VIXEN.
The birds were taken by surprise next morning. Long before Mr.
Falkirk was up, before the house was fairly astir with
servants, there was a new voice in their concert; one almost
as busy and musical as their own. Reo Hartshorne--the sturdy
gardener and lodge-keeper--thought so, listening with wonder to
hear what a change it made. Wych Hazel had found him out
planting flowers for her, and with his hand taken in both hers
had finished the half-begun recognition of last night. Now she
stood watching him as he plied his spade, refreshing his
labour with a very streamlet of talk, flitting round him and
plucking flowers like a humming-bird supplied with fingers.
The servants passing to and fro about their work smiled to
each other; Mrs. Bywank came by turns to the door to catch a
look or a word; Reo himself lifted his brown hand and made
believe it was to brush away the perspiration. Another
observer who had come upon the scene, observed it very
passively--a girl, a small girl, in the dress of the poor, and
with the dull eyes of observance which often mark the children
of the poor. They expressed nothing, but that they looked.
'Good morning, child,' said Miss Hazel. 'Do you want me to
give you a bunch of flowers?'
'No.'
'What then?'
'Mammy sent me to see if the lady was come.'
'Who is mammy? and what does _she_ want?' said Wych Hazel,
cutting more rosebuds and dropping them into her apron.
'Mammy wants to see the lady.'
'Well, is she coming to see me?'
'She can't come.'
'Why not?'--a quick shower of laughter and dew-drops, called
down by a fruitless spring after a spray of white roses.
'She lays abed,' said the child, after the shower was over.
'O, is she sick?' with a sudden gravity. 'Then I will come and
see her. Where does she live?'
The child went away as soon as sure arrangements were made for
the fulfilment of the promise. Wych Hazel's first visitor! one
of the two classes sure to find her out with no delay. And
Miss Kennedy was about as well versed in the one as in the
other.
The summons came to her to attend the breakfast room. Mr.
Falkirk was there, fixed in an easy chair and pamphlet; the
morning stir had not reached him.
'How long do we remain at Chickaree?' he asked, as he buttered
his muffin.
'Why, dear Mr. Falkirk, you might as well ask me how long
gentlemen will wear their present becoming style of head-
dress! I don't know.'
'I gather that it would not be safe to order post-horses for
departure. The question remains: would it be safe to order
other horses for the stable at home? One or the other thing it
is absolutely necessary to do.'
'The other horses, sir, by all means. And especially my pony
carriage.'
'I shall have to have one built to order,' remarked Mr.
Falkirk, after the pause of half an egg.
'And have it lined with blue--to set me off.'
'With a dickey behind--to set me on.'
'No, indeed! I'll have Dingee for an outrider, and then we'll
be a complete set of Brownies. You must order quick-footed
horses for me, Mr. Falkirk--I may be reduced to the fate of the
Calmuck girls.'
A single dark flash was in Mr. Falkirk's glance; but he only
said: 'Who is to have the first race, my dear?'
'Mr. Falkirk, you should rather be anxious as to who will have
the last. But get me a fast horse, sir, and let me practise'--
and flitting away from the table and about the room Miss Hazel
sang--
' "The lady stude on the castle wa',
"Beheld baith date and down;
"Then she was ware of a host of men
"Came ryding towards the town.
"O see ye not, my merry men a',
"O see ye not what I see?
"Methinks I see a host of men:
"I marvel wha' they be." '
And thereupon, finding she had suddenly come rather close to
the subject, Miss Hazel dashed out of the room.
The day proved warm. The air, losing its morning dew and
freshness, moved listlessly about among the leaves; the sky
looked glassy; the cattle stood panting in the shade, or
mused, ankle deep, in the brooks; only the birds were
stirring.
With thought and action as elastic as theirs, the young
mistress of Chickaree prepared for her visit to the poor
woman; afraid neither of the hot sunbeams nor of certain white
undulations of cloud that just broke the line of the western
horizon. Mr. Falkirk had walked down to his cottage; there was
no one to counsel or hinder. And over the horses there was
small consultation needed; the only two nags found being a
young vixen of a black colt, and an intensely sedate horse of
no particular colour which Mrs. Bywank was accustomed to drive
to church. Relinquishing this respectable creature to Dingee,
Wych Hazel perched herself upon Vixen and set forth; walking
the colt now to keep by her little guide, but promising
herself a good trot on the way home.
The child had come to show her the way, and went in a
shuffling amble by the side of the colt's black legs. For a
good while they kept the road which had been travelled
yesterday; at last turned off to another which presently
became pleasantly shady. Woods closed it in, made it rather
lonely in fact, but nobody thought now of anything but the
grateful change. There were clouds which might hide the sun by
and by, but just now he was powerful and they were only
lifting their white heads stealthily in the west. At a rough
stile, beyond which a foot track led deeper into the wood, the
girl stopped.
'It's in here,' she said.
It was very clear that Vixen could not cross the stile. So her
young rider dismounted and looping up the heavy folds of her
riding skirt as best she might, disappeared from the eyes of
Dingee among the trees. Her dress was a pretty enough dress
after all, for though the skirts were dark and heavy, the
white dimity jacket was all airiness and ruffles; and once
fairly in the shade of the trees, Wych Hazel let her riding
hat fall back and rest on her shoulders in very childish
fashion indeed. Her little guide trotted on before her; till
they saw the house they had come for.
It was a place of shiftless poverty; of need, no doubt, but
not of industry; Wych Hazel was humbly begged to supply
deficiencies which ought not to have been. Inexperienced as
she was, she scarcely understood it. Nevertheless she was glad
when the visit was over and she could step out of the door
again. The clouds had not hid the sun yet, and she went
lightly on through the trees, singing to herself according to
custom, till she was near the stile; then she was 'ware' of
somebody approaching and the singing ceased. The glance which
showed her a stranger revealed also what made her glance again
as they drew nearer; it was a person of uncommonly good
exterior and fine bearing. A third glance would not have been
given, but that, as they came close, Wych Hazel received the
homage of a very profound and courteous salutation, and the
gentleman, presenting a branch of white roses, said with
sufficient deference,
'Earth, must offer tribute!--and cannot, without hands--'
And then passed swiftly on. Amused, startled, Wych Hazel also
quickened her step; wondering to herself what sort of country
she had fallen upon. It was ridiculously like a fairy tale,
this whole afternoon's work. The little barefooted guide, the
sick woman with her 'young goodness' and 'your ladyship,' now
this upstarting knight. There were the roses in her hand, too,
as much like the famed spray gathered by the merchant in
'Beauty and the Beast,' as mortal roses could be! But the
adventure was not over. As she reached the stile she heard the
same voice beside her again. The stranger held her riding
whip, which Wych Hazel had left behind her at the cottage; the
little girl had met him, bringing it, he said. And then he
went on--'It is impossible not to know that I am speaking to
Miss Kennedy. I am a stranger in the country, but my aunt,
Mme. Lasalle, is well known to Mr. Falkirk. Will Miss Kennedy
allow me to assist her in remounting?'
It was gracefully said, with quietly modulated tones that
belong only to a high grade of society, and the speaker had a
handsome face and good presence. Nevertheless, Wych Hazel had
no mind to be 'remounted' by any one, and was very near saying
as much; for in her, 'temperament' retarded the progress of
conventionalism sadly. As it was, she gave him a hesitating
assent, and received his proffered assistance. Then lifting
his hat, he stood while she passed on.
It was time to ride, for the sky was dark with clouds, the air
breathless, and sharp growls of thunder spoke in the distance,
at every one of which Vixen made an uneasy motion of ears and
head, to show what she would do when they came nearer.
'We must ride for it, Dingee,'--Miss Hazel said to her dark
attendant.
'Reckon we'll get it, too, Miss Hazel,' was Dingee's reply,
and a heavy drop or two said 'yes, it is coming.' Wych Hazel
laughed at him, cantering along on her black pony like a brown
sprite, the rising wind making free with her hair and hat
ribbands, the rose spray made fast for her buttonhole. But as
she dashed out of the woods upon a tract of open country, the
distance before her was one sheet of grey rain and mist, and a
near peal of thunder that almost took Vixen off her feet,
showed what it would be to face such a storm, so mounted. And
now the raindrops began to patter near at hand.
But where to go? She had passed no place of refuge in the
woodland, and before her the storm hid every thing from sight.
So, after a second's thought, Wych Hazel turned and flew down
a side road a half a mile to the very door of a low stone
house, the first she had seen, sprang off her frightened pony,
and darted into the open hall door, leaving Dingee to find
shelter for himself and his charge. Then she began to wonder
where she was, and what the people would say to her; at first
she had been only glad to get off Vixen's back, the pony had
jumped and reared at such a rate for the last five minutes.
In the hall, which at a glance she saw was square and wide,
and felt was flagged with stone, stood a large packing case;
and about it and so busy with it that for a second they did
not observe her, were a girl and young man, the latter
knocking off boards and drawing out nails with his hammer,
while the other hovered over the work and watched it
absorbedly. In a moment more they both looked up. The hammer
went down and with a face of illumination Rollo came forward.
'Why here she is!' he exclaimed gayly, 'dropped into our
hands! and as wet as if she had fallen from the clouds
literally. Here Rosy, carry off this lady to your domains.
This is Primrose Maryland, Miss Kennedy.'
A primrose she evidently was, sweet and good and fresh like
one, with something of a flower's gravity, too. That could be
seen at a glance; also that she was rather a little person,
though full and plump in figure, and hardly pretty, at least
in contrast with her brilliant neighbour. Wych Hazel's first
words were of unbounded surprise.
'From what possible part of the clouds did you fall, Mr.
Rollo!'--then with a blush and a look of apology to Miss
Maryland, 'I ought to excuse myself; I didn't know where I was
coming. And my horse quite refused to stand upon more than two
feet at once, I found the storm uncomfortable--and so jumped
off and ran in. It's the fault of your door for being open,
Miss Maryland!'
'I am very glad,' said Primrose simply. 'The door stood open
because it was so hot. We were going to see you this afternoon
but the storm hindered us. Now, will you come up-stairs and
get on something dry?'