A RUNAWAY
By the end of October, the golden month, and always beautiful in
Virginia, things had shaken into routine. During that time suite Number
10 had become one of the most popular in the school, as well as one of
the most attractive, for, to the intense satisfaction of the trio their
belongings were in as perfect harmony as themselves, Beverly's things
being pink, Sally's the softest green and Aileen's all white and gold.
Consequently all went merry as a marriage bell.
But there had been hours of intense longing upon Beverly's part for the
freedom of bygone days and Athol. The brother and sister had been
entirely too united in every way to find perfect compensation in the
companionship of others, however warm the friendships formed, and each
missed the other sorely. Of course letters had been exchanged during the
month, but letters are a poor substitute for the voice of those we love
best. Only Mrs. Ashby realized how intense was the brother's and sister's
longing to see each other. Archie, also, fumed under the enforced
separation and vowed that "something was going to break loose mighty
sudden if his people and Athol's didn't get busy and _do_ something."
Had Beverly been at liberty to ride Apache as formerly the ten miles
separating the two schools would have meant merely a jolly cross country
run, but she was only permitted to ride when the other girls rode, and
under the supervision of a groom who was held responsible for his
charges.
Nor had the boys been allowed to visit Beverly, the male sex being
regarded by Miss Woodhull as a sort of natural enemy whose sole aim in
life was to circumvent, deprive and rob hers of its just rights. Miss
Woodhull was essentially a militant suffragette and her stanch admirers,
Miss Baylis and Miss Stetson were her enthusiastic partisans. Miss
Atwell, the teacher of esthetic dancing and posing, who came thrice
weekly to instill grace into the graceless and emphasize it in those who
were already graceful, sat, so to speak, upon the fence, undecided which
way to jump. She inclined strongly to the strictly feminine attitude of
dependence upon the stronger sex, but was wise to the advantage of
keeping in touch with those occupying the seats of the mighty at Leslie
Manor.
At Kilton Hall rules were less stringent. The boys could ride every
afternoon if they chose and often did so, ranging the country far and
wide. Many a time they had gone tearing past Leslie Manor when the girls
were stived up within and been exasperated at being "so near and yet so
far," as an old song puts it. Hence Archie's frame of mind, and his
determination to change the existing state of affairs before long if
possible. Letters sent home by the boys and those Beverly wrote to her
mother were the seeds sown which the three hoped would later start the
"something doing." Meanwhile Beverly chafed under the restraint, and such
chafing generally leads to some sort of an outbreak.
It was Wednesday afternoon, October twenty-ninth, and riding-lesson day.
Every Wednesday and Saturday Andrew Jackson Jefferson, whose name was as
queer a combination as himself, for he seemed to be about half _horse_,
so wonderful was his understanding of those animals, and so more than
wonderful _theirs_ of him, took his "yo'ng sem'nary ladies a-gallopin'
th'oo de windin's ob de kentry roads," proud as a Drum Major of his
charges.
And well he might be, for Andrew Jackson Jefferson had not only entire
charge of the horses belonging to Leslie Manor, but he had bought them,
and he knew good horseflesh. So the Leslie Manor horses as well as the
half dozen boarded there by the students, were always a credit to the
school. Their coats shone like satin, their hoofs were spick and span, no
shoes ever clicked for want of the proverbial nail, fetlocks were trimmed
like a bridegroom's hair, and manes and forelocks brushed to the
silkiness of a bride's. Harness and bits were scrupulous. Jefferson knew
his business.
When Apache was sent to Leslie Manor he was such a contrast to the other
horses that Jefferson at first looked askance at him, but Apache was a
wise little beast. As a preliminary move he gently nozzled Jefferson,
then by way of showing him that he was not to be taken too seriously, he
flew up into the air, executed a wild fling and descended upon the exact
spot from which he had risen, which exhibition so tickled Jefferson that
he grinned broadly and announced to his underlings:
"Dat's some hawse! Yo' hyar me! Befo' he's done been in dis hyre stable a
week he gwine ter be eatin' outer ma hand," and Apache verified the
statement by becoming Jefferson's abject slave before four days had
passed, and Beverly basked in reflected glory, for was she not Apache's
"Yo'ng Mist'ess?"
"Kyant tech dat chile nothin' 'bout _ridin'_", was Jefferson's fiat when
he saw Beverly astride her little mouse-colored and white mount. "_She_
paht ob dat hawse!"
There had already been several riding lessons since school opened, and
each time Jefferson's delight in his newest charges increased. Born and
brought up with the race, Beverly knew how to handle the negroes, and
Jefferson as promptly became her slave as Apache had become his.
Now the prescribed route for these riding excursions was within a
five-mile radius of the school. "No further," said Miss Woodhull. Those
bounds seemed safe from encroachment upon the part of the Kilton Hall
students, even had their Wednesday and Saturday mornings and afternoons
not been entirely given over to athletics, thus precluding excursions
upon horseback.
As a rule Jefferson took out eight or ten girls, but this particular
Wednesday afternoon several had obtained permission to go to town with
Mrs. Bonnell to do some shopping, have some photographs taken, see the
dentists and what not, so the riders were reduced to Sally, Aileen, Petty
Gaylord, Hope MacLeod, a senior, and Beverly. All were well mounted and
each was looking her best in her trim habit.
It was customary for the party to stop at the porte cochere to be
inspected by Miss Woodhull, but on this particular afternoon Miss
Woodhull was absent at a social function in the neighborhood and the duty
devolved upon Miss Stetson, the teacher of mathematics, a strong-minded
lady with very pronounced views. She dressed as nearly like a man as was
compatible with law and decency, wore her hair short, and affected a
masculine stride. She came from Miss Woodhull's state.
Jefferson drew up his cavalcade of five and awaited the appearance of
Miss Stetson whom he despised with all your true negro's power to despise
"white folks what doesn't know dey is white." Miss Stetson insisted upon
calling him Mr. Jefferson, affirming that "the race never _could_ be
self-respecting or, indeed, wholly emancipated, until treated as the
equals of the white race."
She now strode out upon the piazza, cast a critical eye upon the horses,
nodded and said:
"Very fit. Very fit. Quite in order. You are to be commended Mr.
Jefferson, but er--isn't there something a little peculiar in the
appearance of your horses' er--er--headgear? Their _eyes_ seem to be
exposed more than usual; and look somewhat bare, so to speak. Can it be
possible that you have forgotten something?"
"Fergot?" queried Jefferson, looking from one animal to the other. "Ah
cyant see nothin' I'se done fergot, Miss Ste'son. What it look lak ain't
on de hawses, ma'am?"
"Why their eyes seem so prominent. They seem to _see_ too much, er--"
Beverly was attacked with a sudden paroxysm of coughing. Jefferson nearly
disgraced himself, but managed to stammer:
"We doesn't ingen'ally put blinders on de saddle hawses, Miss, but ef yer
says so I'll tak 'em long back ter de stables an' change de saddle
headstalls fer de _kerridge_ ones, tho' it sure would look mighty
cur'ous."
"No! No! Certainly not. It was merely a remark in passing. You are the
better judge of the requirements I dare say," and Miss Stetson beat a
hasty retreat, entirely forgetting to warn her charges against venturing
beyond bounds.
Could she have seen Beverly's lips set she might have grown suspicious.
The riding party started, Jefferson muttering:
"Ma Lawd! dat 'oman suah do make me tired. Blinders on ma saddle hawses!
Huh! '_Mr_. Jefferson'. Reckon I bettah tek ter callin' her Sis'
Angeline," Angeline being Miss Stetson's christian name.
When the grounds of the school were left a few miles behind her Beverly
drew up to Sally's side and said significantly:
"She did not tell us to keep within bounds."
"She forgot to. She was too busy missing the blinders," laughed Sally.
Beverly laughed softly and continued:
"You girls hold in your horses when we've gone a little further. I want
to ride on ahead with Jefferson. I've a word to say and I've an idea he
is in a receptive mood."
"What are you up to, Bev?" asked Aileen.
"Just watch out. We'll take a new route today unless I'm much mistaken,"
and touching Apache lightly with her heel she cavorted to Jefferson's
side. He had been too absorbed in his thoughts of Miss Stetson to leave
room for any others: Your darkie is not unlike a horse in that respect;
his brain is rarely capable of holding _two_ ideas at once. Perhaps that
explains why darkies and horses are usually in such accord.
As Apache careened against Jumbo's side the big horse gave a plunge
forward which jerked Jefferson's wits back to his surroundings. That was
exactly what Beverly wished.
"Lor' Miss Bev'ly, you done scare Jumbo an' me foolish," he exclaimed,
striving to bring Jumbo down to his usual easy pace, for the tall hack
had resented the little broncho's familiarity, though he could not know
that his own grandsire and Apache's were the same.
"Jefferson, will you do something to please me this afternoon?" she asked
eagerly.
"I shore will if it aint gwine ter get me into no fuss wid de Misses,"
temporized Jefferson.
"It won't get you into any fuss with anybody. Miss Woodhull is not at
home and Miss Stetson was too busy trying to find out where the horses
had lost their blinders to tell us _not_ to take the road to Kilton
Hall."
Jefferson almost chortled.
"So, when we come to that road will you turn down it and leave the rest
to me? And don't be surprised or frightened at anything Apache may do."
"I aint scared none at what you an' dat hawse doin'. He's got sense
and--" added Jefferson with concession--"so has you. I aint got no time
ter be a troublin' 'bout you-all. It's dese yo'ng ladies I has ter bat my
eyes at; an' dey shore do keep me busy sometimes. Now what I tell you?
Look at dat?" and as though in sympathy with Beverly's schemes, Chicadee,
the little mare Petty Gaylord was riding chose that moment to shy at some
leaves which fluttered to the ground and, of course, Petty shrieked, and
then followed up the shriek with the "tee-hee-hee," which punctuated
every tenth word she spoke whether apropos or not.
That was exactly the cue Beverly needed. A slight pressure of her knee
upon Apache's side was sufficient. He was off like a comet, and to all
intents and purposes entirely beyond his rider's control.
Sally and Aileen laughed outright. Petty stopped her giggle to scream:
"Oh, she's being run away with!"
"Not so much as it would seem," was Hope MacLeod's quiet comment as she
laid in place a lock of Satin Gloss's mane, and quieted him after his
sympathetic plunge.
"Well ef she is, she _is_, but I'm bettin' she knows whar she a-runnin'
_at_," said Andrew Jackson Jefferson more quietly than the situation
seemed to warrant. "But just de same I'm thinkin' we might as well fool
oursefs some," and he hastened his pace, the others doing likewise. It
would never do to let one of his charges be run away with and not make an
effort to save her from a possible calamity.