THE CASTAWAYS
Drifts covered the fences and fitted every evergreen about The Cedars
with a white cap. The snow had come quite unexpectedly and in the arms
of a blizzard.
For two days and nights the storm had raged all over the East. Wires
were down and many railroad trains were blocked. New York City was
reported snowbound.
“I bet old Garry is holed up in the hotel there all right,” said Ned.
“He’d never have got away before the storm.”
Dorothy hoped Garry had not started for the West and had become
snowbound in some train; but she said nothing about it.
It took two full days for the roads to be broken around North
Birchland. And then, of course, to use an automobile was quite
impossible.
The Dale boys were naturally delighted, for there was no school for
several days and snow-caves, snowmen and snow monuments of all kind
were constructed all over the White lawns.
Nor were Joe and Roger alone in these out-of-door activities. The
girls, as well as Ned and Nat, lent their assistance, and Tavia proved
to be a fine snow sculptor.
“Always was. Believe I might learn to work putty and finally become a
great sculptor,” she declared. “At Glenwood they said I had a talent
for composition.”
“What kind of figure do you prefer to sculp, Tavia?” asked Ned, with
curiosity.
“Oh, I think I should just _love_ a job in an ice-cream factory,
turning out works of art for parties and banquets. Or making little
figures on New Year’s and birthday cakes. And then—think of all the
nice ‘eats’!”
“Oh! I’d like to do that,” breathed Roger, with round eyes.
“Now, see,” laughed Dorothy, “you have started Roger, perhaps, in a
career. He does love ice-cream and cake.”
At least the joke started something else if it did not point Roger on
the road to fame as an “ice-cream sculptor.” The boy was inordinately
fond of goodies and Tavia promised him a treat just as soon as ever she
could get into town.
A few days before Tavia had been the recipient of a sum of money from
home. When he had any money himself Mr. Travers never forgot his pretty
daughter’s need. He was doing very well in business now, as well as
holding a political position that paid a good salary. This money she
had received was of course burning a hole in Tavia’s pocket. She must
needs get into town as soon as the roads were passable, to buy goodies
as her contract with Roger called for.
The horses had not been out of the stable for a week and the coachman
admitted they needed exercise. So he was to drive Tavia to town
directly after breakfast. It was washday, however, and something had
happened to the furnace in the laundry. The coachman was general handy
man about the White premises, and he was called upon to fix the furnace
just as Tavia—and the horses—were ready.
“But who’ll drive me?” asked Tavia, looking askance at the spirited
span that the boy from the stables was holding. “Goodness! aren’t they
full of ginger?”
“Better wait till afternoon,” advised Dorothy.
“But they are all ready, and so am I. Besides,” said Tavia with a
glance at Roger’s doleful face, “somebody smells disappointment.”
Roger understood and said, trying to speak gruffly:
“Oh, I don’t mind.”
“No. I see you don’t,” Tavia returned dryly, and just then Nat appeared
on the porch in bearskin and driving gloves.
“Get in, Tavia, if you want to go. The horses need the work, anyway;
and the coachman may be all day at that furnace.”
“Oh—I—ah——” began Tavia. Then she closed her lips and marched down the
steps and got into the cutter. Whatever her feeling about the matter,
she was not going to attract everybody’s attention by backing out.
Nat tucked the robes around her and got in himself. Then he gathered up
the reins, the boy sprang out of the way, and they were off.
With the runners of the light sleigh humming at their heels the horses
gathered speed each moment. Nat hung on to the reins and the roses
began to blow in Tavia’s cheeks and the fire of excitement burn in her
eyes.
How she loved to travel fast! And in riding beside Nat the pleasure of
speed for her was always doubled. Whether it was in the automobile, or
behind the galloping blacks, as now, to speed along the highways by
Nat’s side was a delight.
The snow was packed just right for sleighing and the wildly excited
span tore into town at racing speed. Indeed, so excited were the horses
that Nat thought it better not to stop anywhere until the creatures had
got over their first desire to run.
So they swept through the town and out upon the road to The Beeches.
“Don’t mind, do you?” Nat stammered, casting a quick, sidelong glance
at Tavia.
“Oh, Nat! it’s wonderful!” she gasped, but looked straight ahead.
“Good little sport—the best ever!” groaned Nat; but perhaps she did not
hear the compliment thus wrested from him.
He turned into the upper road for The Beeches, believing it would be
more traveled than the other highway. In this, however, he was proved
mistaken in a very few minutes. The road breakers had not been far on
this highway, so the blacks were soon floundering through the drifts
and were rapidly brought down to a sensible pace.
“Say! this is altogether too rough,” Nat declared. “It’s no fun being
tossed about like beans in a sack. I’d better turn ’em around.”
“You’ll tip us over, Nat,” objected Tavia.
“Likely to,” admitted the young man. “So we’d better both hop out while
I perform the necessary operation.”
“Maybe they will get away from you,” she cried with some fear. “Be
careful.”
“Watch your Uncle Nat,” he returned lightly. “I’ll not let them get
away.”
Tavia was the last person to be cautious; so she hopped out into the
snow on her side of the sleigh while Nat alighted on the other. A sharp
pull on the bits and the blacks were plunging in the drift to one side
of the half beaten track. Tavia stepped well back out of the way.
The horses breasted the deep snow, snorting and tossing their heads.
Their spirits were not quenched even after this long and hard dash from
The Cedars.
The sleigh did go over on its side; but Nat righted it quickly. This,
however, necessitated his letting go of the reins with one hand.
The next moment the sleigh came with a terrific shock into collision
with an obstruction. It was a log beside the road, completely hidden in
the snow.
Frightened, the horses plunged and kicked. The doubletree snapped
and the reins were jerked from Nat’s grasp. The horses leaped ahead,
squealing and plunging, tearing the harness completely from their
backs. The sleigh remained wedged behind the log; but the animals were
freed and tore away along the road, back toward North Birchland.
Tavia had made no outcry; but now, in the midst of the snow cloud that
had been kicked up, she saw that Nat was floundering in the drift.
“Oh, Nat! are you hurt?” she moaned, and ran to him.
But he was already gingerly getting upon his feet. He had lost his cap,
and the neck of his coat, where the big collar flared away, was packed
with snow.
“Badly hurt—in my dignity,” he growled. “Oh gee, Tavia! Come and scoop
some of this snow out of my neck.”
She giggled at that. She could not help it, for he looked really funny.
Nevertheless she lent him some practical aid, and after he had shaken
himself out of the loose snow and found his cap, he could grin himself
at the situation.
“We’re castaway in the snow, just the same, old girl,” he said.
“What’ll we do—start back and go through North Birchland, the beheld of
all beholders, or take the crossroad back to The Cedars—and so save a
couple of miles?”
“Oh, let’s go home the quickest way,” she said. “I—I don’t want to be
the laughing stock for the whole town.”
“My fault, Tavia. I’m sorry,” he said ruefully.
“No more your fault than it was mine,” she said loyally.
“Oh, yes it was,” he groaned, looking at her seriously. “And it always
_is_ my fault.”
“What is always your fault?” she asked him but tremulously and stepping
back a little.
“Our scraps, Tavia. Our big scrap. I _know_ I ought not to have
questioned you about that old letter. Oh, hang it, Tavia! don’t you see
just how sorry and ashamed I am?” he cried boyishly, putting out both
gloved hands to her.
“I—I know this isn’t just the way to tell you—or the place. But my
heart just _aches_ because of that scrap, Tavia. I don’t care how many
letters you have from other people. I know there’s nothing out of the
way in them. I was just jealous—and—and mean——”
“Anybody tell you why Lance Petterby was writing to me?” put in Tavia
sternly.
“No. Of course not. _Hang_ Lance Petterby, anyway——”
“Oh, that would be too bad. His wife would feel dreadfully if Lance
were hung.”
“_What!_”
“I knew you were still jealous of poor Lance,” Tavia shot in, wagging
her head. “And that word proves it.”
“I don’t care. I said what I meant before I knew he was married. _Is_
he?” gasped Nat.
“Very much so. They’ve got a baby girl and I’m its godmother. Octavia
Susan Petterby.”
“Tavia!” Nat whispered still holding out his hands. “Do—do you forgive
me?”
“Now! is this a time or a place to talk things over?” she demanded
apparently inclined to keep up the wall. “We are castaway in the snow.
Bo-o-ooh! we’re likely to freeze here——”
“I don’t care if I do freeze,” he declared recklessly. “You’ve got to
answer me here and now, Tavia.”
“Have I?” with a toss of her head. “Who are _you_ to command _me_, I’d
like to know?” Then with sudden seriousness and a flood of crimson in
her face that fairly glorified Tavia Travers: “How about that request I
told you your mother must make, Nat? I meant it.”
“See here! See here!” cried the young man, tearing off his gloves and
dashing them into the snow while he struggled to open his bearskin coat
and then the coat beneath.
From an inner pocket he drew forth a letter and opened it so she could
read.
“See!” Nat cried. “It’s from mother. She wrote it to me while I was in
Boston—before old Ned’s telegram came. See what she says here—second
paragraph, Tavia.”
The girl read the words with a little intake of her breath:
“And, my dear boy, I know that you have quarreled in some way and
for some reason with our pretty, impetuous Tavia. Do not risk your
own happiness and hers, Nathaniel, through any stubbornness. Tavia
is worth breaking one’s pride for. She is the girl I hope to see you
marry—nobody else in this wide world could so satisfy me as your wife.”
That was as far as Tavia could read, for her eyes were misty. She hung
her head like a child and whispered, as Nat approached:
“Oh, Nat! Nat! how I doubted her! She is _so_ good!”
He put his arms about her, and she snuggled up against the bearskin
coat.
“Say! how about _me_?” he demanded huskily. “Now that the Widder White
has asked you to be her daughter-in-law, don’t I come into the picture
at all?”
Tavia raised her head, looked at him searchingly, and suddenly laid her
lips against his eager ones.
“You’re—you’re the _whole_ picture for me, Nat!” she breathed.