THE DREAM KNIGHT
Trooper came tearing back to Orchard Glen, the finest sight the place
had ever seen, in a smart uniform the colour of the dun fields he had
forsaken so gaily. The day he burst upon the village there was such a
crowd around him at the post office that it looked like election times
and Dr. McGarry neglected his practice and followed him about.
"Eh, if I was only ten years younger I'd be going with you, Trooper,"
he cried enthusiastically. "Perhaps, I'll get there yet. There'll be
plenty more going over before this business is done. None of us has
any idea what this war is going to be like, let me tell you."
"It'll not last long," declared Mr. Holmes, not so much from conviction
as because that was the opinion he had given forth at first and he must
adhere to it. Besides he and the Doctor were opposed in politics and
religion, and they would naturally hardly agree about the war.
Trooper continued to be the centre of attraction for the few days he
spent at home before he was called to Valcartier. Though he was in the
village for such a short time he found an opportunity to assist
Marmaduke in a farewell piece of mischief, and though neither of them
had any notion of involving Christina in their prank, she, quite
accidentally, became one of the most interested parties.
The two village mischief-makers had long been hatching a plot to get
Wallace Sutherland away from his mother and off with the girls.
Trooper had promised the first one who would capture him and take him
home with her to supper before he left, the biggest box of chocolates
he could buy in Algonquin.
Though Wallace Sutherland had been living quietly in Orchard Glen all
summer, his prospects were much better than they had been on his return
home.
When Uncle William was in his most adverse mood, he had written a
caustic letter hinting that he had grave doubts concerning Wallace's
ill health interfering with his examinations. And just that very week,
a kindly fate intervened, and Wallace became really ill. Dr. McGarry
waited on him hand and foot, giving him every care possible, and at the
same time declaring that it was nothing but too much to eat and too
little to do that ailed the boy.
When Uncle William heard, however, he really repented of his hard
heart; not very humbly, for that was not Uncle William's way, but quite
substantially, nevertheless. He did not believe in agreeing with his
adversary too quickly, so he wrote to his brother instead of to his
nephew. He admitted that he might possibly have been too hasty with
the young rascal, and he would give him one more chance, and only one.
He might come back to the University at Christmas, and if he could take
the supplemental examination that would be set for him, then, he could
go on to the end of his course. Uncle William did not think it would
be wise to let him return this coming Autumn, he ought to be kept in
exile for a little while longer. And they would have to see that he
studied; make him sweat a bit over his failures and a few months up in
that backwoods concession where Peter lived would be beneficial, it
might induce meditation; there must be lots of quiet lying around loose
in that forsaken region. And above all things they must try to knock
it into his head that this was absolutely his last chance.
Uncle William McGarry was one of those Canadians who, having made money
in the great United States, was convinced that there was nothing good
in Canada, since he had always been rather poor there. His attitude
always nettled the Doctor who was a warm Britisher, and when he
answered the letter there was more about the young men who were
responding to the call of the Empire from this same back concession,
than there was about the subject in hand.
Nevertheless Wallace's prophecy had come true. Uncle Will had
recovered from his bilious attack. His convalescence took rather
longer than the young optimist had expected, but as his recovery seemed
sure, there was nothing more to worry about except the intervening
studies. He went at his lessons with a right good will, and then
something happened that disturbed the even course of his life. And
that was the prank that Trooper and Marmaduke played before the former
went to the war.
Christina had been to town. She had gone alone, on an errand for John,
because Sandy and Jimmie were both very busy in the harvest fields. It
was a very warm, dusty day and she let Dolly walk leisurely on the
homeward road. When she came to the village she stopped at the post
office for the mail.
She would not have confessed for the sake of a college course that she
was wondering if there was any possibility of meeting Wallace
Sutherland there. Christina could not have stooped to the little
subterfuges the other girls practiced to waylay him at the corner, but
none the less she could not help wishing that she might encounter him
in some way that would attract his attention. He was always so
pleasant when she met him, but he raised his hat to her and said, "Good
afternoon, Miss Christine," in exactly the way he spoke to Tilly or
Bell Brown or Maggie Blair.
Marmaduke was sitting on the store veranda as she came up, and Trooper
was leaning against the door-post, very smart and handsome in his
uniform with his buttons and his spurs all aglitter. Bell Brown and
Maggie Blair were there as usual, and as Mrs. Holmes was not in the
store there was a great deal of hilarity.
Marmaduke, in his role of the village Lover, had been courting each of
the girls in turn and immediately transferred his affections the moment
Christina appeared.
"Hello, Christine!" he cried, "you don't get down here as often as
these other girls do; and here I've been spendin' days jist waitin' for
a sight of you. I've been jist that lonesome for you,--will you think
just the same of me if I go to the war?"
"I'm sure even the war couldn't make me change my opinion of you,
Duke," she answered with twinkling eyes. "Oh, Trooper!" she drew a
long breath of admiration, "and you're really and truly going to the
war!"
"You bet! Goin' in cavalry too, so I can make a swift get-away when
the Germans take after me!"
"I'm thinkin' of goin' to the war myself," said Marmaduke, who was
trying to cover up his real grief under an unusually frivolous
exterior. "I might as well go and get killed if none o' yous girls 'll
look at me. Honest now, Christine, what would you take and go west
with me next Spring? Now that Trooper is leavin' I'm not goin' to hang
round here any longer," he added with a touch of real seriousness.
"Well, I suppose I'd have to take my trunk, first of all," said
Christina, "and Grandpa and Mother--I couldn't leave them."
"Pshaw," giggled Tilly, "he was askin' me that very same thing before
yous girls came in, and I told him I'd take a gun so's I could shoot
myself when we got there. No letters for your folks to-day, Christine,
but your fellow's letter don't come till to-morrow anyhow," she added
with a giggle at her joke.
"Oh, say girls," whispered Bell Brown, "look who's comin'!"
Wallace Sutherland was swinging down the street and came up the veranda
steps in two graceful springs.
"Hello, Tilly! Hello, young ladies!" he cried in the free gay manner
that was the hope of the girls and the despair of his mother. He made
a profound bow to Marmaduke. "And how is His Grace the Dook to-day?
Hello, Trooper! Oh, say, don't I wish I were going with you!"
Marmaduke gave him a poke with his peg leg. Like every one else in
Orchard Glen he liked Wallace.
"And how is Lord Sutherland?" he asked in return, "I hear you're
gettin' brain fag studyin' the latest novels."
Wallace did not deign to notice this. "Miss Tilly," he exclaimed, "I'm
sure you've some letters for me away back there, now haven't you?"
Tilly flew to the little wicket and came tripping back with her hands
full, her cheeks pink, her curls bobbing.
"Just one for the Doctor, and one for your mother, and only papers for
you," she cried apologetically.
He leaned over the counter, "Come now," he said coaxingly, "are you
quite sure you haven't hidden mine away somewhere?"
"She's forgotten to write to you, I guess she's got another fellow,"
giggled Tilly.
Christina turned towards the door. She wished with all her might that
she could talk and joke with him as Tilly did, but even if she could
there was no opportunity. He did not seem to notice she was there.
"Come along, girls," she said to Maggie and Bell, "I'm going home and
you can drive up the hill with me if you like."
Marmaduke, who had been in a hurried whispered conference with the two
girls, rose and hobbled after them, the light of a great inspiration
dancing in his eyes.
Christina climbed into her old buggy as Wallace came out on the veranda
followed closely by Tilly.
"Look here, Christine," cried Marmaduke, winking solemnly at her,
"you're goin' to get your neck broke one o' these days, drivin' that
mare, with the road full o' cars. What does John mean lettin' you?"
"Dolly!" cried Christina in amazement, "why she wouldn't--" she caught
a frantic warning wink from Trooper's dancing eyes and paused. If the
boys were playing some prank on Maggie and Bell it would be too bad of
her to spoil it.
"She's dangerous, Christine," put in Trooper, "I've seen her actin'
like a wild cat on the road. There was a girl killed the other day
over in Grey County. Horse took fright at a Ford and ran away and
busted everything!"
"Mercy, me!" cried Bell Brown, who had her foot on the buggy step and
now jumped back. "I wonder if there'll be any cars coming along before
we get home?"
"There's a big car full o' town folks visitin' up at McKenzies due to
be along here any min'it," cried Marmaduke nervously. "You better stay
here till it passes, Christine."
"Well," said Christina, still doubtful of her part in the play, "if
you're scared to come with me girls, you needn't, but I can't wait--"
"Look here, Trooper," cried Duke, "hop in there and drive them kids
home. That car at McKenzies looks like a thrashin' machine an' that
mare'll go clean crazy. Here Christine, here's Trooper, he'll go with
you."
"Oh, do come, Trooper," cried Maggie Blair tremulously, "Christine's a
reckless driver and Dolly's dreadful with cars."
Christina sat looking on at the little comedy, laughing and wondering
what its outcome was to be.
Just then Mrs. Johnnie Dunn came honking home from town and stormed
past the store. Dolly would not have so much as switched her tail and
the little play all arranged for Wallace Sutherland would have been
spoiled had Trooper not come to its rescue. He gave a heroic leap to
the mare's head, clutching her bridle and shouting:
"Whoa, Dolly, whoa now! Whoa there!" Marmaduke joined him, calling on
Christina to hold tight. The mild Dolly was really startled and jerked
up her head and pranced about in a very realistic manner indeed, and it
took some patting and coaxing to get her quieted.
"Now, look at that, Christine!" cried Tilly, who was not in the play,
and had screamed quite spontaneously.
"Well," cried Bell, coming forward nobly with her part, "that settles
it for me. Trooper won't come, he's scared Joanna'll see him, so I'm
going to walk. You'll have to risk it yourself, Christine."
"Aw, come along and drive us home, Trooper," cried Maggie. "I'm just
too tired to walk up the hill."
"Say, I would now, but I can't leave here, girls. I was to meet
Captain Morris here at five." He turned as if with a sudden
inspiration. "Here, now. Here's Mr. Sutherland. Why don't you ask
him to drive you? He's the very fellow for the job. Can't you drive
these girls up the hill, Wallace? Here they are all scared to death,
man."
"The very job for me!" cried Wallace gallantly. "I'll drive you across
Canada if you'll let me, Miss Christine. Hop in girls. Is there room
for us all?"
For a moment Christina hesitated, a moment of weakness. She had
suddenly seen through the joke. It was a plan to get Wallace to drive
off with the girls right under his mother's nose. She felt too deeply
on the subject to take part in any such foolish jest. But she could
not very well stop the impetuous young man who had scrambled into the
buggy, and was now seated between her and Bell, while Maggie placed
herself upon Bell's knee. And while she hesitated he caught up the
lines with a gay flourish.
"Now, we'll all likely be killed," he cried. "But what's the
difference so long as we die happy!" And he gave Dolly a terrible lash
with the whip and shouted, "Get along there, you."
Now in all Dolly's quiet well-ordered life she had never felt anything
but the gentlest encouragement from a whip, neither had anything in her
memory ever pulled on her mouth in this dreadful manner. There was
both terror and indignation in the leap she gave into the air, and the
ignorant driver, taken quite unaware, pulled on one line so that the
buggy was almost overturned. Then away they went at a gallop up the
street, first on the edge of one ditch, then on the edge of the other,
while the two plotters left on the veranda, ready to fall over with
laughter, suddenly became sober as they saw a chance of their joke
ending in a catastrophe.
There was no feigning in Bell's terror now. She had turned pale, and
was crying out, "Oh, Christine, take the lines, take the lines!"
But Christina needed no bidding. Already she had caught the reins in
her strong brown hands, shoving the young man's aside sharply.
"You, you idiot!" was what she said, though she did not know it until
afterwards. She was too angry to say more, too genuinely alarmed.
With the firm familiar hand on the lines, and Christina's voice calling
soothingly, Dolly's panic began to subside. She came down to a canter,
then to a trot.
"Well!" cried the young man in real amazement. "She is some horse.
How do you ever manage to drive her?"
Christina was too angry to answer yet. She could never bear to see any
dumb animal hurt, and to have Dolly, her pet, struck--she could feel
the lash of the whip across her own back and was tingling with
indignation. And she was more deeply angry for another reason. She
had divined by Wallace's free manner that he understood just as well as
any of the girls that this had all been a ruse to capture him and carry
him off, and she felt enraged that she had to lend herself to such a
humiliation. She would show him that she was no party to the scheme by
getting rid of him then and there.
When she managed to get Dolly down to a walk she stopped her altogether
just at the foot of the hill, and turned upon the young man with
blazing eyes.
"Why did you not tell me you didn't know the first thing about driving
a horse?" she demanded.
Wallace Sutherland stared at her. To him Christina Lindsay was merely
one of the village girls, whom he had gone to school with, in boyhood
days, some of whom waylaid him at the post office to walk home with him
and all of whom were anxious for his favour. But suddenly one of them
had detached herself from the crowd and stood out alone and indignant,
displaying vigorously the very opposite of admiration or a desire to
please.
"It was brutal to strike a poor animal like that," she continued, still
smarting for Dolly and for her own self respect.
Wallace felt the blood rise to his face. He remembered that she had
called him an idiot. "I suppose you are waiting for me to get out?" he
replied stiffly. For answer Christina turned her horse's head, and the
wheel moved aside invitingly for him to alight. Maggie and Bell broke
into a duet of apologies and protestations.
"Oh, Mr. Wallace, don't go! Why Christine, how can you act like that?
He didn't know Dolly was going to be so wild!" But Christina was
feeling more for herself than for Dolly and was inexorable. Wallace
jumped out, and raised his hat stiffly. But she did not even glance at
him, and drove away quickly up the hill.
"Don't you girls know that he's just making fun of us?" she cried
hotly. "He knew just as well as you did that it was all a put up job,
and he was a big, stupid, cruel thing to hit Dolly that way, so now."
Christina experienced a fierce relief to her outraged pride in thus
being able to revile him.
Maggie Blair was always inclined to be dominated by Christina, and she
looked ashamed. What if her mother were to discover what she had been
doing? But Bell was inclined to argue the matter, and the drive up the
hill was anything but pleasant. However, neither of the girls was very
much disturbed. Christina had made herself obnoxious forever to
Wallace Sutherland, while he would think none the less of them for
being full of fun.
This was the thought uppermost in poor Christina's mind also, when she
reached home and her anger cooled leaving only shame and regret. She
had behaved rudely,--oh, abominably,--to the one person whom above all
others she wished to please. He would despise her and never look at
her again. If she had only acted with dignity, but she had called him
an idiot! She was overwhelmed with shame when she remembered that.
She longed for the advice of Ellen or even Mary and she confided her
troubles to her mother in the evening as they sat sewing on the veranda.
"Well, well," her mother said comfortingly, not dreaming how badly
Christina was hurt, "indeed I would rather you acted as you did, than
to be taking part in such norms. But I think you would be rather hard
on the lad because he did not know how to drive."
It was poor comfort when your heart was broken, when your Dream Knight
had actually sat by your side and ridden with you and you had treated
him as though he were a kitchen knave. The only crumb of comfort
Christina had was that which her pride provided. At least Wallace
would never dream that she had been silly enough to set him up on a
pedestal, dream about him at night, and watch for him by day. But it
was a very small and cheerless comfort in a whole world of misery.
But the result of her outrageous conduct towards the village hero was
totally unlooked for. Wallace became very much interested in this
spunky Lindsay girl. She was different from the other girls, the one
reproving thorn in a field of admiring roses. That alone made her
rather refreshing. Then he did not like to have a nice girl angry with
him. He was a warm-hearted, easy going lad, who disliked opposition
and disfavour and would do much to please any one. He was genuinely
sorry, too, that he had hurt Dolly, for he was the opposite of cruel by
nature.
So the very next evening when he saw Christina and Sandy pass on their
way to that weekly function, Choir Practice, he remembered that the
gathering was to be a sort of farewell to Trooper, and with this excuse
he suddenly announced that he thought he would go.
"Of course you'll go," cried his uncle heartily. "We can't do honour
enough to the boys that are going overseas to give their lives for us.
I'd like to go, too! I'll drop in when I get back from my trip to
Dalton."
So Wallace went off and was welcomed warmly by Tremendous K. and put in
the bass row where Marmaduke and Trooper were sitting.
"You didn't seem to be able to keep up with that runaway horse,
yesterday," said Marmaduke.
"I'd like to hammer the two of you jokers for putting up a job like
that on me," Wallace said good-naturedly.
"Don't do anything to me," pleaded Duke, "Christina's been lookin' at
me like a buzz saw all evenin'."
"I'll bet she wasn't in it," cried Wallace, suddenly anxious that
Christina should be vindicated.
"No, she wasn't," admitted Trooper. "And I notice she didn't let you
stay in it long either," he added with a grin.
"You got let down by one of the girls that time all right," boasted
Marmaduke. "You'll find out you can't get too gay with a Lindsay."
Wallace felt put upon his mettle immediately. He would show them that
even as outspoken and independent a young lady as Miss Christina
Lindsay was not likely to continue her opposition long. He felt a keen
delight in the thought of his victory.
Tremendous K. called them sharply to order and the business of singing
through an anthem for Sunday was finished hastily, and the real
business of the evening, a farewell to Trooper, was taken up. They had
collected enough money to give him a wrist watch, the older women of
the church had knit him a half dozen pairs of socks, and there was a
farewell address which had been prepared by Mr. Sinclair expressing
very feebly a little of what the community felt at the departure of
their gay and gallant young rider of the plains.
When it was all over, Gavin Grant watched for Christina. She had been
so kind and friendly every time he had seen her lately, especially when
they met, as they sometimes did, up on the hills, that he was beginning
to wonder if he might not once more put his fortune to the test.
He waited for her outside the open door; she came out, looking about
anxiously for some girls going in her direction, when to Gavin's
dismay, Wallace Sutherland stepped to her side, and leaning over he
whispered something. And then they walked away side by side up the
hill.
But Gavin's distress was nothing to the feeling of Maggie and Bell.
This seemed incredible after the way Christina had acted. She had
called him an idiot, and literally turned him out of her buggy, and
yet, here he was seeing her home the very next morning! Truly no one
could tell what was the best way to treat a young man!
Meanwhile Christina's amazement knew no bounds. Wallace went straight
to the point.
"I want to apologise, Miss Christine," he said humbly, "I know now why
you were so angry and I don't blame you a bit. It was all Marmaduke's
nonsense and I shouldn't have joined it."
"Oh, it's I who ought to apologise!" cried Christina in a rush of
gratitude. "I was dreadfully rude, but I wanted you to know it wasn't
really you I was angry with, but with the girls and Marmaduke."
"Well you hid your feelings pretty well," he said ruefully, and then
they both laughed.
"You see I really don't know much about a horse," he confessed
hurriedly. "A car is a different proposition. I thought that using
the whip was the same as turning on the gasoline and I didn't expect
such an explosion."
"I am afraid that I was the one that was guilty of the explosion," said
Christina contritely, and they grew very friendly over their mutual
apologies. Wallace had expected that a reconciliation would have been
a difficult matter. He was not the sort to be sorry that it was not.
He was very happy to find that, after all, this tall, frank girl, who
held herself aloof from the doings at the corner, was inclined to look
upon him with friendliness in her bright eyes. He very much enjoyed
apologising to her and kept on doing it after they had reached her
home, and they stood together in the moonlight listening to the soft
whisper of the leaves in the poplar trees at Christina's gate.
Of course every one noticed that Wallace Sutherland had gone home with
Christina Lindsay, and so much comment did this cause that the fact
that Trooper and Joanna walked away together very slowly did not
attract much attention. It was probably the last time. Joanna's
spirits had left her. She could not find the strength to pretend any
longer. She was silent and miserable on the way home and Trooper was
silent too. This last leave was a trying experience. He might never
come back, might never see Joanna's handsome face again, and, after
all, no one would care so much if he were killed as Joanna. And so
they hung over the gate long after her father had gone to bed, and
finally when Trooper tore himself away, he whispered, "Now, not a
minute later than four o'clock," and Joanna answered, "Do you suppose I
could forget?"
Mark Falls always rose at six o'clock, called his daughter and went
into the blacksmith shop returning at seven for his breakfast. He
followed the usual rule the next morning but when he returned, Joanna
had no breakfast ready for him. There was a cold lunch set out on the
table but there was no fire in the kitchen stove and no tea made. He
was a rather cross-grained man but he knew it was never safe to
antagonise his daughter and so he called rather mildly up-stairs, "Hi,
there Joan, you ain't sick are you?" but Joanna did not answer and he
mounted the stairs slowly grumbling about the young folk who would
never go to bed at night and never get up till mid-day, and then he
stopped in the middle of Joanna's open door. The bed was made and the
room was in its usual spotless order, but there was no sign of its
owner. And then he noticed a note pinned to the pillow with his name
on it. He tore it open in dismayed haste. Mark Falls had always had
the idea that Joanna would run away some day, perhaps because she was
always threatening to do it. His mind worked rather slowly and he had
scarcely time to formulate his fears when he had read the note.
"Dear Pa, There's mush on the back of the stove and you can warm it up
for yourself. Mitty will likely come over and get your meals till I
come back. I guess I will be back on Friday. Trooper and I are going
in to Algonquin to get married before he goes away. You don't need to
make a fuss for if you do there is no great cause for to stay home at
all, Joanna."
Mark Falls merely grunted. It was always what he expected of Joan, he
declared, she was flighty like her mother.
He sat down morosely to his breakfast. The mush was not very good when
it was warmed up. He felt sure that Mitty would never cook things as
he liked them. By the time he had finished his unpalatable breakfast
he decided that he would act upon Joanna's hint and make no fuss when
she returned. Whatever his daughter's temper, there was no doubt she
could make the kind of meals a man could eat.