A BIRTHDAY FROLIC AND WHAT CAME OF IT
“Oh, what fun! Are we all going? And way down to Summit Ridge? Who
planned it? Are we to stay all day long?” were the questions which
poured rapidly from Denise’s lips one bright October morning when Hart
came rushing over to ask if she might accompany a party of young people
upon an outing planned for the coming week. He had been away from
Springdale for several weeks, reveling in the delights of the seashore,
but his family had now returned for the winter, and his studies, as
well as Denise’s, had commenced.
Mrs. Lombard stood beside them listening, and smiling at the eager
faces before her. Presently she said:
“Which day next week have you chosen?”
“We had to choose Saturday, you know, on account of school. We aren’t
all so lucky as Denise, having a governess who will let us off at a
pinch,” and Hart looked mischievously up into Mrs. Lombard’s face.
She reached over to give a tweak to his curly “forelock,” and reply:
“Don’t be so sure of that. She is not let off so easily as you seem to
think. After such a long holiday we expect even more wonderful things.
So the frolic is planned for Saturday next. Was it prearranged?”
“Why no; what do you mean?”
“Oh, oh! I know! It will the thirteenth, and my birthday! Isn’t that
just splendid?”
“Honest? Oh, I say, that’s just dandy, isn’t it? No, I didn’t know a
thing about it, and I don’t believe the others did, either. At any
rate, they didn’t say a word about it. But it’s great luck. Say, we
sort of stumble on each other’s festive days, don’t we? Do you remember
how you hit upon mine last spring? Then I’ll tell them you will go, of
course?”
“Of course I’ll go; won’t I, Moddie?”
“First a positive assertion, and then a doubt; ‘he who hesitates is
lost,’” quoted Mrs. Lombard, laughing.
“Then I won’t hesitate; I’ll _go_,” and Denise ran prancing off to the
Birds’ Nest, followed by Hart, for they had many things to talk over
after a separation of six weeks, and much to plan for the coming picnic.
The Saturday named dawned clear and frosty, promising in the form of
many hickory nuts and chestnuts, an extra treat for the party gathering
so merrily at Hart’s home. Not that they literally gathered at dawn,
but it was not long after eight o’clock when the first horseman was
seen coming along the road to the meeting-place. There were to be
fourteen in the party, besides the older people who went along to guard
against accidents, but who, as it later proved, did not succeed in so
doing after all.
Mrs. Murray and Mrs. Lombard drove in the former’s carriage, and
carried a good portion of the refreshments, but each boy and girl
rode their own beastie, whether it was a pony or a horse, for
Springdale’s young folk were pretty well supplied with mounts of one
sort or another, and could, when occasion called for it, turn out
quite a brave array of equestrians. There were horses and ponies of
all sorts and kinds gathered in Mrs. Murray’s driveway that beautiful
October morning, and they possessed as varied dispositions as the
boys and girls mounted upon them. Ned and Pinto were, of course,
special cronies, and rubbed noses, and whispered secrets as only old
cronies can. They tolerated the other horses, but did not encourage
familiarities, and when one overgrown specimen of horsedom, noted
especially for his pronounced Roman nose, and monstrous feet, undertook
to force his way between them while they were comparing notes about
the flavor of their morning oats, they promptly united forces and
administered justice, thereby creating a wholesome respect for small
horses in that misguided animal’s brains, and a lively diversion for
their respective owners, who rushed to settle the disagreement.
[Illustration:
_Denise._
“THEY HAD MANY THINGS TO TALK OVER.”]
But all was ready in the course of half an hour, and away they went,
as merry a party as ever set forth for Summit Ridge, a plateau upon
the summit of South Mountain, where many years before a gentleman
had erected a beautiful home and planted extensive orchards. It was
an ideal spot for such an orchard, and the trees had flourished
marvelously, bearing pears, plums, and apples, such as were not to
be found for miles around. The gentleman had lived there until the
death of his wife several years before, and then left the place
abruptly, never to return. Its remoteness from all other dwellings,
and the difficulty of reaching it, kept most people from visiting
the place, and it was only at long intervals that the residents of
Springdale plucked heart of grace and clambered up the rough, neglected
mountain-road which led to it.
During October the winter pippins and several other varieties of winter
apples proved a strong inducement to the young people, and hardly an
autumn passed without a party being made up to form a raid upon Mr.
Powell’s orchard, and carry off apples enough to keep them supplied for
months.
Up the mountain scrambled the riders, the horses harnessed to the
carriage scrambling along behind, and doing their best not to get left
altogether. Denise, Hart, and one of their young friends, who had
recently become the possessor of a little mustang, sent her by her
uncle, who had a ranch in the West, and who assured her that Comanche
was all that she could wish for, were leading the party, scrambling up
the steep places, racing along the level ones, and picking their way
down the descents. Flossy Bennett was a bright, pretty girl, but one
wonderfully fond of her own way, and, once having taken it into her
head to do a certain thing, it was no easy matter to persuade her to do
differently.
Two hours’ hard scrambling and picking their way at last brought them
to the old house high up upon the mountain, and all dismounted to
unsaddle their mounts, and tether them to the rustic fence which ran
all about the neglected grounds, separating them from the orchards
beyond. Then came the preparation of their luncheon, and rigging up a
tripod to swing the kettle. After the merry feast ended, all repaired
to the orchard to fill every sort and size of bag with the bright and
luscious apples, which were almost breaking the branches with their
weight.
But October days are short ones, and, when three o’clock came, the
preparations for the homeward journey were begun. Most of the boys
and girls put their bags in the carriage, although some of them tied
them in the middle and placed them across their saddle-bows. This plan
worked well enough where the horses, or ponies, were accustomed to such
liberties, but in some cases it was an entirely new experience, and
the mountain-road was not a wise place upon which to make experiments.
Flossy Bennett’s little mustang, although apparently as gentle as a
kitten, seemed strongly disinclined to have her bag of apples strapped
upon his withers, as his mistress wished to have it strapped, and
fussed and fidgeted when one of the boys undertook to fasten it there.
There was no one with the girl who was in a position to say either yea
or nay, for she had joined the party just as many of the others had
joined it, with the understanding that Mrs. Murray was, for the time
being, both hostess and chaperon.
Seeing how restless the pony seemed, Mrs. Murray came over to where
the children were, and suggested that Flossy put her bag of apples in
the carriage with the others, but Flossy did not care to act upon the
suggestion, and Mrs. Murray, who did not possess Mrs. Lombard’s quiet
dignity, and the power to control with a firm, though a gentle word,
had rather an animated discussion with the young lady.
“You must not try to carry those apples in that way, Flossy. It is
dangerous, and I cannot allow it,” she said rather warmly, when
suggestions failed to dissuade Flossy from having her own way.
“He has just _got_ to carry them that way, Mrs. Murray. It is all
nonsense. The other ponies are carrying the bags, so why shouldn’t he?
Uncle Frank said that he was thoroughly broken, and if he is, he will
do what I wish him to do.”
“But this is neither the time nor the place to make him, and I insist
upon your putting that bag into my carriage at once. I am astonished
that you presume to argue the point with some one older than yourself.
Give me that bag at once. You are keeping the entire party waiting. Do
you hear me?”
Now Flossy’s disposition was one which had never encountered, and never
could brook, downright opposition. Her mother had died when she was a
tiny child, and her father had either indulged or neglected her, as
the occasion prompted. Having been left to the care of the maids, and
a long-suffering, rather weak governess, it was no wonder that at the
age of fourteen Flossy Bennett had pretty strong ideas of her own, and
carried them out whenever she could.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Murray, but I think it is, and I shall carry the bag
right here. Comanche may as well submit at once, and, as you see, he is
behaving properly now;” and, with a defiant toss of her golden head,
Miss Flossy braced herself in her side-saddle with an air of, “How do
you intend to stop me if I choose to do it?”
Meantime, the other members of the party were gathered about listening
to the controversy with varying emotions. Mrs. Lombard had seen and
heard it all, but had not, of course, taken any part in it. Now Mrs.
Murray turned to her and said impatiently:
“Emilie, will you come here and see if you can dissuade this
headstrong child from taking her life in her hands, as she seems
determined to do? I am out of all patience to think that she will
insist upon having her own way about such a trifle when it is so liable
to prove disastrous to her. I am surprised at you, Flossy.”
Now if there was one person upon earth for whom Flossy entertained a
warm regard, and whose good opinion she valued, it was Mrs. Lombard’s.
Had fate ordained that she should have been placed under such a wise
training as that lady would have exercised over her, a very different
girl would have sat upon Comanche’s back than the one who sat there
at that moment, and whose face was the very picture of perversity and
defiance. Deep down in the girl’s heart was a strong desire to do as
she felt sure Mrs. Lombard, as well as Mrs. Murray, wished to have her,
and had the first word been spoken by the former, there would never
have been a sign of discord. Now, however, the first misstep had been
taken, and she felt that she would lose prestige if she drew back.
Mrs. Lombard walked over to where the disputants were standing, and,
laying her hand gently upon Flossy’s, which grasped her reins, said, in
her sweet, gentle voice:
“Will you not oblige Mrs. Murray by yielding this point to her wishes?
I should be much gratified if you would do so, as it will spare us all
much uneasiness.”
“I should be sorry to cause any one uneasiness, Mrs. Lombard, and would
hate to make you anxious, but there really isn’t the least danger.
Uncle Frank said that I could do anything with Comanche, and all he
needed was firmness. I shall ride slowly, and you know that I have
ridden all my life.”
Mrs. Lombard did not say another word, but looked steadily into the
girl’s eyes for just one moment, with a look which she remembered for
a long time after, and never ceased to wish she had heeded. Then,
returning to Mrs. Murray’s carriage, she took her seat in it, saying
to that lady:
“I think that we would better start without more delay. It is growing
late.”