STARTING FOR THE PIC-NIC.
But one day now remained of Mrs. Harrington's unwelcome visit. The whole
party, except Elizabeth, were to start for New York in the morning,
where Mrs. Harrington had resolved to open a splendid succession of
receptions and parties in Elsie's behalf.
This last day Elsie declared should be the crowning pleasure of Mrs.
Harrington's visit. They would ride down to the sea-side tavern on
horseback, have a chowder party on the precipice behind it, looking out
upon the ocean, and return home at dusk or by moonlight, as caprice
might determine. Mr. Rhodes and Miss Jemima were to be included, and
some of the colored servants were forwarded early in the morning to
superintend the arrangements.
The dew was hanging thick and bright on the lawn when Mr. Rhodes and his
daughter rode up to the Piney Cove mansion. A group of horses were
gathered in front of the veranda, and a little crowd of ladies, in long
sweeping dresses, gauntlet gloves and pretty hats, stood chatting around
the door.
Mr. Rhodes preferred to sit on his handsome bay horse, and wait for the
party to arrange itself, for it was rather inconvenient for him to mount
and dismount the high-stepping beast oftener than was absolutely
necessary. As for Jemima, she rode a long-limbed, slender-bodied horse,
and sat him in grim dignity, as the dames of old occupied their
high-backed chairs. Her beaver hat towered high, and the stiff tuft of
feathers that rose from it in front gave a dash of the military to her
usually defiant aspect, grimly imposing.
She drew her horse up to the front steps, and sat viciously regarding
the city widow, as that lady shook out the folds of her riding-skirt,
pulled the gauntlets to a tighter fit on her shapely hands, and kept her
cornelian-headed riding-whip in a constant state of vibration, for the
benefit of that evidently too admiring widower on the great bay horse.
The party mounted at last, and cantered in a gay cavalcade across the
lawn, leaving the mansion behind them almost in solitude. It was a
lovely day, bright with sunshine, and freshened by a cool breeze from
the ocean. Mrs. Mellen that day seemed among the most joyous of the
party. Whatever care had hitherto possessed her she evidently threw off;
her sweet voice rang out pleasantly, and her face grow beautiful in the
animation of the moment.
For a while the party moved on at random; but when the road branched off
into a long tract of the woodland the equestrians naturally broke up
into pairs, and, either by chance or design, Mr. North joined Elizabeth,
who was riding a little in advance. It was almost the first time that he
had seemed to prefer her society during his whole visit, and this
movement naturally created a little observation. Elsie looked after the
splendid pair as they rode under the overhanging trees, with an
expression of subdued wonder in her blue eyes, which amounted almost to
dismay. Mrs. Harrington laughed with as much meaning as her small share
of intellect could concentrate on one idea, and said in a low voice to
Elsie:
"Did I not tell you they had met before? She has been playing dutiful
like a martyr. See how she breaks out now. Look! look! she is turning
down a cross road; it is a mile farther round."
"We will go on direct," said Elsie. "If my brother's wife chooses to
ride off alone with any man through the woods, let her. It was decided
that we should take the highway, and we will."
Elsie spoke with decision, a cold light came into her blue eyes, and the
expression about her lips was almost stern; for a moment the girl was
transfigured before her friend.
At the cross roads there was a little debate. Miss Jemima turned her
horse in the direction Elizabeth had taken. The generally obedient papa
was following this lead, when Mr. Hawkins was sent forward to arrest
him.
"Straight ahead, that's the programme," he called out, taking the gold
head of his riding-whip from his mouth long enough to speak clearly,
"Miss Elsie told me to call you back."
"And the--the other lady," stammered Rhodes, flushing red, to the
intense scorn of the spinster.
"Oh, she's gone ahead."
"Then I take this way," exclaimed Jemima, with emphasis; "come, pa."
Mr. Rhodes had wheeled his horse half round, and was casting irresolute
looks towards the two ladies riding slowly along the shady road.
"But, daughter, we cannot leave them to ride on alone."
"This--this--person is with them, and they seem to count him as a man,"
answered Jemima, with a gesture of intense scorn.
Mrs. Harrington here was seen to draw up her horse in the shade of a
huge chestnut, and playfully beckon the widower with her whip.
"Jemima, I must. It would be underbred," cried the desperate man, riding
away to the enemy.
Jemima sat upon her horse, petrified with amazement. Her father looked
anxiously back when he reached the widow, with sad forebodings of the
tempest that would follow, but there the spinster sat at the cross roads
like an equestrian statue.
"Come, come," said the widow, touching him playfully with her whip.
"Elsie is getting impatient. Now for a race."
Her spirited horse dashed forward at a run. The ponderous steed of the
widower thundered after, making the forest reverberate with the heavy
fall of his hoofs.
Mr. Hawkins fell into a dainty amble, and away the whole party swept
into the green shadows of the woods.
Jemima looked right and she looked left. Should she ride on and leave
her pa in the hands of that designing creature? Perish the thought,
better anything than that! She touched her horse. It turned sharply, and
swept down the highway like a greyhound. She struck him on the flank,
then the tiny lash of her whip quivered about his ears till he dashed
on, flinging back dust and stones with his hoofs.
The party was riding fast. Mr. Hawkins by Elsie, Mr. Rhodes close to the
widow--so close, that somehow her right hand, whip and all, had got
entangled with his. They were on a curve of the road, around which
Jemima came sweeping like a torrent. With a single bound her horse
rushed in between them, leaving the widow's gauntlet glove in the grasp
of that frightened man, and the cornelian-headed whip deep in the mud of
the highway.
Not a word was spoken. The widower sank abjectly down in his saddle, and
with his apprehensive eyes turned sideways on the spinster,
surreptitiously thrust the stray glove into the depths of his pocket.
The widow, convulsed with mingled laughter and rage, gave no doubt of
genuine color now, for her face was crimson. Thus, like two prisoners
under military guard, they moved on, with Jemima riding in grim
vigilance between them.
The spot chosen for the chowder-party commanded a splendid sea view and
a broad landscape in the background, of which the distant mansion of
Piney Cove was a principal object. It was an abrupt precipice, clothed,
except in the very front, with a rich growth of trees; splendid masses
of white pine and clumps of hemlock darkened with the deep green of
their foliage such forest trees as cast their leaves from autumn till
spring time. The broken precipice in front was tufted here and there
with clumps of barberry bushes and other wild shrubs, which might have
aided a daring adventurer to climb up it, had the temptation been
sufficient.
Between this precipice and the shores of the ocean, stood the little
tavern we have before spoken of, from which the negroes of Piney Point
were now bringing up a huge iron pot wherein to cook the chowder, which
would be nothing if not culminated in the open air, over a fire of
sticks, and eaten beneath the hemlock trees.
A bridle path led to the top of this precipice, winding along the back
slope of the hill, and by this route the highway party rode to the
summit, some fifteen minutes before Elizabeth and Mr. North joined them.
Whatever evil feelings had sprung up on the road, at least a majority of
the company resolved to enjoy themselves now. Jemima entered heart and
soul into the preparations, keeping a sharp eye on her father all the
time. He, poor man, scarcely required her vigilance, for when a chowder
was to be concocted, the stout man forgot all his gallant weaknesses,
and gave his whole being up to the important subject.
Mrs. Harrington had no great talent for cookery, and feeling beaten and
awed by Jemima's dashing generalship, hovered around the outskirts of
the preparations, and flirting a little with Hawkins, from languid
habit, rather than any special regard for the young gentleman.