My First Lie, and What Came of It.
[Illustration]
"He is after us!" exclaimed Cousin Molly Belle, and brought down her
switch stingingly upon Snap's flanks.
Tightening her arm about me, she urged him from canter to gallop, from a
gallop to a run. The trees swept by us like lightning; the wind tore the
breath from our lungs, but I had no thought of fear. My cousin was a
fearless rider, and the perfectly broken hunter under us flew as
steadily and as straight as a blue martin. Against the back of my head
Cousin Molly Belle's heart was pounding like an unbalanced trip-hammer.
I wondered if it were possible that she was frightened, and twisted my
face around to get a glimpse of hers. It was as white as a sheet, and
her teeth were set hard upon her lower lip. Within a stone's throw of
Uncle Carter's outer gate she brought the horse down to a walk, then to
a full stop, and slipped to the ground. Her face was so pale and rigid
as she set me upon my feet that I began to tremble.
"Are you scared?" I faltered.
"Scared to death, child! Hush!"
She turned Snap's head in the direction from which we had come, and
struck him smartly with her switch, in letting go of the bridle.
"Go home, sir! Go!"
He galloped off, stirrups and mane flying, and she drew a deep, agitated
breath.
"If ever I get into such a scrape again!"
She bent low and listened; the scared look settled again upon her face.
Through the stillness of the summer afternoon, we heard a sharp "Whoa!"
faint but clear, when, as we judged, Snap neared our pursuer. The pause
of a second ensued, and the hoofs, doubled in number and resonance,
sounded nearer and nearer, thundering over the soft ground, clicking
against the stones, like a charge of cavalry. Cousin Molly Belle was so
white that a few freckles, never seen through her usually brilliant
complexion, made a line of sallow dots across her cheek bones and the
bridge of her nose. Clutching me more roughly than she had ever touched
me before, she thrust me well into the heart of a tall cedar whose
lowest boughs grew out horizontally and swept the earth.
"Don't move or speak!" she whispered fiercely and forced her way to the
hole of the tree.
I heard the grating of the bark under her feet, and felt the branches
shake, then grow quiet. She was well up the tree, and hidden by the
bushy foliage. The tumultuous beat of the charging hoofs echoed more and
more loudly. The rider would be upon us in another minute. Escape
through the gate and down the avenue to the house was out of the
question. We would have been in sight from the road for several hundred
yards, and a few seconds would be lost in opening the gate.
On my part, the adventure was, thus far, pure fun, and the excitement
delicious. I giggled in my sleeve in the anticipation of hearing the
furious hoofs sweep past and lose themselves in the distance on the
false scent. I had not had time to speculate as to why my companion was
"scared to death."
The clatter was abreast of, and behind me in the road when the
imperative "Whoa!" again arrested it. I knew the voice now. A man leaped
to the ground; hasty footsteps struck across the turf edging the
highway; dry sticks cracked, my bushy covert was jarred, and Mr. Frank
Morton stood before me, parting the branches to get a good look at me.
My pink gingham had betrayed me.
"Molly Burwell! what are you doing here?"
As if prompted by a telepathic despatch from the fugitive overhead, I
began to pick the bluish white berries studding the twigs and to cram
them into my mouth.
"Picking cedar-berries!" I retorted coolly, cocking a saucy eye at him.
"Who came with you?"
I stood on tiptoe to tug at a fat cedar-ball, glossy, brown, and deeply
pitted.
"Oh, Mr. Frank! won't you please cut it off for me?"
He whipped out his knife and severed the twig.
"Did you come all the way from the house alone?"
I had never, within my memory, told a deliberate lie. My cheeks burned
like fire; my eyes dropped guiltily. My tongue did not trip or tangle.
"Yes, sir."
There was a dread silence. My ears rang, my heart was sinking slowly and
sickeningly into my heels. I had bethought myself just as he put the
question, that Cousin Molly Belle might be put in jail if he found out
that she had been with me, and had on her brother's clothes. As a
well-tutored child in a Presbyterian family, I knew what becomes of
liars when they leave off living and lying together. My teeth ceased to
chatter and met with a snap. The loyal heart rallied to the help of the
guilty tongue. I raised my eyes in sullen defiance.
"It isn't so _dreadful_ far! I came all by my loney-toney self!"
My friend laughed.
"My dear little girl, there is no great harm in that. Only, I wouldn't
run away again if I were you. Your aunt might be uneasy if she missed
you."
"She isn't at home," I answered incautiously. "She 'n' Uncle Carter 'n'
Cousin Burwell 'n' Cousin Dick have gone to Mr. Cunningham's."
"Ah!" The ejaculation was not regretful. "Isn't Miss Molly Belle at
home? You would be sorry to make _her_ anxious, I know."
The cedar-branches thrilled slightly, as at the flight of a startled
bird. Mr. Frank did not notice it, but the movement nerved me. I spoke
hastily, walking away from the tree toward the gate.
"Oh, yes, _she's_ at home! I reckon she must have been taking a nap when
I came away. I'm going right back now."
I had never dreamed that lying was such an easy performance.
"I'll take you home. Wait a minute!"
Snap was grazing on the roadside. Another saddle-horse stood by with
drooping head, his bridle hanging loosely in the bend of Mr. Frank's
arm. I was lifted to Snap's back; my escort walked beside me through the
gate, and along the lane, one hand on me, and leading the second horse.
"I suppose you are wondering what I am doing with two horses," he said
lightly. "It is a very funny story. I'll tell you and Miss Molly Belle
when we get to the house. It will make you both laugh."
He had given me Snap's bridle to hold, as if I were riding all by
myself. He thought it would please me. In other circumstances I should
have been glad and proud to be so mounted, and by him. But from my lofty
seat I could see over his head across the field of corn which lay to the
left of the road. Something or somebody was running between the close
rows in a straight line from the plantation gate to the house. Running
like a deer, or a greyhound--or Cousin Molly Belle. She must get home
and up to her room before we got there.
"Oh, Mr. Frank!" I cried. "I have dropped my cedar-ball!" And when he
had picked it up, "Won't you please make Snap walk very slow? I am
afraid I might fall off."
"What has got into you to-day, little Duchess?" He had a dozen pet names
for me, and my heart smote me sore at sight of his kind, honest face.
"It isn't like you to be afraid of horses,--and you and Snap are old
friends. You will never be such a rider as Miss Molly Belle if you learn
to be nervous."
Not another sound fell from my lips until I was put down gently at the
front gate of my uncle's house, and Flora bustled out, cross lines in
her forehead and cross tones in her voice.
"I do declar', Miss Molly--(How-you-do, Mars' Frank?) I do declar', Miss
Molly, you're enough to drive anybody crazy with you' wild tomboy ways.
Me 'n' Miss Molly Belle, we've been jes' raisin' the plantation fo' you,
and hyar you come home a-riding Mars' Frank Mo'ton's horse, gran' as you
please, and nobody knowin' whar you been ever sence dinner-time. Miss
Molly Belle 'll be mighty obleeged to you for fotchin' of her home,
Mars' Frank. She'll be down pretty soon for to tell you so herself. Walk
into the parlor, please, sir. Jim, you take Mr. Mo'ton's horses to
the stable. And Miss Molly, you jes' stay thar 'n' ent'tain Mr. Mo'ton
like a little lady tell you' cousin comes down sta'rs."
[Illustration: THE END OF THE PRANK.
"I was put down at my uncle's house, and Flora bustled out."]
I obeyed with docility that must have surprised the autocrat. Meek and
miserable, I preceded the guest to the parlor, although every minute
spent under his unsuspecting eyes was a danger and a pain. I made no
attempt to "entertain him." Seated upon a high chair, my feet swinging
dolefully six inches above the floor, I fingered the wretched
cedar-ball, redolent of rosin through much bruising, my pink sunbonnet
hanging from the knotted strings to the small of my back, and with
difficulty refrained from crying. I had never been wretched just in that
way before. Two imperative duties had met plump and face to face, with a
shock that jarred all preconceived principles of belief and action out
of plumb. Cousin Molly Belle had trusted me to keep her secret, and I
saw no way of doing it except to lie outright and repeatedly. The sin
lashed my conscience until I could have located in my corporeal frame
the exact whereabouts of the uncomfortable possession. So absorbed was I
by individual upbraidings that Flora's barefaced fabrication of the
search her young mistress and she had had for the runaway passed
unrebuked by so much as a look. It was no comfort to me to hear another
person lie even more glibly than myself. Flora was an ignorant colored
person, I, a baptized white child of the covenant who could read the
Bible for herself.
Mr. Morton tried to make me talk by well-concerted questions. Children
are best approached through the interrogative mood. It offers just so
many nails set in a sure place upon which to hang conversation. He was a
handsome, well-set-up young fellow, and, if somewhat graver by nature
and habit than most of Cousin Molly Belle's beaux, suited my taste best
of them all. Yesterday I should have been tickled clean out of the
proprieties by the chance of talking to him all by myself for twenty
minutes, sitting up in Aunt Eliza's parlor, just like grown folks.
The twenty minutes were like one hundred in sloth and weight before the
tap of high heels on the oaken stairs and the swish of skirts against
the banisters advised us who was coming.
She walked into the room with her head high and chin level; her eyes
shone and her coloring was superb. She had never been more beautiful,
and never so dignified. Her admirer felt both of these facts, and was
moved to mute inquiry into the cause of the singular mood. His glowing
eyes questioned hers while she shook hands with him and then sat down,
and held out her hand silently to me, without a smile. I went as
straight to her as a wounded bird to shelter, dropped upon a stool
beside her and rested my cheek against her knee, my hand in a grasp that
was close and loving, and--or so I fancied--monitory. My heart retorted
upon writhing conscience that she was worth sinning for. I added,
dogged and desperate, that I would do it again, if she needed to have it
done.
"Flora says that you have been very uneasy about this little lady," said
Mr. Frank, the dumb questioning still in his eyes, while he led the talk
into safer paths. "And that you have been hunting for her all over the
plantation."
"Flora said what was not true. I knew where she was, and did not look
for her at all or anywhere."
The metallic quality in her voice did not belong to it, and her
articulation was carefully clear, not at all like the gliding vowels and
consonantal elisions that help make musical the speech of the Southern
girl.
Mr. Frank looked puzzled. Had I not been present, he would have got at
the answer to the enigma. I felt this, but my hand was still in Cousin
Molly's, and I comprehended that she willed me to stay where I was.
"I have had an adventure, if she has not," resumed Mr. Frank, merrily.
"You may have seen me arrive with two saddle-horses? I was on my way
here, riding Snap. As I passed John's upper tobacco-field, I saw him at
the barn. So I tied Snap to a tree and went to speak to John. While we
were talking a negro ran up, all out of breath, to say that a man and a
woman had stolen my horse. The negro was too far off to recognize the
fellow, but he saw him untie Snap, mount him, help a little woman in a
red dress to get up behind him, and then ride away at a rattling pace.
Fortunately, John's riding-horse was standing at the barn door. I was in
the saddle before the story was done, put him at the nearest fence, and
was after the thieves. I must have gained upon them--Wildfire can outrun
any other horse in the county, and I did not spare him--for the rascals
left their booty and got away with whole skins. I met Snap just this
side of Willis's Creek, going home like the sensible creature he is. He
had been ridden hard, and there were welts on his sides where he had
been whipped, but I got him back safe. It was a risky thing--their
stealing him. Everybody about here knows the star in his forehead and
his white hind foot. The first white man that met the thieves would have
taken them up. I have no doubt that they belonged to a gang of gypsies
that are roaming through this neighborhood. A wagon-load of them passed
our house yesterday and camped last night at the Crossroads. I saw them
there last night as I went home from Court. On my way back this evening
I'll give them a call and let them understand that this is an unhealthy
country for that sort of gentry. Horse-thieves and grapevines are found
conveniently near to one another, sometimes."
In the horror of the hearing, I must have cried out but for the warning
squeeze that made my finger-joints slip upon each other and the bones
ache. The muscles of my face stiffened until I felt it losing all
resemblance to Molly Burwell. I was sure that it looked like a gray old
woman's, and instinctively turned it into the folds of my cousin's
skirt. Suppose Mr. Frank had called upon the gypsies before coming here!
If he had not come to us at all to-day--what would have happened? Would
he have had the innocent strangers hanged upon the convenient grapevine?
Could he be prevented from doing this now unless the truth were told
him? _That_, of course, was not to be thought of. Better have the gypsy
gang driven out of the county and a man and a woman strung up, than let
Cousin Molly Belle go to jail for wearing men's clothes. She would die
sooner than confess to any man, least of all to this one, that she had
worn--_pantaloons!_--and ridden Snap as people who wear the things
always ride.
How little I knew her was to be proved.
She let go my fingers all at once, pressed her palms together hard, and
sat up very straight, settling her eyes upon Mr. Frank's. When she
spoke, the metallic ring was that of a taut piano-string.
"You will please not go near the gypsies. _I_ stole your horse. Just for
fun, you know. And wretched fun it was. I saw him standing there, and
the temptation to play a trick upon you was too much for me. I meant to
let him go and send him back when I got to our gate. I did it sooner
than I expected, because I heard you coming and knew in a minute that
you must be on Wildfire, and that Snap stood no chance of keeping ahead
of him."
The listener's face was a study. He stood up and stared down at her, at
first in incredulous stupefaction, then, frowningly.
"_You--took--my--horse!_ You were that 'little woman,' then? Who was the
man?"
"There was no man. The negro did not see straight, or he told you a lie.
Molly was with me, and, as you see, her frock is pink. We were out
walking. We both got on the horse. It was a silly, silly prank, and all
my fault."
The frown disappeared; the perplexity remained. He glanced at me, and
my eyes fell. I so wanted Mr. Frank Morton to think well of me!
"But Molly said--" he began.
She took him up quickly.
"I know what Molly said. I was close by and heard every word. She was
trying to shield me. I told her that I could be put in jail if anybody
knew what I had done. I tempted the poor, loyal, loving little soul to
tell the first falsehood that ever soiled her tongue. It was a wicked--a
vile--a _mean_ thing in me! I loathe myself when I think of it. Oh,
Namesake!"--encircling me suddenly with her arm--"we will ask God
together to forgive us. I am the sinner--not you!"
I was wetting her sleeve with tears, shed more for her distress than for
my sin.
Mr. Frank Morton made a step toward her.
"I don't comprehend you yet--quite. You could not have imagined that you
could ever go to jail if you had stolen every horse in my stable--and
everything else I have? Don't give another thought to the matter. It was
a harmless bit of fun that hurt nobody. As to Molly's fibbing--I was the
tempter. What was the child to do? I think all the more of her for
standing between you and possible trouble."
"I tempted Molly to tell her first lie!" She waived aside the hand he
would have laid upon my head. "I shall recollect that as long as I live.
I deserve to suffer for it. And I mean to punish myself by telling you
the whole truth."
In the energy of her resolve, she, too, arose to her feet. A sort of
ague went from her head to her feet. For an instant there was not a sign
of color in her cheeks, then, a great billow of blushes beat her face
down upon her hands. If I had not been clinging to her skirt I could
hardly have got the meaning of the muffled words. Her lover had to bend
his head to catch them.
"_I had on a suit of Burwell's clothes!_"
She threw up her head so abruptly that her face almost touched his
before he could start back.
"_Now_"--she flung out passionately--"you will despise me! And you ought
to!"
Her rush toward the door was intercepted by his quicker action. He
seized both of her hands and would not let her pass.
"On the contrary, I never respected you before as I do this moment. You
shall believe this, Molly Belle!"
Not a symptom of a "Miss"! And he the most punctilious of men in
everything pertaining to polite address and chivalric reverence for
women! His eyes had strange flashes in them when he turned to me. He was
grave, but with a gravity that overlaid smiles. His voice was very
gentle:--
"Molly, run away to play--there's a dear child!"
As I obeyed, I saw that he had not let go of Cousin Molly Belle's
hands.
[Illustration]