WHO WAS SHE?
The colored servants had with them strong cordials that soon brought
Lionel to himself.
No bones were broken, but he was lame and bruised, and it was some time
before he could mount the gentle animal Sam Spruce had ridden in going
forth to find him. Sally saw in a moment that it was Lord Rollin, the
horse Lionel had used when riding with his cousin Rosamond.
Hotspur, after a mad gallop, had raced back riderless to the stables,
stirrups dangling and saddle awry. This had sent the men out in hot
haste to find out what had happened.
As soon as Lionel was fairly recovered, he looked all around.
"Where is the beautiful creature that gave me water?" he asked.
"No one gave you water, Mars' Li'nel," said the well-spoken Sam Spruce.
"We fetched cordial that brought you to."
"Yes, yes, I know that," Lionel replied, "but who was the lovely being
all in white, with hair like the sun, eyes like stars, lips like
cherries and with flowers all about her everywhere?"
Sam looked over to Corniel, winked, and touched his brow.
Lionel caught the gesture.
"Oh, now, none of that!" he said; "my head is not wandering. She came
before you did, some charming little thing, I tell you, that was all
brightness and flowers."
"We saw no one, Mars' Lion," began Corniel; "you was all 'lone when we
comed up. Ef there'd been anybuddy else roun', dey couldn't 'a' got 'way
dout our seein' 'em."
"Oh, well, never mind," said the young master, "if none of you saw any
one, there's no use in talking, but I know what I saw, and my head
wasn't light or flighty, either."
The well-trained servants did not reply, but Bill, the groom, who stood
behind Lionel, rolled his eyes in so droll a fashion, at the same time
touching his own woolly crown, that Sam Spruce only stopped a titter by
a loud cough.
But he did not deceive his bright young master.
"Oh, you fellows may grin and make up eyes all you want to," he said,
good-naturedly, "but I wasn't knocked crazy all at once, and one of
these days you may find out I saw just what I say I did. Now get me home
as fast as you can."
They helped him mount the proud but steady Lord Rollin, and in a moment
more three of them rode away, leaving Sam Spruce to walk back.
Left alone, Sam took a good look around, and Sally, who had seen them
talking but could not hear what was said, was in terror lest he should
spy her in the branches of the oak; but Sam, who looked in other
directions, did not look up, and, finally, wagging his head in a knowing
way, he moved off, greatly to Sally's relief.
The maid was in a kind of dream all the rest of the day, and, without
exactly knowing it, she was very happy. Shortly before noon she returned
to the house, and going directly to the mirror in the keeping-room she
said, without vanity, but with considerable curiosity:
"I wonder if I am fair at all?" and as the mirror flashed back the image
of a maiden surely very pleasant to look upon, she chuckled:
"I don't care, very glad I am that when I first touched the Fairy Prince
and looked right into his eyes, I was in my best attire, and also
dressed in flowers. I wonder did it mean anything?"
"What should it mean?" asked the faithful Fairy.
"Mistress Cory Ann might say it was a good sign," said Sally.
"Do not be a silly, taking note of signs and omens!" cried the Fairy.
"They bear no meaning except for simple souls that know no better than
to make them up. Wise people and signs have naught to do with each
other."
Still Sally felt happy. She was glad that in white array, with flowers
and midst sunshine and songs of birds, she had first come face to face
with her Fairy Prince.
"But he had been hurt," reminded the Fairy.
"Not badly," serenely smiled Maid Sally. "He soon came around with a
little attention."
That evening Sally strolled around to her seat in the hedge, hoping and
wishing that she might hear some of the reading that had always charmed
her. But long she sat there before any one came to the arbor. The pale
stars came out in the azure heavens, and indeed the maiden had a quiet
nap before there came a sound to break the stillness of the pretty
evening.
Then the family coach drew up before the gate, and a gay company
alighted. Sally knew by this that there had been a supper party
somewhere, and that the young people had been away.
Would they go directly to the house, she wondered, or would they stroll
over to the arbor for awhile?
Ah, they were coming over. She wished she might peep at them in their
fine attire, but no, it would not do to try, and besides, she could not
see them very plainly now. Pretty soon she heard Lucretia say:
"I saw fair brows grow into a frown, when it was found you were too lame
to dance to-night, my brother."
"Ah, but very lucky was I to be able to go out at all to-night, after
the hard fall of this morning," cried Lionel. "Hotspur hath no gentle
plunge once his blood is up."
"Has he ever thrown you before?" asked the Lady Rosamond.
"No, nor did he in truth throw me to-day," Lionel replied. "I had left
the saddle of my own will, but by some strange bound Hotspur tossed me
nearly up again, then banged me like a wisp against a tree. The heavy
fall stunned me."
"And Sam thought you inclined to wander in speech after the men found
you," remarked Rosamond.
"Which is entirely untrue!" exclaimed Lionel, with some warmth. Then he
added, in a gentler tone:
"I would I might know who was the bonny maid that bent over me and gave
me cooling drops of water and bathed my face and brow."
"Dost really think there was such a person, brother?" inquired Lucretia.
"It is quite as true as that I sit here this moment! Whether a wood
Fairy or a forest nymph I cannot tell, but a heartsome creature, all in
white except for flowers of brightest hue, dropped water into my mouth
and laved my hot brow."
"The other servants thought you wandered slightly," again ventured
Rosamond, "and as no one was in sight when they rode up, where could
your nymph or Fairy have vanished so soon? Was not she with you but a
moment before?"
"Only an instant before, my cousin. But never shall I yield to the idea
that I wandered or that my eyes deceived me as to the vision upon which
they rested. Some day I hope to see my dear Fairy again, and when I do,
I shall know her."
Sally held her breath for very rapture. Ah, how strange, how sweetly
strange! _He_, her Fairy Prince, had called her _his_ dear Fairy! Could
it be? Yes, it was true, true!
"But, remember, he knows naught of you," came the sad voice that always
kept her down.
"See to it," cried her cheerful Fairy, "that should he ever see and know
you, there will be naught for which to be ashamed."
"I will try," said Maid Sally.
But if Sally had been careful not to have the Fairy Prince see her
before, doubly unwilling was she now that he should catch a glimpse of
her.
And not much danger of it was there except on Sundays, when he appeared
at meeting. But Sally managed to stand behind the person in front of
her, so that not a peep at her face did the young gentleman of Ingleside
get, when during the last singing the congregation turned about and
faced the choir.
But under her broad-rimmed hat it is doubtful if Sally's features would
have reminded him of the nymph of the pine woods. And so cautious was
Maid Sally that not another peep did her Fairy Prince get at her
anywhere during the rest of his vacation.
And but seldom did the careful maid go over to the beloved perch between
hedge and wall. From her window she more than once saw Lionel go flying
by on Hotspur's back, for the Southern lad rode as if by nature the
swift, noble horses always to be found in the stables.
Then companies of young people would go forth on picnics, driving in
wagons through the woods; or riding parties would be formed, when
Hotspur would be left at home, while Lord Rollin, Lady Grace, and other
fine horses would bear young men and maidens to the make-believe hunt,
or on the long, breezy ride.
And then again there came a fair September day, when Sally went to the
quay, and away and away sailed the Fairy Prince, going back to his
studies and the books that were to fit him for the life that lay ahead
and the days that were to come.
And back went Maid Sally to Mistress Kent, with the chief part of her
"History of America," and the founding of the Colonies safely lodged in
the mind-cells under her red-gold hair.
And although Ingleside seemed deserted with the sailing away of its only
son, the old charm yet lingered about his home.
One Saturday night in late October, Sally wandered over to the
well-known plantation. Bill was combing and rubbing down the horses,
Hotspur, Lord Rollin, Springer, Lady Grace, and Crazy Jim.
Sally knew them all, could call half a dozen of them by their names. It
sent a pang of regret to her little young heart, seeing the animals
that would feel the hand of their young master on the bridles no more
for nearly a year to come.
A little farther on Sam Spruce was picking at a banjo, and trolling in a
sweet tenor an old plantation song.
Everything seemed pleasant yet tinged with sadness, for all reminded her
of the absent Prince. Not many children have the depths of imagination
that had Maid Sally. But she would be thirteen in the winter, hers was a
very loving, longing young heart, and she was almost alone in the world,
for such children as sometimes came around Slipside Row were not
companions for her or such as she could like.
And on this lovely, dreamy night, she strolled on and on, until she came
close to Mammy Leezer seated flat on the grass, talking away to herself
as fast as her tongue could go. Her back was turned to Sally, and in the
growing twilight she was not likely to see the lonely child.
Mammy's pipe was in her hand, and every minute or two she would stop and
take a long breath at it, sending a spire of curling smoke above her
head. Sally could hear plainly what she was saying, and as usual the
sound of her sweet voice was comforting.
"No," she said, "I doan't like it one mite seein' my young Mars' Lion
fly in' off to Inglan', and hearin' all sorts ob talk 'bout wars an'
rumors o' wars. What dat chile got to do with sech tings, I like to
know? Lorr sakes, it ain't but yes'day I trot 'im on my ole knee first
to Bosting, den to Lynn, den to Salum, and home, home agin! And Lorr
a-massy! how dat lil trollop screech and scream when I put him on my big
shoe and sing dat trip song!"
Mammy stopped, held her pipe in a hand that rested on her knee, and
softly wagging one foot, she began, in a slow, dreamy, singsong:
"Trip-a-trop-a-tronjes,
De-vorkens-in-de-boonjes,
De-koejes-in-de-klaver,
De-Paarden-in-de-haver,
De-eenjes-in-de-waterplass,
So-pop!-my-lil-pick'ninny-goes!"
"Lorr, Lorr! I can hear dat poor lil monkey now, done choke a-larfin',
when his ole Mammy toss him up inten her lap."
But Mammy's soliloquy was rudely broken in upon. Hotspur came tearing
over the lawn, Bill in hot pursuit.
"Horrors unner hemlocks!" screamed Mammy, as the wild horse bolted by at
a perfectly safe distance, then of his own accord pranced back to the
stable yard.
Up got Mammy and trundled away. And back toward Slipside Row went Sally,
laughing at Mammy's queer fright, but feeling thankful enough that she
was only frightened, not hurt.