"I am sure he will come," she said, turning quite away, that I might not
dwell upon her warm blush.
"There is Ben with the horse. Are you ready?" she asked, glad to change
the subject.
I was always ready for that I had enjoyed the "jaunting-car-r-r"
so much, that my sister, resolved to gratify me further, had made
comfortable arrangements for longer excursions. I found that I could
sit up, if well supported by pillows; and so Kate had her "cabriolet"
brought out and repaired.
She had not the least idea of what a cabriolet might be, when she named
her vehicle so; but it sounded fine and foreign, and was a sort of witty
contrast to the misshapen affair it represented. It was indescribable
in form, but had qualities which recommended it to me. It was low,
wide-seated, high-backed, broad, and long. The front wheels turned
under, which was a lucky circumstance, as Kate was to be driver. Ben
could not be spared from his work, and I was out of the question.
We have a horse to match this unique affair, called "Old Soldier,"--an
excellent name for him; though, if Kate reads this remark, she will
take mortal offence at it. She calls the venerable fellow her charger,
because he makes such bold charges at the steep hills,--the only
occasions upon which the cunning beast ever exerts himself in the least,
well knowing that he will be instantly reined in. Kate has a horror of
going out of a walk, on either ascent or descent, because "up-hill is
such hard pulling, and down-hill so dangerous!"
Old Soldier can discern a grade of five feet to the mile of either. If I
did not know his history, (an old omnibus horse,) I should say he
must have practised surveying for years. He accommodates himself most
obligingly to his mistress's whims, and walks carefully most of the
time, except when he is ambitious of great praise at little cost, when
he makes the charges aforesaid.
"He is so considerate, usually!" Kate says; "he knows we don't like
tearing up and down hills; but now and then his spirit runs away with
him!"--I wish it would some day with us. No hope of it!
We stop every two miles to water the horse, and though we are
exceedingly moderate in our donations, we are a fortune to the hostlers.
I carry the purse, as Kate is quite occupied in holding the reins, and
keeping a sharp look-out that her charger don't run off. Not that he
ever showed a disposition that way,--being generally quite agreeable,
if we wish him to stand ever so long a time; but Kate says he is very
nervous, and he _might_ be startled, and then we _might_ find it
impossible to stop him,--a thing easy enough hitherto.
I am obliged to keep the purse in my hand all the time, there being such
frequent use for it. Kate says,--
"Give the man a half-dime, Charlie, if you can find one. A three-cent
piece looks mean, you know; and a fip mounts up so, it is rather
extravagant. That is the twelfth fip that man has had this week, and for
only holding up a bucket a half-minute at a time; for Soldier only takes
one swallow."
She will pay every time we stop, if it is six times a day.
"Shall I give the man a half-dollar at once," I ask, "and let that do
for a week?"
"No, indeed! How mean I should feel, sneaking off without paying!"
When the roadside shows a patch of tender grass, Kate eyes it, and
checks Soldier's pace. He knows what that means, and edges toward the
tempting herbage.
"Poor fellow!" his driver says,--"it is like our having to pass a plate
of peaches. Let him have a bite."
And so we wait while he grazes awhile. It is the same thing when we
cross a brook, and Soldier pauses in it to cool his feet and look at his
reflection in the water.
"Perhaps he wants a drink. We won't hurry him. We will let him see that
we can afford to wait."
If he had not come to that conclusion from the very start, he must have
believed human beings were miracles of patience and forbearance.
I could write a fine dissertation upon Kate's foolish fondness and her
blind indulgence. I could show that these are the great failings of her
sex, and prove how very much more rational _my_ sex would be in like
circumstances. But I find it too pleasant to be the recipient of such
favors myself just now, to find fault. Wait until I do not need woman's
tenderness, and then I'll abuse it famously. I will say then, that she
is weak, foolish, imprudent; I will say, she kills with kindness, spoils
with indulgence, and all that; but just now I will say nothing.
In one thing I think her kindness very sensible,--she uses no
check-rein. I think with Sir Francis Head, that all horses are handsomer
with their heads held as Nature pleases. I pity the poor creatures when
I see them turning to one side and the other, to find a little relief
in change of position. To restrain horses thus, who have heavy loads to
pull, is the height of folly, as a waste of power.
You take no interest in these remarks, perhaps; but treasure them. If
ever, Cousin Mary, you _drive a dray_, they will serve you.
[To be continued.]
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