[Illustration: KENTUCKY BOB.]
“There, she’s found it out! And it’s a deal worse than if her papa had
told her first off!” said Suzan´, at the kitchen door. “I never saw
Miss Steenie cry about anything before, and I wish now that I’d a broke
it to her myself.”
“My, my! the poor lamb!” echoed Ellen, the cook, joining the housemaid.
“No, she haint never been one fer cryin’,--not even fer bumps er
scratches. Sunshiny’s what she’s been, an’ so I say. Does seem’s if
I couldn’t stay to cook fer no new manager’s folks after that sweet
angel. Good mind ter give notice myself.”
“Oh, wait! Maybe it won’t be so bad as we think. Master don’t look
blind.”
“How can ye tell how he looks, ’hind them great goggles o’ his’n? I
guess it’s bad as it can be, er he wouldn’t give in to it. He’s clear
grit, an’ so I say. That’s where Miss Steenie gets her’n. See! she’s
spied her father comin’ back from the valley! He rid away to call the
boys together, ’cause his lordship wants to see ’em, I suppose. Well,
he’s right peart-lookin’ yet; but man’s born to troubles, an’ he’ll hev
to take his share.”
The women watched Steenie run with outstretched arms to meet Mr.
Calthorp; saw him check his horse suddenly, when he had almost ridden
her down, and bend low to lift her to his saddle. They saw the child’s
arms clasp close about his neck, and fancied they could hear her wild
outburst of grief. Then, with moistened eyes, but in true delicacy,
they turned away from witnessing a child’s first sorrow.
“Papa, is it true?”
“My darling, why do you cry? What true?” The well-trained horse stood
still while the rider folded his little daughter close to his own heavy
heart.
“About your eyes. Are you--blind?”
Mr. Calthorp shivered. Even to himself he could not yet acknowledge
what seemed so plain to almost everybody else. “No, sweetheart, I am
not blind--yet; but for a long, long time there has been something
wrong with my eyes, and I dare put off no further the treatment which
they require. So I wrote to Lord Plunkett and asked him to relieve
me of my duties here, and I meant to tell you as soon as it seemed
necessary. He came before I had expected that he could. He wishes to
make a thorough examination of all Santa Felisa affairs, and to be
fully informed concerning what has and has not been accomplished. I was
glad, yet sorry, to see him; for our going away means leaving what has
been my home for many years, and the only one you have ever known.” He
continued talking for some time, till he had given a very quiet and
clear explanation, which soothed the excited child; besides, the words
“not blind--yet” were quite enough to fill her buoyant heart with a
hope that seemed certainty.
“Oh, how glad I am! And I s’pose the lordship didn’t understand. I’m
quite--quite sure he didn’t mean to tell a wrong story, and I’m sorry I
snatched my hand away from him. I’ll go and ’xplain it now, if you will
put me down, Papa, dear!”
Smiling, Mr. Calthorp complied; and chirruping to his horse, continued
his course stableward, while Steenie sought the “cor’net man” to make
her naïve apology.
“I guess I didn’t behave very p’lite, Mr. Plunkett, but I hope you
won’t be angry; I don’t like folks to be angry; but you see I didn’t
think of anything ’cept my father,--not then. And I want to ’xplain
it,--he isn’t blind--yet; and he’s going to see a treatment; so he’ll
prob’ly get them fixed over all right. And if there’s anything I can do
to int’rest you I will; for I like you very much.”
“Eh?--So?--Thank you. I like you, too. Bright--bonny--worth a fortune.
Hm-m! Better than coronets. Stick to it. Sit down? Orange-tree, yonder.
Now, then, talk.”
Laughing at his mirthful manner and odd sentences, Steenie led her new
friend to the seat he designated; and folding her hands in her lap,
said politely: “I’ll talk what more I know. ’Tisn’t much, I guess; only
’bout horses; I haven’t told you ’bout them yet, have I?”
“No. Horses? What? Whose? Go on.”
“Oh, ours!--No, yours, I s’pose they are. Maybe they’re the ‘boys.’
We’ve trained them beautifully. Tomaso and Connecticut Jim both say it
can’t be beat. It’s great fun!”
“Don’t understand.”
“No, I s’pose not. But--this way, like a ‘circus,’ my father says.
They’s thirty-three, all counted; and every man of us has tried to
teach our horse something better ’n each other; and they’re just too
cunning for anything! Bob’s kept the ‘cup’ for ever so long now; but
I’m going to win it away from him some time,--see if I don’t! Oh, I
forgot!” The eager little face suddenly drooped at memory of that
terrible “going away,” which would be even earlier than the anticipated
“some time.”
“Why, why!--delightful! Never heard anything like it! See it, can
I,--eh?” demanded his lordship, whose love for horses was very great.
“I hope--I s’pose so. I don’t know. Kentucky Bob’s the head of us. We
all have to mind him; and sometimes he don’t be very pleasant. But he’s
very nice and honest, my father says; and I love him dearly. Then we
can’t have a ‘circus’ till he gets over it again. My father says, too,
it’s ’cause he has a ‘crank’ in him somewhere. I s’pose that’s what
hurts him and makes him unpleasant. Don’t you?”
“No doubt. Bad complaint; quite general; touch myself. No, don’t go!
All right to-day. But--where’s Kentucky Bob? Walk him out! Won’t
refuse,--not me.”
“No, I don’t s’pose he would, on ’count of your being a lordship. If
you don’t mind staying alone, I’ll run and ask him. I saw him cross the
_arroyo_ just a minute ago.”
“Trot; but come back.”
Steenie departed; and while she was gone Mr. Calthorp walked
gropingly toward the bench where his employer sat. He could still see
sufficiently to guide himself about, and his knowledge of places and
voices aided him. His eyes were screened by close-fitting goggles of
dark glass; but he had worn these so long that Steenie had almost
forgotten how he had ever looked without them. Few men in his condition
would have held to his post as long as he had done, nor was this course
wise in him; but he was not a rich man, and he had been anxious to earn
and save what he could for his little daughter’s sake.
“Hm-m! Get around--first-rate. Little girl’s smart; like her.”
“Thank you. She is, indeed, a brave, sunny child. In some ways her
leaving Santa Felisa will be better for her. She should go to school
and mingle with women. Here she has no company but myself and the
‘boys.’ Old Sutro has devoted himself to her since her infancy, and
loves her jealously. Indeed, they all love her; but that is not
strange, for she loves them. Has she gone upon an errand for you?”
“Yes; Kentucky Bob. Circus; like to see it. Says maybe he won’t;
‘crank.’”
“Well--he is--very peculiar. However, he has a wonderful gift with
horses; it seems almost like magic; and he has imparted much of his
skill to Steenie. She is perfectly fearless. But I won’t anticipate.
Are they coming?”
“Yes. Hm-m! how old--she?”
“Ten years. I’ll leave her to negotiate matters.”
Steenie approached the orange-tree, leading by one hand a great fellow,
whose face at that moment wore its most forbidding expression, and who
seemed inclined to break away from his small guide; yet determined, in
his own words, “to bluff her out.” Catch him, a free-born American,
truckling to anybody, even if that body were a genuine “lord,” and,
what was more, his own employer! He guessed he wasn’t a going to get up
no shows unless he wanted to! And he evidently did not so incline.
However, when he came quite near, and saw the small, dumpy, red-faced
old gentleman sitting beside Mr. Calthorp, his astonishment conquered
every other sentiment. He a lord! Whe-ew! he might be anybody! and
of no great account either. Plain suit of clothes, no rings, no
watch-chain, no scarf-pin even; bald-headed, good-natured, sensible. As
his observations reached this happy climax, Bob ceased tugging at his
feminine guiding-string, and marched frankly forward. Her father could
not see the action; but Steenie was amazed when the refractory ranchman
doffed his hat and made a respectful, if somewhat awkward, bow. She had
never witnessed such a concession before on his part.
“Good evenin’, sir; hope I see you well.”
“Quite, thank you. Hear you’re wonderful. Horses. Like to see, if
suits.”
“Well, sir, I’d like to ’blige; but, you see, it’s against the rules.
Once a week, an’ no oftener, is what we agreed. No use o’ rules if you
don’t stick to ’em. Exercise every Sunday; no other times in public.
If I ’lowed the ‘boys’ to go it rash, say on odd days, they’d get the
upper hand in no time; then where’d I be?”
From the tone of his voice, Mr. Calthorp judged that Bob “wanted
coaxing;” but this was not his affair. From the moment of Lord
Plunkett’s arrival he had practically resigned all authority, so he did
not interfere.
Now, my lord was, as has been said, very good-natured; but, like many
other good-natured and unassuming people, opposition, or imposition,
made him a little testy. Moreover, he was accustomed to command, not
to sue; and he considered that he had already conceded as much as was
necessary to this rough specimen of American manhood. His choler and
color rose together; and he opened his lips with a very decided and
undignified snort: “Woo-oo! Eh? Hey?”
But, fortunately for all parties, Steenie’s bright eyes had telegraphed
alarm to her loving heart; and with a quick little “’Xcuse me!” she
pulled Bob’s surly face to the level of her lips, and whispered
something in his ear.
Then, as if there had been a spring in his back, his head rebounded
to the upright, his cheek actually paled beneath its tan, and he
ejaculated fiercely, “Great--Huckleberries!”
It was the nearest approach to an oath which this strange man ever
allowed himself; for, though he thought nothing of breaking the Sabbath
by racing or gaming, he neither gave way to profanity nor indulged
himself with a drop of spirituous liquor. He used to describe himself
as “half marm, half pop;” and to attribute his sobriety and general
uprightness to the “marm” side, all to the contrary, “pop.” Years
before, when, a hot-tempered lad, he had run away from “pop’s” wrath,
he had solemnly promised his weeping “marm” that he would “never drink
nor swear;” and, to the honor of Kentucky Bob, be it said that he had
loyally kept his word.
“Huckleberries! Little Un, you don’t mean it! You wouldn’t, would you?”
“I--I’ve got to, dear old Bob! But--there--there--there--I won’t cry! I
will not. And you’ll do it, won’t you?”
“Well--I reckon! But--little missy--the boys won’t believe it.
An’--Say, Boss, is it true? Are you a goin’ to light out?”
“Yes, Bob,” answered Mr. Calthorp, sadly; “but from necessity, not
choice.”
“An’ the Little Un--why must she go? Ain’t nothin’ the matter of her
eyes, is they?”
“No, no; thank God!”
“Well, then; leave her here. We’ll take care of her. Square.
Why--what--in huckleberries--’ll San’ Felis’ be ’ithout our little
missy? Ain’t she lived here ever sence she was borned? Ain’t we be’n
good to her? We’re rough, we be. We ain’t no lords, ner nothin’ but
jest cow-boys er sech. But we’re men. An’ Americans. An’ I ’low there
ain’t one of us but would fight till he died fer the Little Un, afore
harm should tetch her. No! It mustn’t be. An’ that’s square.”
Even Mr. Calthorp, who had had abundant proof, heretofore, of the
“boys’” devotion to Steenie, was surprised at the depth of feeling
betrayed by Bob’s words; for he could not fully know all that the
child had been to these men, separated, as most of them were, from
home and its associations. Since the hour when they had been permitted
to carry or amuse her, a tiny baby in long clothes, they had adopted
her in their hearts, each in his own way finding in the frank, merry,
friendly little creature an embodiment of his own better nature. They
had even, with the superstition of their class, accepted her as their
“mascot,” sincerely believing that every enterprise to which she lent
her presence or approval was sure to prosper.
To what other human being would Kentucky Bob have imparted the secret
of his wonderful power over the equine race? Indeed, to none other;
and to her only because he loved her so, and was so proud of her
cleverness. And now his big, honest heart ached with a new and bitter
pain, as he faced the danger of her loss.
“Why, Robert! Why! Eh, what? Tut, tut. Good child. Understand.
But--father. First claim. See?”
Angry Bob cast one scorching, contemptuous glance upon the nervous
little lord; and if looks could annihilate, the British peerage
would then and there have been short one member. Stooping, he swung
Steenie to his shoulder, and strode away toward the great group of
out-buildings which made the home-piece of Santa Felisa rancho seem
like a village in itself. In the thickest crowd of the employees who
had been summoned to meet their newly-arrived employer he came to a
sudden halt.
“Hello, Bob! What’s up?”
“I--The--I wish to sizzle! Sho, I can’t talk. Tell ’em, Little Un.”
“Yes, Bob,” answered Steenie, gently, patting the great head around
which she clung for support. “But s’pose you put me down. I’m heavy.
I’m such a big girl, now.”
“No, you ain’t. Hold you forever, if you’ll stay.”
“Stay? stay where?” asked somebody.
“Tell ’em,” again commanded the Kentuckian; and waving her hand, she
hushed them by this gesture to hear her words.
Yet, somehow, the words wouldn’t come. For the second time that day
the self-control of the child failed to respond to her needs. Her eyes
roamed from face to face of those gathered about her, and there was not
one on which she did not read an answering love for the great love she
bore to it. Rough faces, most of them. Sun blackened,--sin blackened
too, perhaps; but gentle, every one, toward her. Odd comrades for a
little girl, and she a descendant of “one of the first families in Old
Knollsboro;” still the only comrades she had ever known, and therefore
she craved no other.
Twice she tried to speak, and felt a queer lump in her throat that
choked her; and at last she dropped her face upon Bob’s rough mane, her
sunny curls mingling with it to hide the tears which hurt her pride to
show.
An ominous growl ran round the assembly, and the sound was the tonic
she needed. “Hmm! who’s a makin’ ther Little Un cry?”
“Nobody, boys! dear, dear boys! Not anybody at all! I’m not crying now;
see?” Proudly her head was tossed back, and a determined smile came to
the still quivering lips, even while the tears glistened on the long
lashes. “You see, it’s this way. I didn’t know it till this very day
that ever was, or I’d have told you. ’Cause I’ve always been square,
haven’t I?”
“You bet! Square’s a brick!”
“But all the time my father’s been getting blinder an’ blinder, an’
I didn’t even s’pect anything ’bout it. I thought he wore goggley
things ’cause he liked ’em; but he didn’t: it was ’cause he had to.
And now, if he don’t go away quick, he can’t get his poor eyes fixed
up at all. So he is. He’s going ’way, ’way off,--three thousand miles,
my father says, to a big city called New York, where a lot of doctors
live who don’t do anything but mend eyes. My grandmother lives in a
little town close to New York, and we’re going to her house to stay;
and--and--that’s all. I have to do it, you see. I’m sorry, ’cause I
love you all; but he’s my father, and I have to love him the biggest,
the best. And I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, no, no! Three cheers for the ‘boss’!”
Given with a will; and by the time the noise had subsided, Steenie’s
smile had become as bright as ever, and that without any effort of her
will.
“Good enough! Thank you, dears! And now we’ll have an extra circus,
won’t we? I’d like to ’blige Mr. Plunkett; and besides, you know, I--I
sha’n’t have you, nor the horses, nor any more fun--in that old New
York!”
“Hold on, Little Un! Where’s your grit?” asked Kentucky Bob, passing
Steenie from his shoulder to a convenient wagon-box.
His sudden change of tone astonished her.
“Hain’t I allays fetched ye up to do the square thing? If your dooty
calls you to N’ York,--to N’ York you’ll have to go; but, fer the honor
o’ San’ Felis’, an’ the credit o’ your boys, do it colors flyin’--head
up--shoulders back--right face--march!”
“I will, Bob! I will! I will!” cried Steenie, impulsively. “You sha’n’t
ever have to be ashamed of your Little Un, and so I tell you!”
In the midst of the rousing cheers which followed, Lord Plunkett
appeared. He could restrain his curiosity no longer.