NOT ALWAYS "BUTTERFINGERS"
Following that afternoon tea matters changed for Rhoda Hammond at
Lakeview Hall. Nor did she overlook Nan's part in bringing her into
the social life of the girls whom she met in classes and at the
table.
At her books Rhoda was neither brilliant nor dull. She was just a
good, ordinary student who stood well enough in her classes to
satisfy Dr. Prescott. In athletics, however, Rhoda did not reach a
high mark.
In the first place she could not see the value of all the gymnasium
exercises; and the indoor games did not interest her much. She was
an outdoors girl herself, and had stored up such immense vitality
and was so muscular and wiry that she possibly did not need the
exercises that Mrs. Gleason insisted upon.
They tried Rhoda at basketball, and she proved to be a regular
"butterfingers." Laura, who captained one of the scrub teams, tried
to make something of her, but gave it up in exasperation.
Nan, Bess, and Amelia took Rhoda to the basement tennis court and
did their best to teach her tennis. She learned the game quickly
enough; but to her it was only "play."
"She hasn't a drop of sporting blood in her," groaned Bess. "It
seems just silly to her. It is something to pass away the time.
Batting a little ball about with a snowshoe, she calls it! And if
she misses a stroke, why, she lumbers after the ball like that bear
we saw in the Chicago Zoo, Nan, that chased snowballs. 'Member?"
"Well, I never!" laughed Nan. "Rhoda's no bear."
"But she surely is a 'butterfingers,'" Amelia said. "No fun in her
at all."
"Says she doesn't see any reason for getting in a perspiration
running down here, when she might be using her spare time upstairs
reading a book, or knitting that sweater for Nan's Beautiful
Beulah."
So, after all, Rhoda Hammond did not become very popular with her
schoolmates during those two long and dreary months, February and
March, when outdoor exercise was almost impossible in the locality
of Lakeview Hall.
Best of all, Rhoda liked to sit in Number Seven, Corridor Four,
with Nan and Bess and others who might drop in and talk. If Rhoda
herself talked, it was almost always about Rose Ranch. Sometimes
about her mother, though she did not often speak of Mrs. Hammond's
affliction.
To Nan, Rhoda had once said her mother had been a school-teacher
who had gone from the East to the vicinity of the Mexican Border to
conduct a school. Her eyes had been failing then; and the change of
climate, of course, had not benefited her vision.
"Daddy Hammond," said Rhoda, speaking lovingly of her father, "is
twenty years older than mother; but he was so kind and good to her,
I guess, when she had to give up teaching, that she just fell in
love with him. You know, I fell in love with him myself when I got
big enough to know how good he was," and she laughed softly.
"You see, he knows me a whole lot better than mother does, for she
has never seen me."
"Doesn't that sound funny!" gasped Nan. "Fancy! Your own mother
never having seen you, Rhoda!"
"Only with her fingers," sighed Rhoda. "But mother says she has ten
eyes to our two apiece. She 'sees' with the end of every finger and
thumb. It is quite wonderful how much she learns about things by
just touching them. And she rides as bravely as though she had her
sight."
"My!" exclaimed Nan, with a little shudder. "It would scare me to
see her."
"Oh, she rides a horse that is perfectly safe. Old Cherrypie seems
to know she can't see and that he has to be extremely careful of
her."
It was when Rhoda told more about the ranch, however--of the bands
of half-wild horses, the herds of shorthorns, the scenery all about
her home, the acres upon acres of wild roses in the near-by
canyons, the rugged gulches and patches of desert on which nothing
but cacti grew, the high mesas that were Nature's
garden-spots--that Nan Sherwood was stirred most deeply.
"I think it must be a most lovely place, that Rose Ranch!" she
cried on one occasion.
"It is a lovely place; and I'd dearly love to have you see it, Nan
Sherwood. You must go home with me when school is over. Oh, what a
lark! That would be just scrumptious, as Bess says."
"Oh, it is too long a journey. I never could go so far," Nan said,
wistfully it must be confessed.
But Rhoda nodded with confidence. "Oh, yes, you could," she
declared. "You spent your Christmas holidays in Chicago with Grace.
And before that, you say, you went up to a lumber camp in Michigan.
One journey is no worse than another--only that to Rose Ranch is a
little longer."
"A _little_ longer!"
"Well, comparatively. To going to China, for instance," laughed
Rhoda. "Of course you can go home with me."
But Nan laughed at that cool statement. She was quite sure Momsey
and Papa Sherwood would veto any such wild plan. And she had been
away so much from them during the past year. But she received fine
reports regarding her mother's health and Papa Sherwood's new
automobile business; and little Inez, under Momsey's tuition, was
beginning to write brief, scrawly notes to Nan to tell her how
happy she was in the little dwelling in amity.
Winter could not linger in the lap of spring for ever. The snow
under the hedges disappeared almost over night. The mud of the
highways dried up.
The sparkling surface of the lake was ruffled temptingly by the
light breezes and drew the girls of Lakeview Hall boatward. The
outdoor tennis courts, the croquet grounds, the basketball
enclosure, and the cinder track were put into shape for the season.
The girls buzzed outside the Hall like bees about a hive at
swarming time.
Grace Mason took up horseback riding again. Her father and mother
were still at their town house, but her brother Walter and his
tutor were at the summer home a short distance from Lakeview Hall,
where he was "plugging," as he called it, for the entrance
examinations of a college preparatory school in the fall.
Walter had been unable to be much with his sister since the
holidays; but now he came for Grace three times a week to accompany
her on her rides.
He bestrode his own big black horse, Prince, leading the speckled
pony Grace was to ride. The pony was a nervous, excitable creature.
Rhoda, seeing it for the first time, asked Nan:
"Is Grace Mason used to that creature?"
"I don't know. I never saw it before. But the pony can't be any
worse than the big black horse that Walter rides."
"Why, what is the matter with him?" asked the Western girl.
"Prince is so high-spirited. You never know what he is going to
do."
"I guess the black horse is spirited; but that is not a fault,"
Rhoda said. "He looks all right to me. But that little flea-bitten
grey is a tricky one. You can tell that. See how her eyes roll."
"Do you think the pony will bite?" asked Lillie Nevins, Grace's
chum, who overheard the girl from Rose Ranch.
"Goodness! I should hope so. She's got teeth," laughed Rhoda. "But
I mean that probably she is skittish--will shy at the least little
thing. And perhaps she will run away if she gets the chance."
"Then I shouldn't think Walter would leave them there alone beside
the road," Nan said thoughtfully.
"Reckon he trusts that black horse to stand. He's looped the reins
of the grey over the pommel of his own saddle. And that's not a
smart trick," added Rhoda.
"Why don't you get a horse and ride with them, Rhoda?" asked Bess
Harley. "I guess you just ache to get on that pony?"
"What! Side-saddle?" gasped the girl from Rose Ranch. "I wouldn't
risk my neck that way."
Suddenly somebody batted a determined tennis ball from far down the
nearest court. It whizzed over the back stop, and--bang!--hit the
grey pony on the nose.
Rhoda had not been a bad prophet. The pony with the rolling eye
leaped and snorted, all four feet in the air at once, and just as
crazy in an instant as ever a horse could be.
But perhaps a much better trained and better-tempered animal would
have done the same. She jerked the loop of her bridle-rein off
Prince's saddlehorn in that first jump. Then she was away like the
wind, her little hoofs spurning the gravel of the path that crossed
the school's athletic field and led to the broad steps that led
down the face of the cliff to the boathouse and cove.
Mad as the pony was, she might have cast herself down the steep
flight. Frightened animals have done such things upon less
provocation.
The girls screamed, and that only lent wings to the grey's flying
hoofs. But the horror and wild despair of the group at the edge of
the field were not caused by the mere running away of the grey
pony.
The mad creature was headed for the brink of the cliff; but between
the pony and that side of the field was a group of the smaller
girls at play. There were almost thirty of the little girls of the
Hall engaged in a game of tag, and utterly oblivious to the
drumming hoofs of the pony!
The girls did not instantly see the pony coming. And when they did
realize their peril they milled for a minute right in her track
like a herd of frightened cattle.
Scarcely had the pony started from the road, however, and the peril
of the girls become apparent, when Rhoda Hammond leaped into
action, jumping to the back of Walter Mason's pawing black Prince.
The girl from Rose Ranch seemed to reach the saddle in a single
spring. She was astride the snorting horse and her feet
instinctively sought the stirrups, as Prince leaped away in the
track of the grey pony.
The stirrup-leathers were longer than Rhoda was used to; for most
Western riders use a shorter leather than was the custom about
Lakeview Hall. But, almost standing erect as Prince thundered
across the athletic field, Rhoda seemed perfectly poised both in
body and mind. To see her, one would never suppose that it was
possible to fall out of a saddle.
The big black horse seemed to know just what was expected of him.
He scarcely needed guiding. The girl's hair snapped out behind her
in the wind; her set face, visible to a few of the spectators, gave
them confidence. She was no "butterfingers" now. She was going to
do what she had set out to do--no doubt of that!
She rode slightly stooping forward from the waist, with left hand
outstretched while Prince's reins were gathered loosely in her
right hand. The shrieking children were huddled right before the
grey pony. It did seem as though they could not possibly escape
being trampled upon.
But the stride of the big black horse was almost twice the length
of the pony's. And he answered the rein perfectly. Rhoda rode to
the right of the grey, stretched forward her long arm, and swerved
her own mount at the same moment.
A single jerk on the lines of the pony, dragging her sideways, and
the runaway crossed her forefeet and crashed to the ground, almost
throwing a somersault the fall was so abrupt.
But the grey was not much hurt. Rhoda had drawn Prince in, was out
of the saddle, had run to seize the pony's bridle before the fallen
animal could get to her feet and continue her mad race.