looks
at her, an' smiles to meself impertinent, an' keeps on. An' she looks
all around, desperate like, hopin' to see someone within call, but the
beach was empty, an' there wasn't nothin' she could do, I bein' so much
stronger."
"You brute!" said Mr. Harry.
"I was savin' her life," said Peter. "An' when she saw she couldn't do
nothin' she kind o' sobbed down low to herself an' said, soft like:
'_I'll discharge you, Peter, when we get home._'
"I touches me hat an' says as polite as ye please: 'Very well, miss, but
we ain't home yet, miss, and I'm boss for the present.'
"With that a great big wave comes swash up against the horses' legs, an'
lucky it is that I had a holt o' the bridle, for Blue Gypsy would 'a'
thrown her sure. An' after I got her back on her four legs--Blue Gypsy,
sir--an' we was goin' on again, Miss Ethel throws a look over her
shoulder at the inlet which was all under water, an' then she looks down
at me hand that had a great big red welt across it, an' she said so low
I could scarce hear her over the waves:
"'You can take your hand away, Peter. I'll ride straight home.'
"I knew she meant it, but me hand was burnin' like fire, and I'd got me
temper up, so I looks at her doubtin' like, as if I couldn't believe
her, an' she turns red an' says, 'Can't ye trust me, Peter?' an' with
that I touches me hat an' falls behind.
"An' when we got back, sir, and I got off at the porter-ker-cher to help
her dismount, what does she do but take me big red hand in both o' hers,
an' she looks at the scar, an' then she looks in me eyes, an' she says,
like as ye hit straight from the shoulder, sir, 'Peter,' she says, 'I'm
sorry I struck you. Will ye forgive me?' she says.
"An' I touches me hat an' says: 'Certainly, miss. Don't mention it,
miss,' an' we was friends after that.
"An' that's the reason, Mr. Harry, I hate to see ye go off an'--beggin'
yer pardon--make a fool o' yerself. For she loves ye true, sir, like as
Annie loves me, an' I know, sir, if she took it hard before ye was
married, it ud near kill her now. Ye mustn't mind what she says when
she's angry, for she just thinks o' the worst things she can to hurt yer
feelin's, but Lord! sir, she don't mean it no more'n a rabbit, an' if
ye'll give her half a chance and don't act like an iceberg she'll want
to make up. Me an' Annie, Mr. Harry, we pulls together lovely. I'm the
boss in some things, an' she's the boss in others; I lets her think she
can manage me, an' she lets me think I can manage her--and I can, sir.
Sometimes we have little quarrels, but it's mostly for the joy o' makin'
up, an' we're that happy, sir, that we wants to see everyone else
happy."
The horses had slowed to a walk, but Mr. Harry did not notice it. A
smile was beginning to struggle with the hard lines about his mouth.
"Well, Peter," he said, "you've preached quite a sermon. What would you
advise?"
"That ye go back an' take a firm hold o' the bridle, sir, an' if she
uses the whip, just hold on hard an' don't let on that it hurts."
Mr. Harry looked at Peter and the smile spread to his eyes. "And then
when she drops it," he asked, "just laugh and ride on?"
Peter coughed a deprecatory cough.
"Beggin' yer pardon, Mr. Harry, I think if I was in your place I'd pick
it up an' keep it meself. It might come in handy in case of
emergencies."
Mr. Harry threw back his head in a quick, boyish laugh, and reaching
over he took the lines and turned the horses' heads.
"Peter," he said, "you may be elemental, but I half suspect you're
right."
* * * * *
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