A SCENE AT ROSE COTTAGE
"Where are you going? Have you lost your tongue, Brownie?"
"Brownie" was Uncle George's name for the real May, and the mock May
heard it with great pleasure, for it proved that there was no danger of
discovery.
"I am going to visit Aunt Linn till mother is better," Gay answered.
"Where is Gay?"
"He was invited to Cedarville," said the unblushing young rogue. "What
are you doing up here?"
"Business, Brownie."
"Did you expect to find it on the train, Uncle George?" said audacious
Gay, "and is the first letter of its name M? Miss Maud is awfully
sweet, isn't she?—and almost as pretty as mother."
"Thank you," said Uncle George, with great gravity. "By the way," he
added, "you may need a little extra money while you are here," and he
dropped some silver in Gay's outstretched palm, and jumped on the last
car as the train moved out of the station, and nodded his farewell
from the platform.
"Thanks, awfully," shouted Gay. If this was Uncle George's way of
showing his appreciation of the compliment to Miss Berkeley, it was an
exceedingly agreeable way, and one to be recommended to all uncles in
love.
"Fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty, ninety cents!" counted Gay. "If I stay
two weeks I can spend—let me see, twelve—for there'll be two Sundays
when I can't spend anything—twelve in ninety goes seven times and a
fraction. That's almost eight cents a day!"
Then he pulled up his skirt, but the pocket wasn't there!
"My!" he exclaimed, looking around to see if anybody had noticed his
mistake. "How a fellow does forget that he isn't a boy when he's trying
to be a girl!"
"Goin' to Miss Linn's?" drawled a voice at Gay's elbow.
A tall, lank man, on whose hatchet-like face an expression of good
humor rested as if it belonged there, was standing near, leaning lazily
on his whip-handle.
"Yes, I'm going there; I had nearly forgotten it."
"I shouldn't a-let you forget it long. I'm the driver of the stage
and I don't let passengers forget to ride with me; that wouldn't be
business. Besides, Miss Linn she asked me to look out for you—and I
guess you need it—you look lively for a girl."
Gay smiled at this sally. This man was jolly enough to be in a book! If
there were others like him a visit to Hazelnook wouldn't be so dull.
"Ready?" asked the driver.
"Yes. That's my box down there—the leather one, and here's the check.
I'll help you with the box—I've great muscle."
"Wall! Wall! I ruther guess you're the queerest young lady I ever see!
'Great muscle' have ye? Wall, come along."
Miss Linn's guest helped the driver carry the leather box to the stage.
The sight would not have delighted the refined old lady's eyes, but Gay
was very well pleased to be of so much assistance, and insisted upon
rendering further service in lifting other luggage.
"Will you get in, miss?" said the driver, when the last box was placed.
"I'll get up, if you please."
"Shall I give you a leg up, miss?"
"Thank you, no!" laughed Gay, scrambling up and sitting down in triumph
beside the other passenger, a solemn-faced man, who looked like a prig
and was one.
"You help yourself pretty well," said the driver, as he took the vacant
place at Gay's side.
"A fellow soon gets used to helping himself," replied Gay, carelessly,
though inwardly well pleased at the driver's compliment.
"Fellow!" repeated the driver, greatly amused at such boyish manners.
"You're a gay one—and you're as spry as they come."
"I'm the best performer on the horizontal bar at my gymnasium."
"I shouldn't wonder if you was."
"I'm going to pitch for our nine when I go back home. I tell you the
fellows don't get on to my curves without some study."
"My boy Lyman's crazy over ball. I can't get a stroke of work out of
him. So you play ball, do you?"
"Yes, and football, too," said Gay, carried out of all remembrance of
the behavior entailed by skirts and a Gainsborough hat trimmed with
daisies. "I generally play half-back," he added.
This was more than the prig could bear in silence. "I have a little
girl at home," said he; "she is about your age, but she doesn't kick
football, nor play ball, nor swing on the horizontal bar."
"Is she sick—or a cripple?" asked Gay, with polite interest.
"She is a lady," the prig answered.
"She must be like our Alice," said Gay, ignoring the prig's sarcasm.
"Alice is so quiet and nice that mother often allows her in the
drawing-room when there's a tea or anything. Alice is pretty; her hair
is long and the color of molasses candy, and Jane braids it for her
and ties it with ribbons. And she has little feet, and little, cunning
hands, and she wears kid gloves all the time. But my twin sister is
the dandy; Alice isn't a patch on her. She'll stand anything without
a whimper. Sand! well, I should say so. She'll face the hottest ball
without a wink. She's a boss sprinter—you ought to see her take her
three hundred yards!—and she never did a mean thing in her life."
The prig was dumb with amazement when Gay finished this remarkable
speech; he could only congratulate himself that his little daughter was
not there to hear it.
"I wish I might drive," said Gay, with a wistful glance at the reins.
"So ye can," returned the driver. "It's a straight piece, now, clean to
Miss Linn's."
"Thank you," said Gay, gathering up the reins in small brown hands
as steady as the driver's own. He drove with many a loud, exultant
crack of the whip, guiding the horses with more flourishes than a
veteran member of a coaching club, over the smooth country road, past
the village shops and the post-office, at a smart trot, and up the
lane that led to the prig's house as fast as the horses could trot.
The prig climbed down over the side of the coach and paid his fare
with ill-concealed reluctance; he had been bounced and jolted by the
objectionable young romp on the box until his bones and his temper were
alike affected. He said "Good afternoon," as if he had been speaking an
eternal farewell, and one that gave him considerable satisfaction.
"Now how much further is it?" Gay inquired, as the door closed behind
the prig.
"That's Rose Cottage, your aunt's place, down yonder," the driver
replied, pointing to a house not far distant.
"So near!" sighed Gay. "If I had known it I would have pulled up the
horses a little and pieced out the drive."
In summer everybody in Hazelnook receives callers on the porch, and
Miss Linn and Miss Celia were entertaining the judge's mother, the
doctor's wife, and the minister on the vine-embowered porch of Rose
Cottage when the stage drove up, Gay still handling the reins.
"Auntie! See me!" Gay cried. "I've driven half the way. It is awfully
jolly to sit up here and the driver let me use the whip—use it, not
just crack it—twice!"
Miss Linn looked at Miss Celia, Miss Celia looked at the judge's
mother, the judge's mother looked at the doctor's wife, and she looked
in her turn at the minister, who was too much astonished to look at any
one!
Finally, Miss Celia said,—
"Aren't you going to get down, my dear?"
Gay rose rather reluctantly; he had hoped to be permitted to drive the
horses to the stable, which was a good half-mile back on the road.
"Good-by," he said, grasping the driver's hand; "I hope I shall see
you soon, and Lyman, too. I'll come round to your stable and see the
Holstein cattle you told me about—they must be immense, particularly
the yearling. I never had such a good drive in my life."
After this cordial farewell Gay dropped like a ripe plum off the side
of the coach to the ground. Off came the daisy-wreathed hat, then he
drew his heels well together and bowed profoundly. It was a salute
that would have delighted General Haines' military soul, but it did
not please the group on the porch. Miss Linn, Miss Celia, the judge's
mother, the doctor's wife and the minister rose and stood in a row,
like dahlias,—_but no one spoke a word_!