OLD LOVE AND NEW
Why was Pilot put into the beach wagon instead of the buggy? Because it
was the wedding anniversary of the Reverend Timothy Chanter and his
Susan, and they were going on their annual picnic together. Unlike the
Gilpin pair of immortal memory, they did not take the children with
them. The children saw them off at the door, with many injunctions to be
good, and to have a wonderful time, and not to get lost, as they did two
years ago.
"Kitty," cried Lina, "_do blaze a tree_ at the place where you leave
them, won't you? They are not to be trusted _in the least_."
On this one day of the year, the minister and his wife cast care to the
winds, locked duty up in the cupboard, and even shut the door on
parental responsibility. They were no longer Drudge and Drudgess, as the
girls, exasperated at the vanity of efforts to "save Pa and Ma,"
sometimes called them: they were Tim and Sue off on their holiday. They
were to be taken first for a spin behind Pilot, because that was the
greatest treat the Reverend Timothy could offer his faithful partner;
then they were to be left at a certain place near the Lancaston Road,
where the wood dipped sharply to a cup, enclosing a round pool, with a
waterfall above it, and a ribbon of streamlet winding away at either
end. Here they would sit and eat their luncheon, carefully prepared by
Daughters; cold chicken (dear Madam Flynt always sent them a chicken the
day before, one of her own prize Rhode Island Reds!), nut bread
(Zephine's specialty), coffee and sponge cake (which no one could make
like Lina), and some of dear Nelly's cream peppermints to top off with.
These cates disposed of, the Reverend Timothy would light his pipe, and
lean back against a sun-warmed boulder, at peace with the world, while
Mrs. Chanter read aloud a certain chapter of "Prue and I" which had been
the precipitating drop in their cup of happiness twenty-three years
before. Then he would go to sleep, dear man, and she would knit, and
think what a happy woman she was, and wonder if there was enough mutton
for to-morrow, or if she must have a vegetable chowder. By and by, when
the sunbeams began to slant through the firs, she would wake her lord,
who would fear he had missed that last sentence, my love! and the two
would wander happily through the wood and along the elm-shaded road, and
so home in time for the wonderful supper the girls would have ready, and
the glorified table round which all six children would be gathered. A
golden day, for two golden hearts! May their fiftieth anniversary find
them hale and vigorous as their twenty-third!
This was Mrs. Chanter's first spin behind Pilot; it should be her last,
she resolved, as she clung terrified to the low railing of the beach
wagon. It was a bright June morning, and Pilot was "feelin' extry good,"
as John Tucker had intimated to Kitty; he flung the miles behind him in
a nonchalant rapture that was all his own. Once Mrs. Chanter opened her
lips to cry out, but a glance at her husband's face of delight closed
them again. After all, the children were all grown!
"Thank you, Kitty!" cried Mr. Chanter, as they dismounted at the edge of
the Lancaston woods. "_Thank_ you, my dear! this has been a wonderful,
_wonderful_ treat; hasn't it, Susan?"
"Wonderful!" echoed Mrs. Chanter, dryly. "Next time I'll have Podasokus,
please, Kitty; or if he has left us, then that nice old woolly thing:
Crummles, is he? No more Pilot for me, my dear!"
Kitty laughed and sped away, leaving the worthy couple to gaze
admiringly after her for a moment before they turned into the wood, hand
in hand.
"Glorious girl!" said the Reverend Timothy. "Glorious horse!"
"He'll break her neck some day!" said his Susan.
Joy of the road on a June morning! Elms arching overhead, in long
feathery arcades, or giving way to groups of singing pines, and clusters
of white birches that rustled and whispered together like Nausicaa and
her maidens. Under these, stretches of gray stone wall along which the
chipmunks whisked, trying in vain to keep pace with Pilot's flying feet;
stretches, again, of stump fence, the silver-bleached bones of ancient
giants, with sturdy new growth of fir and hemlock pushing up between
their locked skeleton-arms. Between fence or wall and the white ribbon
of road, a strip of green a few yards wide, sown thick with the jewels
of early summer. Ferns of every variety, from the lady-fern which Kitty
always thought so like Mother, in the pale green dresses she loved, to
towering plumes of ostrich fern and tumbled masses of _Osmunda regalis_.
There was maiden-hair, too, Kitty knew, hiding in the crannies of the
stone wall, but that could not be seen from the road. The cinnamon roses
were out, sweet and untidy as Herrick's tempestuously-petticoated girl;
"Virgin's Bower" flung its white-starred veil over rock and tangle.
Kitty, flashing quick glances, as she sped along, saw and loved it all.
The world held no tears any more; how should it, on a day like this?
"My heart leaps up when I behold, Pilot!" cried the girl. "Can't you
hear it, Beloved? And oh--and oh--and _Oh!_ pearl of Poppets, _do_ you
see whom we are overhauling? Do you _see_, Pilot? If my middle name is
not Clotho"----
Melissa and Bobby were walking slowly along the road. Bobby had come
over for the Anniversary Supper, of course. It was one of Melissa's free
afternoons (the library was open only three days in the week); it was
all perfectly simple. Bobby came pretty often nowadays, and Sister Lissy
happened to be passing the station about train time. They were near the
village now. The two were deep in talk, and paid no heed to the
approaching wheels. Melissa, who hardly knew a baseball from a football,
was listening with bated breath and kindling eyes to a highly technical
description of yesterday's game.
"Binks got base on balls, you see, and walked; then Joyce threw to third
to put out Bacon, but Hodges fumbled, so Bacon ran home, and Binks went
to second, and then I got in a three-bagger and made a home-run."
"Oh, Bobby! how _splendid_! What a wonderful game! I wish I could see
one!"
"You can!" said Bobby kindly. "I'll make one of the girls bring you over
next time. And I'll get you a Corona banner!" he added. "A sister ought
to wear her brother's colors, what, Lissy?"
It is not stated whose color it was that flamed in Lissy's cheeks as she
looked up with shining eyes; it was very pretty anyhow, Bobby thought.
He had never realized till lately what a pretty girl Lissy was. Hazel
eyes were warmer, somehow, than gray, though of course----
"Hilo!" cried Kitty, checking Pilot with a touch.
No living horse, she always maintained, not even Angel Dan, made such a
beautiful stop as Pilot.
"Hilo, folks! Don't you want a lift?" Glancing at Lissy's face, she
added quickly, "I don't mean just home. I'm going to give this Lamb a
little speed along the State Road. Will you come?"
"Gee! Won't we?" cried Bobby. A speed behind Pilot was a thing rarely
offered, and not to be refused by any Cyrus youth. "Come on, Lissy!"
Melissa hung back. She was mortally afraid of Pilot, and of Kitty's
reckless driving. Besides--ought she not to leave them? Would he not
rather--A little cold snake seemed to creep about the girl's heart. It
wasn't fair! Kitty didn't want him till she saw some one else--oh,
Lissy! Lissy!
"Jump in, Lissy!" cried Bobby joyously. "You scared of Pilot? I believe
she is, Kitty! now, then! In you go!"
In Lissy went, Bobby following; off went Pilot, at a three minute clip.
Past fled the landscape, a blur of green, blue and white. Melissa, all
in a moment her mother's daughter, sat crouched on the seat, clutching
the rail. Bobby, in a state of high delight, glanced at her for
sympathy, and saw her pale and trembling, her eyes brimming with
frightened tears.
"Why, Lissy!" he said. Involuntarily he held out his hand; a little cold
trembling hand slid instantly into it and was warmly grasped. Poor
little hand! it quivered like a frightened bird, yet nestled close in
his, as a bird would not.
"Don't be scared!" cried Bobby. "Pilot's steady as a rock, isn't he,
Kitty? Perhaps," he added, "you might slow down just a scrap, though,
Kitty. I hate to, but----"
This was heroic of Bobby, who loved fast driving as his father did.
Kitty said a word to Pilot, who cocked an indulgent ear, and slowed down
to four minutes.
"Why, Lissy," she laughed over her shoulder, "rocks are flighty compared
to Pilot; positively flighty! You saw how he stopped. I can stop him any
instant, just like that. Lean back and enjoy yourself!"
Absorbed in her rôle of the youngest Fate, and used to fast driving from
her cradle, Kitty could not realize the state of mind of an extremely
timid girl, assailed by mingled pangs of terror and jealousy. It was not
till they had reached the spot she had in mind for the development of
her plan that, glancing round, she comprehended how for pleasure she was
giving on the one hand anguish, and on the other embarrassment, if not
distress. Melissa was leaning against her companion's shoulder with
closed eyes and compressed lips: Bobby, red-faced and round-eyed, was
holding her hand. His eyes met Kitty's with an expression of mingled
deprecation, admiration and reprobation, which was too much for that
young woman's composure.
"Ha! ha! ha!" her laughter broke out bell-like; then she checked
herself.
"Oh! I am so sorry! Lissy, you poor child, I never thought--I never
dreamed--Sst, Pilot!"
Pilot stopped, and stood like the least flighty of rocks.
"I am _so_ sorry!" Kitty repeated penitently. "Bobby, why didn't you
tell me? Are you going to give me in charge for fast driving?"
"Oh, I say!" cried a distracted Bobby. "Gee, Kitty, it was perfectly
_great_, as far as I am concerned, but I do suppose we were going a
pretty good clip, what? Poor little Lissy!"
"Now, I'll tell you what!"
Clotho Kitty advanced to her second parallel.
"This is where I really meant to stop. I want you both to see the view
from that high rock!" she nodded toward a huge boulder that frowned from
the hillside above the road. "It's really beautiful, and you said the
other day you had never climbed the rock, Lissy. It's only a minute's
climb, with a good strong paw like Bobby's to pull you up. It will shake
your crinkles out, and steady your nerves; and we will _crawl_ home,
Lissy dear!" said penitent Kitty.
Lissy dismounted and stretched her cramped limbs. Bobby followed, with a
doubtful glance at Kitty. Was she sure Pilot would stand? Sure she
didn't want him to----? Reassured on that point by her laughing shake of
the head, he turned to the big rock. It was a brief, but a stiff little
climb; all his energies were required to pilot Melissa, timid and unused
to climbing. Neither of them heard the low, clear whistle, or saw the
black horse toss his head in reply, then settle down in the shafts like
a cat settling to her spring. They gained the top, prepared to enjoy the
view, which really was fine; when Melissa uttered a cry,
"Oh! oh, Bobby, look! Kitty!"
Pilot was off. Had something startled him, or was it the inherent
viciousness of which Melissa had always felt sure? Off down the road
like an arrow.
"He is running away!" cried Melissa. "She can't hold him any more than
she could the wind. Oh, what shall we do? What shall we do?"
"Sit down!" commanded Bobby. "Sit still, Lissy, till I come back!" With
the word, he slithered down the rock and set out running along the road
at his best pace. It was a good pace; Bobby Chanter was the best runner
in Corona. Even in her terror, Melissa noticed how beautifully he ran,
how nobly he threw his head back, how splendid----what horse could cope
with a Marathon runner? Then a new pang assailed her. She crouched on
the rock and wrung her hands in an ecstasy of terror. He might be hurt,
trying to stop the mad creature. He might be _trampled on_! Wicked,
hateful horse! wicked girl to drive such a creature, risking lives that
were more precious----
Bobby, reaching a curve in the road, saw Pilot skimming swallow-like
along the next reach. At that moment, Kitty turned in her seat, and saw
him. A flash, a smile, a wave of the hand--she shot round a second curve
and vanished. Bobby Chanter stopped abruptly.
"She's got him under!" he muttered. "She's going to turn and come back."
He waited for some minutes, but in vain. No one came. Sorely puzzled,
Bobby retraced his steps, looking over his shoulder from time to time.
That horse wasn't bolting. She had him under control all right. What
upon earth--Bobby positively scowled in his perplexity. Had Kitty
_meant_ to leave them behind? And why? _Why?_ It was freakish; Kitty
never used to be freakish. It was hardly even kind; poor little Lissy,
scared to death there up on the rock. She would never have played Kitty
a trick like that. She was very sweet. How her little hand trembled as
it rested in his! A girl ought not to be _too_ independent, though of
course Kitty was the finest----
Bobby Chanter stopped short; the blood rushed singing up into his ears,
and he stood in the middle of the road, as if he had been struck. What
was that Kitty said to him, the last time he tried--A strange thing to
say, he thought at the moment.
"Bobby, how _foolish_ you are! I really wonder at you. You are like the
man that lighted his lantern, a beautiful, clear, bright, little
lantern, and then put it down and went after a will-o'-the-wisp."
"I don't in the least understand you, Kitty!" he had said ruefully, for
her tone was almost sharp.
"No more did the bat; I mean the man!" snapped Kitty, and she turned her
back and left him. It was at the Library door, and Melissa was just
coming out. How pretty she looked that day, too; her eyes seemed to
light up when she looked at a fellow! Was----was _that_ what Kitty
meant? He was walking again, faster now; thinking hard as he went,
putting two and two together in a fashion new to his simple, objective
mind.
_Was_ that what Kitty meant? Other words of hers came flocking back to
him.
"I _want_ you to be happy, Bobby! You might be so happy, if you weren't
just a little stupid, Bobby dear!"
That seemed rather cruel at the time, when he _had_ pulled through those
rotten exams. What if she hadn't meant that at all? What if----she was
awfully fond of Lissy, he knew; and he knew she liked him, too, she said
she did, though she never offered to be a sister to him, as Lissy did.
Lissy had a rotten time at home, he guessed, with that Wilse, and her
mother always putting him first. She was too soft and gentle to stand up
for herself. What was that Kitty said again? He ought to have a sweet,
gentle, feminine girl, not a daughter of Jehu, who drove furiously. He
hadn't understood that, either. Had he been a Nut all this time? Hark!
what was that?
A sound came to his ears; a breathless, sobbing wail.
"Bobby! oh! Bobby!! oh, my heart!"
A great clump of lilacs hid the road ahead. Hastening round it, he saw
Melissa running toward him, crimson, panting, the tears rolling down her
cheeks as she sobbed and ran and sobbed again.
"Allow two minutes!" says Mr. Ezra Barkley in an immortal Tale. Bobby
did not allow one. In ten seconds he had gathered his little sweetheart
in his arms, pulled her in behind the big lilac bush, and was soothing,
comforting, pouring tender words into her ear.
"There, dear; there, Lissy! there, my little girl! You are my little
girl, aren't you? My own dear little girl! Don't cry, sweetheart! What
frightened you, Lissy?"
"Oh! oh!" sobbed Lissy. "I thought he would trample on you. I thought
you would be lying on the road all dead and bleeding. Oh, Bobby! Bobby!
Did he hurt you?"
"Did who hurt me, darling? Here! let's sit down! Put your dear little
head on my shoulder; so! comfy? Did who hurt me, Lissy?"
"The dreadful horse! I thought he would trample on you! oh! oh!"
She started at Bobby's shout of laughter.
"Lissy! _honestly!_ you didn't think I could catch Pilot? Gee! that is a
good one!"
The great lilac bush had seen lovers in its day; sheltered them, too. A
generation ago, it had marked a gateway; the cellar hole of the house
still yawned in the field, half filled with wild raspberry bushes. If
not Jemmy and Jessamy, at least Zekle and Huldy, or their prototypes,
had sauntered down the lawn with arms linked, and had sat under the
great bush, sheltered from lane and road by tossing, purple plumes. Yes,
the lilac bush knew all about it, and bent kindly over Bobby and Lissy
as they sat in their turn, hand in hand, pouring out the wonderful new
story that had never, never, never been told before.
By and by (for not even new love could make Bobby unconscious of Dinner
Time!) they walked home, and the road was paved with gold, and the skies
above were diamond and sapphire, and the world was very fair.
And Kitty? If the truth must be told, they did not once think of Kitty
till they reached the Wibird door. Then Melissa, with a
conscience-stricken blush, wondered if Kitty was all right, and Bobby,
with another, guessed she was. Then his honest heart smote him, and
after one last look and handclasp, he went straight off to Ross House
and told Kitty all about it. Then who so happy as Clotho Kitty? She took
Bobby's hands and danced up and down the hall with him. She had not been
so happy, she vowed, since she was probably arboreal. Never mind what
she meant! She was just sitting down to dinner, all alone, and Bobby
must and should sit down with her. They would have a feast, the Feast of
Friendship. There was chicken pie!
"Come on, Bobby! we'll drink all our healths in pineapple lemonade.
Sarepta! Sarepta! Put another plate, will you? Bobby is stopping to
dinner!"
Sarepta laid another plate, outwardly grim, inwardly rejoicing. Men
folks seemed to have more real understanding of pastry than what
women-folks did, some way of it. She thawed visibly with every crunch of
Bobby's enraptured teeth. She brought ham and tongue and little crisp
home-made sausages the size of Bobby's little finger, over which he
fairly groaned with delight.
"Honestly, Sarepta!" he kept saying. "Honestly! On the square now, I
never _did_!"
When it came to fruit jelly with whipped cream, Bobby sighed deeply, and
Kitty had an inspiration. She caught up the pretty dish and rose from
table.
"You are to take this straight down to Lissy and eat it with her!" she
commanded. "Hush! not a word! Sarepta, a fringed doily, please! Bobby is
going to take this to----may I Bobby? Sarepta is a _tomb_ of
secrecy!----to his dear, sweet, darling Melissa, and eat it with her.
One more glass, Bobby! Sarepta must have one too! To the health of Mr.
and Mrs. Robert Chanter! Hip! hip! hooray!"
"Honestly, Kitty!" Bobby's voice faltered and broke. "Honestly! You are
the greatest girl in the world--bar one, I'll have to say now, won't I?
Good-bye! God bless you, Kitty!"
"Well, of all the Actions!" said Sarepta Darwin.