[Illustration: SUTRO.]
“My dear, suppose you let our friend Sutro, here, ride home and tell
your people that I am going to keep you for dinner? Then they will
not be anxious, and we will have leisure to consider this matter
thoroughly. What do you say?” The Judge’s tone, addressing Steenie, was
as grave and considerate as if she had been Madam Calthorp herself, and
it restored her wounded pride at once.
Nobody likes being laughed at, least of all a child, about whose
earnestness there is never any pretence. “Baby” had been a hard word
for ambitious ears to hear.
“Thank you. I should be as glad as glad to stay! If--my grandmother
said I was never to ’trude upon your ‘family life;’ that just
’cause you asked me to study with Beatrice, I mustn’t forget an’
be too--something or other. It meant I mustn’t go round an’ be a
‘noosance,’ like Sutro is to Mr. Tubbs.”
“‘Noosance’! She couldn’t be a ‘noosance,’ could she, Papa Courtenay?”
cried Beatrice, dancing gayly about her friend, delighted with the
prospect of a visit.
“Never,” responded the Judge, cordially. “Señor Vives, it is settled,
then. Please convey my regards to Madam Calthorp and her son, and say
to them that I will give myself the pleasure of calling upon them
toward nightfall, and will bring this little girl with me. Your own
affair--the legal document--shall, also, be duly arranged. Good day.”
“I have the happiness to salute thee, Señor Juez. In verity, I am
proud of the honor done my little one. I will discharge thy message
immediately. Ten thousand thanks. _Adios._” With the lightness of youth
the old Spaniard sprung upon Tito’s back, doffed his sombrero, bowed
profoundly, and rode cheerfully away.
“How funny! It’s a side-saddle, too,” said Beatrice.
“Yes. But that makes no difference to my caballero. He can ride in any
way on any animal, and always well. My father says he is a wonderful
old man; but he doesn’t seem any older ’n me, I think. He’s very good
an’ dear. My grandmother says ’at Sutro is worth everything to my
father now, in his blindness.”
“I should think so, indeed! And now for dinner. After that--for a
talk about this teaching business. A race to the house! Here we go!
And a box of that coveted ‘Huyler’s’ to the winner! Step--step--step!
One--two--three! Off!” Away flashed the gay frocks, up and down flew
the little black-stockinged legs, and long before the Judge had
covered half the distance, the children sat cuddled together on the
piazza-step, hugging each other in the exuberance of their love and
happiness. “It’s so puffectly nice to have a little girl, same’s me!”
cried Steenie, ecstatically. “I used to have the ‘boys’ an’ nobody
else. I didn’t know ’bout girls, then, an’ the ‘boys’ are dear as dear!
But I like girls, now I’ve seen ’em,--some girls.”
“Me? Do you like me?”
“Course I do. Wasn’t I just telling you? Say, would you like to ride in
a circus?”
“My--sake! No! Would you?”
“Course. I have,--lots of times.”
“Why--Steenie--Calthorp! Where? When? How? Who let you?”
“Out home. Santa Felisa. Ever so many whens. Last one, just before we
came away; to show the Plunketty man--Lord--what his own ranchmen could
do. My father let me. Course.”
“Was he nice?”
“Who?”
“The Plunketty man-lord. What is a man-lord, any way?”
“Think I didn’t say it right. I mean lord-man. That is an Englishman.
My father says he can’t find land enough in their little bit o’ island
to buy, so he came to California an’ bought San’ Felisa. But he didn’t
come again for twelve years, a’most. An’ I never saw him, an’ then I
did; an’ he didn’t wear a cor’net at all! And he laughed like anything
when I told him what Suzan´ said. An’ he ’xplained beautiful. He does
have the cor’net, but he doesn’t have it for himself. It’s his houses’.
An’ sometimes the women of ‘his house’ wear it, when they ‘want to make
a stunnin’ show of theirselfs.’ But mostly they ‘have more sense,’ an’
leave it where it b’longs, ’mongst the family plates an’ ‘gew-gaws.’
That’s what he told me.”
“Gew-gaws? Ginger! Was he a really, truly, lively lord? Was he?”
“Live as anything. Live as you. Live as me or your papa. But, Beatrice,
you shouldn’t say ‘ginger.’ My grandmother says it’s not c’rect to use
’spressions.”
“But there _is_--ginger! The cook puts it in molasses-cake. So there!”
“Well. It’s c’rect enough to eat, I s’pose. But little gentlewomen
should show they’s little gentlewomen by their languages. So my
grandmother says, an’ she knows. ’Cause she knows everything in this
whole world.”
“She couldn’t! She isn’t big enough. My papa says nobody knows
everything. An’ he talks mostest ’bout grammar, not gentlewomens. He
wouldn’t let you say ‘hisself’ or ‘theirselfs,’--I mean if he could
help it. ’Cause he wouldn’t me. An’ I know better ’n you, you see,
’cause I’ve been teached longer.”
“Well, I s’pose you do. Though my grandmother’s c’rected me lots o’
times ’bout them very same words. I--Only I forget. My forgettery
is always easier ’n my memory. Isn’t yours? An’ anyhow I don’t know
anything, ’cept ’bout horses. But I know more ’bout them ’an I could
tell you ‘in a month o’ Sundays.’”
“How long is a ‘month o’ Sundays?’ When does it come? Before Christmas?”
“I don’t know. Mary Jane knows. She talks ’bout it. An’ it comes--why
it must come any time! ’Cause when Mr. Resolved goes to market she
tells him not to be a ‘month o’ Sundays,’ or she can’t get the dinner
cooked in time. And--lots--Here’s your papa! Oh, I tell you I love him!
He’s so dear.”
“You needn’t! He isn’t yours. You can’t have him,” cried Beatrice,
feeling her young heart swell with jealousy.
“But I can love him, can’t I? If you couldn’t love my father you would
be funny. And, oh, isn’t it happy to be so glad! Most always, anyhow, I
think this is an awful nice world. Folks are so cosey an’ kind.”
“An’ I don’t think it’s nice one bit. You’ll get the candy; I know you
will. You got here first!”
“Well--if I did? Wouldn’t I give you half,--the evenest half we could
measure? S’pose I’d want it if you didn’t have it too? Say, s’pose
they’ll be dinner enough?”
“What do you mean? Course they will.”
“Then I’m glad. But you see they didn’t know I was coming; an’ Mary
Jane says I’m the ‘beatenest eater for a little girl she ever saw;’ an’
sometimes when comp’ny comes to my grandmother’s she scolds, Mary Jane
does. ’Cause she says: ‘I have enough cooked for my own folks, but not
enough for my neighbors,’ an’ it makes her angry. An’ my grandmother
says, solemn-like: ‘Ma-ry-Ja-ne!’ an’ then Mary Jane goes in the
kitchen an’ bangs things around; an’ Mr. Tubbs laughs, an’ she gets
madder, an’--I shouldn’t like to make your cook feel that way.”
“Don’t you be afraid! You can have all you want to eat; an’ if they
isn’t enough you can have mine, too. I ain’t ever hungry.”
“My! Thank you. You’re a lovely, nice girl. But I wouldn’t eat it. Why
aren’t you hungry? There’s the bell!”
Away they ran dinner-wards, and found the Judge rehearsing to his wife
the incidents of the morning, and evidently something of Steenie’s
ambition; for the lady bestowed upon the child a caress more cordial
even than usual, and called her a “dear, brave, helpful little thing.”
There proved to be not only enough of food but to spare; and when
the meal was over Judge Courtenay retired to his office with his
secretary, while the children went into the parlor, where Steenie was
asked to tell her hostess all about her desired “riding-school,” and
what had suggested it to her.
“It was the blacksmith made me think about it, when he shod Tito. He
said I ‘ought to;’ an’ I s’pose maybe he knows ’bout my father being
blind, an’ my grandmother an old lady that never did anything but read
books, an’ they both being so ‘helpless,’ Mr. Tubbs says. But he, Mr.
Resolved, thought I was ‘helpless,’ too; only I don’t want to be.
’Cause I’m not old nor blind, an’ I’m strong as anything. But I don’t
know very much, ’cept ’bout horses; an’ I do know ’bout them, way
through. So--well, you see--after the blacksmith talk--I thought an’
thought--an’ thought. First off, it made me dizzy--just the thinking.
Then I wasn’t dizzy any more for being sorry--but just for glad! An’
I hurried home fast as fast; an’ there was my father taking a nap,
’cause he doesn’t sleep good nights; an’ after supper some comp’ny
came, an’ they stayed till I went away to bed. Then this morning there
they were again; an’ they were a man an’ his clerk, or something, an’
my grandmother an’ my father went into the library an’ shut the door,
so I didn’t have any chance to ask him. Then when I was coming here, I
thought maybe I was glad I hadn’t. ’Cause my grandmother says your Mr.
Judge is a terr’ble wise gentleman; an’ I know so too. An’ I thought
prob’ly he knew all the little girls an’ colts in Old Knollsboro; an’
maybe they’d like to learn to ride the right way. And the blacksmith
said I’d ‘make a fortune’ showing ’em. I’d like to make it, or some
money, I mean. Any way if I could do one thing to buy beefsteaks with,
I ought to, hadn’t I? ’Cause Mr. Tubbs says, ‘The Lord only knows
how long any on us’ll eat beefsteak,’--an’ we all like it. Even my
grandmother does. It would be awful, wouldn’t it, for an old lady like
her to not have any more?”
“Yes, my dear, it would be very bad indeed; but I hope matters are not
quite so serious as that,” answered Mrs. Courtenay, smiling.
“Well, I don’t know, course. But Mary Jane says we’d all ‘better be
lookin’ out to earn an honest penny, those on us ’at can.’ An’ Mr., her
brother, said she ‘needn’t cast no ’flections on him, ’cause hadn’t he
got the lumbago, he’d like to know?’ So, you see, it’s just this one
straight way: Grandmother can’t, ’cause she can’t, an’ she oughtn’t
to; Papa can’t, ’cause he can’t see to do anything; Sutro can’t, ’cause
he’s just Sutro; Mr. Tubbs can’t, ’cause he’s a lumbagorer an’ a
‘reg’lar funeral-dark-sider,’ Mary Jane says; Mary Jane can’t, ’cause
her ‘hands an’ heart is full every ’durin’ minute, an’ so she tells
you;’ an’ so, after them, they isn’t anybody left but me. So I want to;
’cause I love ’em--love ’em--love ’em--every one! An’ I’m young, an’
I can see, an’ I haven’t any lumbago, an’ I’m not just Sutro, an’ my
hands an’ heart isn’t full, and--do--you s’pose I can?”
“My dear little girl, I have perfect faith that you can!--providing
that your people will consent,” answered Mrs. Courtenay, with the most
confident of smiles, and very shining eyes.
“Why shouldn’t they consent? Wouldn’t they be the most gladdest they
could be? ’Cause I’d give them the money, an’ they could buy the
things.”
“Who told you about ‘money,’ and money-earning, Steenie?” asked the
lady, somewhat curiously, wondering how a child brought up “in the
wilderness” had learned its value.
“Why, Sutro. I asked him what it meant to be ‘ruined,’ an’ he told
me. He’s ruined, himself, he says; anyhow he’s lost his home, same
as Grandmother’ll have to lose hers; an’ he says that he had to go
to work an’ earn money, an’ that was why he didn’t ‘starve to death,
_en verdad_!’ I should think it would be dreadful to starve to death,
shouldn’t you?”
“I certainly should.”
“You see Sutro--I don’t know ’xactly how it was. But when I was as
little as little, my father told Sutro ’at if he’d tend to me an’ not
let anything bad ever happen to me, he’d pay Sutro money. Wages, it’s
called. So they did it; an’ Sutro was my body-servant forever after
that. Papa paid him every month, ’cause it wasn’t the Plunkett man’s
money at all. An’ Sutro has saved it. An’ I don’t know. He showed me
most of it ’at he hadn’t spended; an’ it does seem funny that folks’ll
give you food an’ clothes an’ things just for it; but he says yes. An’
if I earn, an’ he helps me, don’t you see? Oh, I hope they will let me,
don’t you?”
“I--hardly know. I wish you to be happy with all my heart; and so I
mean that you shall succeed--if they are willing. But they are a proud
family,--the very leading family of Old Knollsboro; and they may feel
it--well, not just the thing for the little daughter of the house to
teach even a ‘riding-school.’ But we’ll see. By the way, where would
you like to hold your school? Tell me all that you have thought about
it, please.”
“Why, on your race-course. Why not?” asked Steenie, brightly and
innocently.
“Why, Steenie Calthorp! My papa’s race-track is my papa’s! He won’t let
anybody, ’cept them he invites, go on it, not once at all. He says it’s
private, for his own ’musement, an’ if folks want tracks let ’em have
their own. He wouldn’t let other little girls, ’cept you an’ me, ride
their ponies there, ever; would he, Mama?”
“I cannot answer for another, even your father, my dear. But I think
that some fitting place could be found,” replied the mother, quietly.
Steenie looked up quickly. Her big blue eyes were filled with
astonishment, and a pink flush stole deeper and deeper into her pretty
face. Her native instinct, the instinct of a gentlewoman, told her that
she had blundered in some way, yet she could not see how. If Judge
Courtenay was her friend,--why, he was!--and that was the end of it.
Why should he draw the line anywhere?
“Please, Mrs. Courtenay, was I ’truding then? Grandmother said I was
never to do that. She said I had lived in a beau-tiful big, big place
like Santa Felisa, an’ I was used to being mistress of everything; but
I was to ’member that here, in this little bit o’ Old Knollsboro, I was
only a little bit o’ girl. But if the dear Judge doesn’t want me to
use his course, why I can find a place, somewhere, big enough. I guess
maybe the blacksmith can tell me. He was a very nice man, too.”
Mrs. Courtenay watched the troubled little face grow bright and sunny
again, and then she sent the children out to play; after which an
elegant carriage was brought round, and a groom in livery assisted the
lady into it, and lifted Beatrice to a place beside her. But Steenie
needed no assistance, and was quite contented when the Judge took
the empty seat next her, and she heard the order given, “To Madam
Calthorp’s, High Street.”
It was a gay and happy party, and they carried their own good cheer
with them into the care-shadowed home which they entered,--the
greetings of the elders being even more cordial and sympathetic than
ever, could that have seemed possible.
Nothing, not even heart-break, could make Madam Calthorp other than the
noble, gracious woman she had always been; and no sign of the burden
she was bearing was permitted to inflict itself upon her guests. Yet
even her self-reliant spirit gained fresh courage from the support of
these friends whom she held in such high esteem; and she was delicately
forced to remember that the Judge would be honored if she would make
use of him in any way.
“Yes, Steenie, show Beatrice anything. And you will find some roses
in the garden, the sort her mother likes. Thank you; but, Judge, such
things are usually very simple. I have had one of the bank men here
over night. There is nothing left, absolutely, beyond my trifling
amount of real estate. I shall put this house on the market, and
dispose of it as speedily as possible. I have already written to accept
an offer which I had for the little farm; and--that is all. If you hear
of a small cottage anywhere in town, that is not in an objectionable
neighborhood, will you kindly let me know? And now--let us talk about
your horses. I’m sure that Daniel will enjoy a description of them. He
is quite a horse-lover, though not like Steenie--all horse! Did you
ever know a taste so marked? It amounts almost to a passion with her;
due to her training at Santa Felisa, I suppose. Well, it has made her
a perfectly healthy and wonderfully happy child. I am grateful to the
odd rearing for that much, at least.”
“And for much more!--that is, you may be!” returned the Judge,
impulsively. His heart was still glowing warmly with thoughts of
Steenie’s brave desire, and the words escaped him almost unconsciously.
“Indeed! How so? I fear that even her last intercourse with the equine
race is about over for poor little Steenie.”
“It should not be. No, no; it must not be!--that would be a crime.
Let me tell you, please,” and the gentleman described, far more
minutely and eloquently than the little girl had done, her marvellous
influence over Diablo, and her instruction of himself. He concluded
enthusiastically: “It is her gift--Heaven-sent! She is the best friend
the horse ever had, I believe. And that child’s beneficent influence
is destined to work a complete revolution, hereabouts, in the future
treatment of the noble animals. It is as if she had a magical power of
entering into their very feelings, inclinations, joys, and sufferings.
I never witnessed anything like it! Yet the only explanation she can
give is: ‘It isn’t anything I do. I don’t know how to explain it--only
I just love them so!’ My dear Madam, your grandchild is a phenomenon.
Better than that--she is the bravest, noblest little creature who ever
lived.”
“Judge, Judge! You are too enthusiastic, and too kind!” answered
Steenie’s amazed grandmother.
“Enthusiastic, perhaps; but I could not be too kind to a child like
that. It is an honor to serve her. She has taught me, not only what
a fool I have been about horses, but how to meet trouble, disaster.
Listen to this: here is her idea--that baby’s!”
Launched upon his subject, Judge Courtenay poured out the whole story.
Steenie’s half-formed plans had taken full shape and detail under the
consideration of his own maturer mind, and not only this, but he had
actually decided, mentally, upon the children to be selected for her
first pupils. He could not see one good reason why the project was
not wholly feasible, with Sutro and himself to “back” it with age and
experience.
“She shall have the course at Rookwood for ordinary weather; and I will
have a great building erected for stormy days. I know several persons
who have valuable colts, and they will gladly avail themselves of her
gentle method of ‘breaking in.’ They shall pay her well, too! The
school terms we will regulate by those of city riding-schools; and she
shall have the use of as many of my horses as is necessary, besides her
own Tito. That old Sutro is just the fellow to assist; and my grooms
shall do the rough work.”
“Pardon me, Judge, but it appears to me as if this were to be your
school,--not my little daughter’s!” exclaimed Mr. Calthorp, smilingly.
“All right--all right! Make it so, then! Let it be my institution, and
she my salaried instructor. Why not? That is an improvement upon the
original plan,--decidedly an improvement. People will be less inclined
to shirk their tuition fees to me, a grim old lawyer, maybe, than to
her. Yet I think she would never lose a penny. How could she,--if men
and women are human?”
Mrs. Courtenay had been observing their hostess, and interrupted,
gently: “My dear, you are taking for granted the consent of Steenie’s
guardians. However, I trust it will not be wanting.” The speaker
noticed, regretfully, that the children had returned, and that the
little subject of the discussion was standing on the threshold of
the room, her lithe young body eagerly poised and her eyes intently
watching her grandmother’s face for the answer forthcoming, which was
made speedily and courteously, but it struck upon Steenie’s heart with
intolerable cruelty.
“Thank you, cordially, my dear friend. Your generous kindness is
fully appreciated--fully. But I have already reached a more practical
decision,--one which will put more money, even, into Steenie’s pocket
than this chimerical, if unselfish scheme of hers could ever do. We
will sell Tito. Do you know of a purchaser?”
In the silence which followed this unexpected suggestion, Steenie heard
her own heart beat. Then she bounded into the centre of the room, white
with fear and indignation.
“Grandmother! Sell--my--Tito!”
“Yes, darling. We can no longer afford to keep him.”
“You mustn’t! You mustn’t! It would break his very heart! I’d rather
you’d sell me!”