When Miss Ayr of Virginia came down to take her place on the coach for
the races, in company with her cousins, the Miss Ayrs of New York,
there was a discrepancy between the former and the latter which could
scarcely have failed to attract attention. It could not be denied that
the advantage was on the side of the last-named ladies, though Miss Ayr
of Virginia was exquisite, and they were plain.
Compared with such costumes as they wore, however, such _chic_, such
height, such distinguished bearing, what was mere beauty? The little
country girl, with her village-made costume, just saved from absolute
dowdiness by a few touches from her cousins’ maid (which she had
inwardly resented), was certainly a fish out of water in that jaunty
party; and in her wretched little soul she felt it.
Moreover, her dress was not only countrified, it was unbecoming. Its
style of construction quite disguised her slight and charming figure,
and her hat was as complete a handicap for a beautiful face as could
well have been invented.
She did not realize this, not having as yet entirely lost her buoyant
belief in herself, which was one result of her being an only child
and the spoiled darling of her father, besides being the recognized
belle of her county. What she did realize, however, was that these
fashionable cousins of hers found her a nuisance, and that the
invitation which she had received from their father would never have
come from themselves.
The Miss Ayrs of New York were partly right in what they said of their
cousin, namely, that she had been badly brought up. This fact might
possibly have been overlooked on the score of her having lost her
mother in childhood, but for the other fact, that the Miss Ayrs of New
York were in the same case, and yet felt proudly conscious that they
could challenge the world as to their unimpeachable good form. There
was one important difference between the two families, however. The
Ayrs of New York were rich, while the Ayrs of Virginia were poor. The
war, which had caused the impoverishment of the latter branch of the
family was not yet so far back in the past but that days of opulence
and ease could yet be remembered, even by this sole representative in
the present generation, Miss Carter Ayr, who, now for the first time
emerged from the safety and seclusion of her beloved South, was come to
taste the delights of a season in New York.
The two brothers, who were the respective heads of the families, had
both been left widowers, and neither of them had re-married; but John
Ayr of New York had been able to give his daughters the very best that
money could do for them, in the way of governesses and chaperonage and
foreign travel, while Henry Ayr of Virginia had had to content himself
with the ministrations of a gentle, old-maid cousin, who had been
governess and chaperon in one, and had let Carter grow up much as she
chose--a fact which had not in the least interfered with her father’s
complete satisfaction with her.
There were three Miss Ayrs of New York, and they were all tall, and
imposing, and perfectly dressed. They were particularly showy for
an occasion such as the present, which was, perhaps, one reason why
Jim Stafford, the young bachelor millionaire to whom all society did
reverence, had invited all three of them to go out on his coach to-day.
Jim was a very good-natured fellow, however, and often did things with
no other prompting than that quality, and so, when Mr. Ayr, hearing
the matter discussed over night, and no provision made for Carter, had
insisted that one of the girls should yield her place to her cousin,
Jim had good-naturedly said there was room for all, and Mr. Ayr had
decreed that Carter should go. He generally interfered very little, but
his daughters knew that when he spoke he meant to be obeyed.
So, in this way, it happened that little Carter Ayr found herself
in the midst of that fluttering, chattering, bantering party, whose
jargon was wholly unfamiliar, and whose manner toward herself seemed to
surround her with an atmosphere of chill and constraint.
As the female element was so largely supplied by the ladies Ayr, most
of the strangers whom Carter saw about her were men. She had never
seen such men as these before, except in a tailor’s picture-plate, and
she felt rather a contempt for them, as country-bred people are apt
to feel toward those who dress as they have neither the means nor
the knowledge to dress. Carter, with her provincial prejudice against
fastidiousness in dress, particularly on the part of men, now got some
sense of inward support by adopting a supercilious criticism of the
exquisitely cared for details of the costumes of these men. She had a
standard in her little Southern heart by which she liked to believe
that she measured these fashionable gentlemen into puniness.
In spite of all her loyalty to a very different type, she could not
help feeling lonely and depressed, as she was assisted to mount to her
high seat, while the grooms could hardly keep in check the impatience
of the four superbly harnessed horses. Carter, who knew the points
of a horse, thought the harness rather outdid the horses themselves,
but what did her opinion amount to in this company, where she was so
evidently a supernumerary and an incubus?
It was an uncommonly pretty foot that she put on the ladder to mount,
but it had on a very bad shoe. Even the big and clumsy feet of her
cousins contrasted favorably with it, for the reason that their shoes
were of shiny patent leather, with sharply-pointed toes, which made her
little blunt ones look somehow stunted and shabby. But then, again, she
had reason to reflect that no one was noticing her!
Who has not felt a certain sense of pity on festal occasions, for the
friend who is brought? That person seems, somehow, surrounded with a
sort of blight among the others who have come by a process of natural
selection.
But if any heart, under those fashionable habiliments, felt a tender
sentiment for Carter, no one showed it. Jim Stafford, himself, was
wholly occupied with handling the reins, as they drove through the
crowded streets. The Misses Gladys, Ethel, and Rosamond Ayr were
making themselves as painstakingly agreeable to the men beside them
as if it had been their business to divert attention from all the
others present, and the married woman, who was acting as chaperon to
the party, was the most cold and unapproachable of the lot--or so
Carter had concluded, when one of her cousins had given her a casual
introduction to Mrs. Emory, as “Miss Ayr of Virginia.”
Somehow, the intonation with which it had been said had given an
indefinable offense to Carter, and when other members of the party took
it up and said:
“Help Miss Ayr of Virginia to her place,” or “Miss Ayr of Virginia
comes next,” or “Don’t crowd Miss Ayr of Virginia,” though it was all
said in an amiable way, Carter’s sense of resentment deepened. There
seemed to be a certain disrespect to her beloved State implied, and
that was more than she could calmly bear.
It was a new and exciting experience to her to be whirled through the
thronged city streets, and gazed at by admiring crowds, upon whom she
looked down from such a great height that it almost made her dizzy. If
she had been in a congenial atmosphere, it would have been delightful,
for she was inherently pleasure-loving, and her blood was young and
ardent; but, as things were, everything seemed to add to her sense of
loneliness and depression.
The sky had been overcast when they started out, but now, suddenly, the
sun appeared, and with it came a little gleam across the shadows on
Carter’s face. She had felt bitterly the fact that she was ill-dressed
(though, at home, these clothes had seemed to her good enough for any
company in the world!) but with the appearance of the sunshine she had
remembered the one really incontrovertibly handsome and imposing thing
which she possessed--an elegant parasol, which she had bought the day
before at a very fashionable place, and for a price which a week ago
would have frightened her. Her father had paid over to her a little
legacy from an aunt, and she had intended to invest this in jewels or
some permanent thing, but she had heard her cousin Gladys admire that
parasol, and, needing one, she had boldly purchased it.
So, here, at least, she could be confident, and it was with an air of
satisfaction that she now unfurled her gorgeous sun-shade, and let the
full glory of its laces and ribbons float to the breeze.
The motion that it made attracted general attention to her, and
simultaneously with this she heard Gladys say, in a voice of excited
protest:
“For heaven’s sake, tell Carter to put down that parasol!”
The word was then passed to Ethel, who, in the same excited tone,
passed it to the man seated next to Carter.
“Miss Ayr of Virginia is requested to lower her parasol,” he said, with
more amiability in his manners than her two cousins had used.
Carter, who had heard the behest, when it had originated with her
eldest cousin, did not at once succumb, but said, from under the
flaunting glory of the proscribed article:
“Why?”
“Of course, coming from Virginia she didn’t know,” she heard her cousin
saying in a tone of contemptuous extenuation, which she hotly resented.
No one had answered her question, however, and so turning to the woman
who sat nearest to her--it happened to be Mrs. Emory--she said:
“Why shouldn’t I raise my parasol, if the sun is out?”
“It isn’t done,” was the answer, given curtly and coldly, and Mrs.
Emory returned at once to her talk with her neighbor.
Carter, of course, furled her offending sun-shade, feeling snubbed and
sore. It would have been childish and rude to persist, but she was
not only hurt, but puzzled. Being from the rural regions she had not
as her cousin suggested, any knowledge of the fact that it was not
considered smart to raise a parasol on a coach. This sacred tenet was
so strictly adhered to, however, that although it was a warm and dusty
autumn day, the ladies endured the heat unmurmuringly, staring with
haughty superiority at the coaches on which the people were pleasantly
shaded by their parasols.
By the time the entrance to the race-course was reached, Carter was
completely miserable. She despised the trivial conventions to which she
saw such importance attached, and she had a sense of suppressed rage
at being forced into an inferior position by people to whom she felt
herself superior.
She was no more conceited than an only child, and an acknowledged belle
and beauty might be excused for being, and she did know, in her heart,
that she would have been incapable of treating the meanest slave on
her father’s estate as unkindly as she felt that these people were
treating her.
No one noticed her as they went bowling along in the crowded procession
of vehicles, until, near the entrance, they came to a sudden halt, the
carriage in front of them having halted also.
The footmen sprang down and went to the leaders’ heads, while necks
were craned and eager questions put as to the cause of the blockade.
It was apparent enough. One of a pair of oxen, engaged in some heavy
draught in connection with the preparing of the track and grounds, had
fallen down, or else thrown itself down in a fit of sullenness and
could not be got to move. The animal was strong and fat, and looked
more obstinate than ill, but it was impossible not to feel pity for
a creature so beaten and belabored and kicked, as it was, by the men
about it. The thing had apparently been going on for some time, and
the men looked as if their efforts were well-nigh exhausted.
Various suggestions were made and tried in vain. Many vehicles had
emptied their passengers, and a crowd had gathered, while the ox,
stubborn and defiant, still refused to budge.
The party on the coach, from their high position, could see all that
was happening, and cries of distress soon began to rise from them.
“What are we to do?” “The creature hasn’t a notion of moving!” “We
shall be kept here all day!” were some of the protesting remarks,
through which a very sweetly modulated voice, with an accent so unlike
theirs as to sound almost foreign, was heard to say:
“I could make it get up, in half a minute.”
“Hear! Hear!” cried Jim Stafford, turning toward the speaker, who was
flushed, but perfectly composed. “Virginia to the rescue! Miss Ayr of
Virginia undertakes to raise the stalled ox! Ten to one she does it!”
The bet was eagerly taken by another man, and Carter found herself the
center of interest.
“Enter the field, Miss Ayr of Virginia,” said Jim Stafford. “Only
explain your method of procedure, and I’m your backer. What do you
propose to do?” And with the arrant childishness of the average
pleasure-seeker all the men present became absorbed in this incident,
which offered a new and unexpected diversion.
All the women, meantime, were looking at the young Southern girl with
cold disapprobation.
“Now, Miss Ayr of Virginia,” said Jim Stafford, “give your orders. How
do you propose to do it?”
“Could we possibly get some mud from anywhere?” asked Carter.
“Mud? not likely, in this dust!” said one man, but Stafford cut him
short.
“Mud? Of course. Nothing simpler!” he said. “Here, Trollope, get a
bottle of Apollinaris out of the lunch-basket and break it in the
road;” and as the groom flew to comply with his order he turned to
Carter.
“We’ll have the mud in a jiffy,” he said. “Now, what’s to be done with
it?”
“Stop the ox’s nostrils with it,” Carter decreed next.
The young dudes on the coach gave a little “Hooray!” and in a moment
they were down in the road, stirring the fizzing water into the yellow
dust with their canes, with all the glee of children at a new game.
The mixture was soon turned into a stiff mud, and the immaculate
Trollope was ordered to fill his hands with it and follow his master.
Every eye was fixed on Jim Stafford, as he approached the man who had
the ox in charge and ask permission to try his experiment. Carter, left
on the coach with the women, who she felt, instinctively, were not the
friendly element of the party, watched with a confidence not unmixed
with anxiety. How could she tell that these Yankee oxen would respond
to Virginia treatment? And if they did not, where would she hide her
humiliated head? She realized that, like many another act of daring,
its only justification would be in its success.
“Stop up both nostrils at once, and hold it in,” she called to
Trollope, in her pretty, low voice.
The crowd made way for the groom and his master to approach, and the
performance was quickly accomplished.
The next instant, there was a heaving and panting on the part of the
ox, and, with a frantic motion of consternation, it had scrambled to
its feet, and stood there snorting out the mud and shaking its great
head from side to side.
The man in charge of it caught hold of its harness, and without the
least difficulty, led it away.
The road was open.
“Three times three for Miss Ayr of Virginia!” cried Jim Stafford, and
his companions, imitating him, waved their hats around their heads and
echoed his words.
It was not loud enough to be positively rowdy, but it was too loud, it
seemed, to suit Mrs. Emory’s sense of decorum, for she was heard to say
rather severely:
“Really, Jim, if you ask me to chaperon your parties, I must insist
upon decent behavior. This is unbearable!” and she turned upon poor
little Carter a glance that was meant to be perfectly annihilating.
“Get out, Mamie! You’re making a point about nothing,” her cousin
answered, in an amiable, off-hand fashion. “If you’d been the heroine
of that incident, you’d think you deserved cheers and you’d have had
them. I’m not going to see Miss Ayr of Virginia deprived of the honor
and glory which are her due.”
His cousin said nothing, but her face continued to look both offended
and aggrieved, and she turned away to speak with some of the women of
the party, who seemed promptly sympathetic.
Carter heard her name pronounced several times among them in a tone
which she did not like, and it was Gladys whom she distinctly heard
saying:
“This is what comes of giving a girl a man’s name and letting her run
wild, as they do in the South.”
Carter felt indignant at the aspersion cast on her beloved South, but
the assiduities which she was at that moment receiving from all the men
in the party helped her to bear it.
It was not altogether her victoriousness in her recent undertaking
that had made them rally round her so. It had at last penetrated their
rather slow minds that the women were exercising a sort of tacit
ostracism against this young stranger, and every one of them was ready
with his protest.
Carter, moreover, had acquired a brilliant color, by reason of her late
experience, and, now that their eyes had been drawn to her directly,
they saw how uncommonly pretty she was, and regarded her unfashionable
garments with a commiseration that had something akin to chivalry in
it. She felt this, and, under the influence of sympathy, her beauty
blossomed out like a flower. She became suddenly gay and at her ease.
The men were so absolutely friendly that the women no longer frightened
her.
When Jim Stafford had brought his four bays triumphantly into place
and they had taken their position by the race-course, the grooms took
the horses away, and the host of the party being liberated from his
exacting duties as whip, was free to seek his own will and pleasure.
It was not long before the nature and direction of that became
manifest, for he deliberately proposed a shuffling of seats and
partners, by which he managed to seat himself next to Carter.
“I want to understand the philosophy of that splendid achievement of
yours,” he said. “Why did the mud make the ox jump up so quickly?”
“Because the mud stopped its nostrils and it could not breathe.”
“But can’t oxen breathe through their mouths?”
“They either can’t, or they think they can’t, for they never make any
effort to do it. It was having its breathing suddenly checked that so
startled and terrified the creature that it instinctively sprang to its
feet, and its whole mood was changed.”
“And where--if one may ask--did you become the possessor of such a
unique and valuable piece of information?”
(By Jove, she _was_ pretty, he reflected, and particularly so at that
moment, when, for some reason, a flood of lovely rose-color suffused
her face.)
“A neighbor of ours told me about it,” she said. “I am glad I happened
to think of it.”
“I should think so, indeed! But for that timely thought of yours,
we should probably have spent the day there, awaiting that brute’s
pleasure!”
He knew that this was not so, but he suddenly found himself possessed
of a consuming desire to do homage to this girl.
And to tell the truth, she looked not unused to homage. Indeed, she
was far more natural and at her ease, now that she was being made
much of and paid court to, than she had been, when neglected and left
alone. There could be no doubt as to which of these conditions was her
accustomed element.
When the racing began, the general interest centered on the track, of
course, and as the different horses were led out, Carter showed and
expressed such a knowingness on the subject that all the men listened
with visible interest to what she had to say. The remarks of the other
women sounded the merest _banalités_ in comparison, for this little
country maiden knew a horse as she knew a friend.
She was wildly excited over the first race, and had the good fortune
to pick out the winner. As a consequence, the men all insisted on her
betting on the second one, putting up gloves and candy recklessly.
To their surprise, their overtures were promptly snubbed, the little
Virginian looking so hurt at such a proposition that her big eyes
showed a suspicion of tears. The other ladies of the party, however,
took up the bets with avidity, though their opportunities were
decidedly more limited.
At last the great race of the day was called. A grey horse named
Quicksilver was the hot favorite in it, and was to be ridden by a
colored jockey. This last fact caught Carter’s attention, and sent her
thoughts flying wistfully Southward, and she was further interested
because he wore the Confederate colors--white and red. She could not
see his face, but it was easy to distinguish the silver-grey horse,
and, to her delight, it came in first, though pushed hard by another
horse named Hautboy.
The second heat was even more exciting, for now Quicksilver came
tearing along the home stretch, neck and neck with Hautboy.
The two ran together superbly, their jockeys poised like birds upon
their backs, but just before the judges’ stand was reached, there was a
wild plunging and collision, and Hautboy came in ahead.
And then began a scene of frantic excitement. The little mulatto who
had ridden Quicksilver was in a state of fury, bordering upon insanity.
He vowed that Hautboy’s jockey had used some trickery, and appealed to
the judges, who refused to sustain him. At this he went simply beside
himself, and tossing away his whip, declared he would not ride the
other heat. Threats, expostulations, bribes, oaths, abusive epithets,
coaxing cajoleries were used in vain. He was simply maddened with
fury, and stubbornly adhered to his refusal.
Quicksilver, meanwhile, was being walked about, switching his
tail viciously and glaring wickedly to right and left. He was an
evil-tempered brute, and this young darkey was the only rider who
seemed equal to him. Immense sums had been put up on the race and
desperate measures were resorted to to bring the obstreperous jockey to
his reason.
But it was all in vain. He reiterated his refusal with excited fury. He
said a million dollars wouldn’t make him ride the other heat, and that
he’d die first.
All this time Carter had been watching the scene with eagerness, their
coach being very near to the judges’ stand, and now, as the little
darkey, bearing her beloved Southern colors, turned his defiant face
upward toward the judges’ stand, and she saw it clearly for the first
time, a suspicion, which had been slowly dawning on her, was turned
into reality--a reality that thrilled her through with excitement.
“He must do it! He shall!” she said, in a low tone to Jim Stafford.
“Take me down there, and I’ll make him!”
Stafford looked at her aghast. He was excited enough himself, for the
time was flying, and, with a little more delay, the race would be
declared off.
“By Jove!” he said, in one second’s hesitation, and then, remembering
the ox, he added, “Come on, then, quickly,” and in another instant she
was nimbly descending the ladder and he was making a way for her to get
to the railing.
The party on the coach stared protestingly, and Gladys made an effort
to recall her, but little heed paid Carter, as she found herself
close up to the railing, toward which the colored jockey was even now
advancing, in his defiant resolution to leave the field.
A dozen men were following him, with urgent beseechings and threats, to
which he turned an absolutely deaf ear, until suddenly, across this
clamor a soft, clear voice said, with a ring of command:
“You, Little Tom!”
The darkey turned, as if shot, and looked the speaker full in the face.
“Get up on that horse this instant!” said the same clear voice,
imperiously. “Bring him here,” it added, to the man who was holding
Quicksilver’s bridle, and as the restive animal was brought near, it
suddenly became apparent that the human creature had been subdued.
The bewildered jockey stared full at the young lady before him, and
when she said:
“Get up--quick, I say! You haven’t a second to lose.”
The resolute command was immediately obeyed, and the
red-and-white-shirted jockey was on the horse and in his place, five
seconds only before the order to start was given.
Only those in the immediate neighborhood had seen and heard what
passed, and even they were so preoccupied by the paramount excitement
of the moment, that, in their eagerness to follow the horses now flying
away down the track, they forgot to think about the girl who had saved
the day by some occult authority which she possessed, and so she
managed to slip through the crowd almost unobserved, and to regain her
seat upon the coach, followed by Stafford in a state of ecstacy over
her success.
Meantime, the horses, like a pack of hounds, were bunched together
on the other side of the course, but now the grey could be seen
to be steadily gaining, and soon the red and white colors could
be distinguished. Quicksilver was ahead, and every instant was an
advance for him. As his slight young rider, leaning forward with his
mount, rose in his stirrups, and rested in delicate poise, the breeze
whipping into fluttering folds the striped silk of his shirt, and
seeming to blow backward, in its strong current even Quicksilver’s
lowered ears, the crowd sent up a wild yell of enthusiasm, in which one
alien-sounding voice was heard exclaiming:
“Good for you, Little Tom!”
The voice was so low, however, that no one heard it very plainly except
Stafford, and now, as the race ended, with Quicksilver first, and no
second, he turned delightedly to his companion, saying:
“Good for you, Miss Ayr of Virginia! It was you who saved the day, and
now will you be good enough to tell me how you did it? If ever I saw
a creature determined to go his own way and defy consequences, it was
that angry negro, until you spoke to him, when he came down like a
lamb. How you managed it--(and without even the aid of mud!)--is what I
want you to explain.”
“O, there is nothing wonderful in it when you come to find out,” said
Carter. “It’s our Little Tom, who ran off from home some time ago and
his mammy has been grieving for him ever since. Of course when I spoke
to him, he would not dare to disobey me.”
“So it appeared,” said Stafford, “though he did not scruple to disobey
and defy a dozen determined men! I must say I don’t understand it. And
since he is a grown man, why do you call him ‘Little Tom,’ may I ask?”
“To distinguish him from the other Toms on the place,” said Carter.
“There were so many of them--Little Tom, and Tom, and Uncle Tom, and
Old Uncle Tom, and Old _Old_ Uncle Tom.”
This explanation, which Carter made so simply, proved immensely amusing
to the men of the party, who laughed and enjoyed it sufficiently to
hide, in part, the lack of enthusiasm which the ladies had shown.
Stafford insisted on going and looking Little Tom up, and bringing
him to drink a glass of champagne in honor of his triumph. He came,
sheepishly enough, when he heard who had sent for him, though he had
borne himself with a good deal of swagger in the crowd where Stafford
found him.
“Howdy, Miss Kyarter,” he said, taking off his cap, and dangling it
nervously in his hands, as he stood on the ground looking up at her. “I
sut’ny is glad tuh see yuh. Them white folks kinder confused me ’bout
dat race, en mammy ain’ whup all the temper out’er me yit! I sut’ny is
glad you bin come ’long, en mek me ride. I leet more loss dat money! En
I gwine let yuh tek half of it home wid yuh, fuh a presen’ tuh mammy.”
“That’s right, Little Tom,” said Carter. “It’ll please mammy mightily.
I’m going to tell her about the race and what a fine horse you rode.”
“Yes’m, he’s right smart fine, Quicksilver is, but I don’ think he
ekills we all’s Whitefoot. I ain’ see none dese yer horses dat’s up to
Whitefoot _yet_! Ef ole Mars’d lemme bring Whitefoot on hyar, en ride
’im at a race, he’d beat ’em all, en dat’s what I tell ’em every time.”
Carter, who was intimately acquainted with Little Tom’s character
and points of view, smiled to herself at this compliment to poor old
Whitefoot, whose best days were so far in the past. She knew it was
only done to impress strangers with the importance of the people to
whom, in spite of his desertion of them for scenes more congenial to
his adventurous spirit, he was and would always remain loyal.
After this little episode, Carter’s timidity vanished, and, being the
centre of attraction on the coach now, she felt far more at her ease,
and she talked much and talked well. But, with it all, her voice was so
low, her speech so gently modulated, as she told negro anecdotes and
imitated their talk, that her cousins found nothing to say afterward,
except that she had made herself rather conspicuous, and Carter, who
felt that they would gladly have said more, felt that she could well
endure that.
Miss Ayr of Virginia had certainly been very unfortunate in the
specimens of New York women whom she had so far encountered, and, being
very rash and impulsive, she must be forgiven for making the great
mistake of judging all New York women by these cousins of hers and
their associates in “the smart set.” And as a convert to any faith is
always more zealous and infatuated than those who have been born to it,
so the Miss Ayrs of New York were the extreme examples of this type.
The little Virginian, who was accustomed to using her wits, had
discovered one thing during that day’s experience at the races, which
disturbed her very much. This was that she was badly dressed. It stung
her pride at first to be compelled to own it, but having done so, she
set about the task of remedying this defect. She had naturally a genial
and affectionate nature, and her first step was to try to get some
help from her cousins. They, however, showed so very little interest
in the matter that Carter, who now realized that she was heavily
handicapped by her dresses and bonnets, was led to believe that they
did not wish to see this disability removed. This thought hurt her, at
first, and then inspired her to a course of resolute and independent
action.
She knew that her father would be distressed if she came home suddenly
and gave her real reasons for such a course; and, besides, she could
not travel alone, and the time which her father had set to come for her
was still weeks off, so she made up her mind to stay, and to provide
herself with such an outfit as would change the face of her staying.
Finding her cousins quite indisposed to give her their aid, she made
a note of an address on the belt of one of their dresses, and next
morning she went to that address and held a conference with that high
authority.
The woman recognized her as a pretty subject, and they put their heads
together and got up two charming costumes, one for street, and the
other for evening wear. The dressmaker happened not to be very busy,
and the dresses were promised in a few days’ time. Then Carter, who
had taken in a good deal of the prevailing modes from her yesterday’s
experiences, went boldly, all by herself, and bought a hat, and gloves,
and shoes.
Every moment it was borne in on her more plainly what a countrified
little being she was, and she felt that if she now got safely housed
once more, she would not venture out, until she could spread her wings
in her new plumage.
It was, therefore, a real regret to her when she presently encountered
Jim Stafford, immaculately dressed and gloved and booted, walking down
Fifth Avenue with a bunch of fresh violets in his button-hole and a
smile on his good-natured face, which deepened into a look of real
pleasure as he recognized her and lifted his tall hat.
She would have been quite content to bow and pass on, but he turned and
walked with her.
“What luck!” he said, in his jolly way. “Would you believe that I was
that moment thinking of you? The stories of the ox and the jockey are
all over town to-day, and everybody is wanting to see you. When will
you go out on my coach again?”
“Not until I get some better clothes to wear,” said Carter, in her
impulsive way. “I never knew, until yesterday, how countrified country
people are!”
“And who undertook to enlighten you, I’d like to know?” said her
companion, frowning. “Some spiteful woman, of course! There’s nothing
the matter that I can see, and if I were you I’d pay no attention to
their criticisms.”
“You wouldn’t? Then you are distinctly _not_ me, for I’m mending my
ways with the utmost rapidity. You mustn’t ask me to appear again in
public, until I can look like other people.”
“But that’s exactly what I don’t want. It’s just because you look--and
are--unlike other people that I like you. It would be a perfect shame
for you to be changed into one of the people you are going to imitate.”
“Never fear that,” said Carter, with a sudden seriousness. “We are
utterly different peoples, I think--the North and the South! I have
never been in the North before, and I feel I’m in a foreign land.”
“Don’t say that! I can’t bear to have you feeling that way. What could
one do to make you feel at home here?”
“Nothing--I verily believe! The South is in my veins--but I think, in
a way, kindness makes one feel at home everywhere--and you _have_ been
kind to me!”
By this time they had reached her uncle’s house and she held out her
hand as if to say good-bye. Her look was so sweet and winning as he
took that little hand, awkwardly gloved as it was, that he felt an
inward protest at being dismissed.
“Why may I not come in?” he said.
“There’s no one at home,” she answered, innocently, “the girls were all
going to a tea.”
“Decidedly, I shall come in,” he said, as he rang the bell. “Why didn’t
they take you to the tea?”
“O, they said they thought I wouldn’t care for it, and they were right.”
When the servant opened the door and ushered them into the
drawing-room, he stopped to ask if he should serve tea there.
Carter hesitated a second, but Stafford said promptly:
“Yes, Thompson, you may. I am going to get Miss Ayr to give me a cup.”
So in a very few moments Carter found herself seated before the
exquisitely appointed tea-tray, pouring out a fragrant cupful, for
this pleasant and friendly man, who was evidently enjoying himself
thoroughly.
There was an undeniable sense of pleasure in it. The room was so large
and beautiful and luxurious; Thompson deferred to her wishes in such
an agreeable manner; the tea was so good; the china and silver so
delicate; the man facing her was so _soigné_ in all the appointments of
his dress--in short, there was about her everywhere the sense of ease
and luxury which money alone brings--and Carter had never cared a rap
for money! Her wants had been so few and small that they had always
been readily supplied; in fact she had never before imagined the mere
material comfort which it was possible to miss out of life.
“Do tell me something more about the darkies,” said her companion,
sipping his tea enjoyingly, when Thompson had gone, “I’ve been
chuckling ever since, over those stories you told us yesterday.”
Carter knit her pretty brow to try to think up something. It was very
pleasant to her to try to amuse this amiable man, for she really felt
grateful to him, and anxious to please him.
“O, I’ll tell you about Uncle Enos, when he got religion,” she said,
smiling at the remembrance. “It was such a clever thing in him! Enos
was our white-washer, and he had been notoriously bad and irreligious,
until his conversion. The very next day he came to me and told me of
it, and added that, early that morning, while he was white-washing
a fence, a serious danger had threatened him in his new life. ‘Miss
Kyarter,’ he said, ‘I was wuckin’ away en thinkin’ ’bout de blessed
change whar done bin cum tuh me, en I look up en see one o’ them
miser’ble, low-life, God-forsaken niggers, whar I had done bin use tuh
keep comp’ny with, a-cummin’ down de road. I see him begin tuh laugh
en sner, ez soon ez he cum nigh me, en I knowed ’twus kus I done jine
de army o’ de Lord. He stop short on t’other side de fence, en he low
since I bin done got religion, he s’pose I b’lieve everything de Bible
say is true? I tell him, ‘Yes, bless de Lord!’ ‘Well,’ he say, with
one o’ his wicked, mischeeveous grins, ‘don’t de Bible say dat when de
Lord done finish all He wuks, He bin look at ’em all, en behol’ dey
was all good?’ ‘Yes,’ I tell him, ‘dem is de ve’y words o’ de blessed
book.’ ‘Well,’ he say, ‘didn’ de Lord mek de _Devil_? How was dat?’ en
he slaps his impident fat sides en busted out a-laughin’! He had jiss
turn roun’ to go way, when I call him back. ‘Hol’ on, you blasphemious
black-skinned raskill!’ I say, ‘you think yuh dun kotch me, do yuh? But
wasn’ he a mighty good _Devil_?’”
Stafford laughed, with a feeling of zest that he had not known
for a long while. He was evidently immensely amused at the negro
characteristics, as Carter unfolded them to him, and the girl, catching
sight of a guitar, tucked away in a corner, ran and brought it, in her
natural and impulsive way, and, with her head prettily turned on one
side, began to tune it.
“I’m going to sing you some plantation hymns,” she said. “Shall I?”
As he responded with the most evident enthusiasm, she got her chords
attuned and began to sing to an indescribably plaintive tune:
“O, send down de angel to trouble o’ de water,
O, send down de angel to trouble o’ de water,
O, send down de angel to trouble o’ de water,
And to let God’s saints come in.”
Her voice was exquisitely clear and sweet and she possessed the unusual
charm of looking especially attractive when she sang. Altogether,
the experience was new to Stafford, and very interesting. To see
that pretty creature, in her country-made gown, with the hat thrown
aside from her charming head, which it had roughened into picturesque
disorder, singing that wistful, yearning tune about God’s saints,
with such an absence of any self-consciousness, except that she was
giving pleasure, was really a rare delight to the young man of fashion.
His whole life was the pursuit of pleasure, and he found it in a very
piquant form here.
She sang next a hymn beginning “De Gospel train am coming roun’ de
bend,” and then passed into the tripping measure of “Who’ll be de
Leader, when de Bride-Groom comes?” a catching little air with which he
was enchanted.
Altogether he had not been so well entertained for a long time, and the
next morning came a note asking that Miss Ayr of Virginia and one of
her cousins would take seats on his coach for an expedition to be got
up in special compliment to the first-named Miss Ayr.
It was a surprise to her cousins and, as Carter could see, not a
welcome one. Gladys, being spokesman, said that she thought it best
to mention the fact that, in her conspicuous seat by the driver, her
costume would be a target for criticism.
“Oh, I don’t mind that,” said Carter, lightly. “Mr. Stafford didn’t ask
me for my clothes.”
“You would feel awkward, I should think--” began Gladys, but Carter
interrupted her:
“Not a bit, I assure you!” she said. “I’ll feel as happy as possible.”
She was malicious enough to keep her secret, and she even suspected
some malice on her cousin’s part, in looking forward with satisfaction
to finding herself proved to be in the right when the appointed hour
should come.
And when it did come, and Miss Ayr of Virginia stepped forth arrayed,
she was a charming enough vision to have accounted for a good deal of
feminine envy and uncharitableness!
The fit of her gown was faultless, and it was a well-nigh faultless
figure which was fitted. The color was fresh and pure and so were
the tints of hair, and eyes, and lips, and cheeks. The hat was youth
and grace itself, and all smaller details of her toilet were beyond
criticism. She was a clever creature, this little Miss Ayr of Virginia,
and her present costume gave ample evidence of it.
When the party was ready to set off, she was feeling a wonderful sense
of companionship and friendliness with Stafford, and he with her.
“Stunning, by Jove!” he said, as she climbed to her place beside him.
“It looks as if Miss Ayr of Virginia was going to beat them on their
own ground. It’s really almost too bad of you!”
What a pleasant, light-hearted, boyish creature he was, she thought,
and how nice to be so cordially liked by him and to bowl along in the
place of honor at his side, the observed and admired of all who passed
them!
And not the least pleasant part of it all was the sense of _bien-être_,
which came from the consciousness of her irreproachable costume. It
made her feel brave and confident even with the women of the party,
and, this time, her somewhat timid overtures to them were far more
kindly met. Gladys, who had elected to be the one of her cousins to
accompany her, treated her rather differently, she thought, and,
altogether, it was a delightful occasion.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” asked Stafford, just as this thought was
in her mind.
“Oh, yes, tremendously,” she said. “For the first time since I got here
I am almost forgetting to be home-sick. Almost, but not quite.”
“Home-sick?” he said. “I don’t like that. Why should you be home-sick?”
“Oh, I’ve almost died of it,” said Carter. “The other day, going to the
races, on the line of all those splendid carriages I saw, at the side
of the road, an old horse eating oats out of a nose-bag, with a ragged
old darkey standing by, and somehow it made me think so of home that I
almost burst into tears.”
“But why should you feel so? What is it that you miss so much that
could not be supplied here?”
“Here? Oh, I could never feel at home here! What I miss is simply
everything--the earth, and the sky, and the trees, and the darkies, and
the people, and everything!”
“I should like to see that wonderful country. Will you let me, some
day?”
“Strangers are always welcome in the South,” she said; “but you would
remain a stranger there. The life would never suit you.”
She felt instinctively that he did not like this, and--out of pure
compassion at having hurt a person who had been so good to her--she set
to work to make herself as delightful to him as she could, and with
such success that Gladys, who was taking notes from a back seat, formed
a conclusion, which definitely modified her future course toward her
cousin.
So marked was this that when, at the end of the excursion, Gladys
invited their late host to come and dine informally that evening, if
he had no other engagement, and when he had delightedly accepted and
driven away, she followed her little country cousin to her room and
offered in the pleasantest way to help her out with an evening toilet.
“I have one, thank you,” Carter said, “but I’m just as much obliged.”
She hadn’t it in her to bear malice, and far enough from her
consciousness was any suspicion of the real reason of her cousin’s
change toward her. Had she been present a few moments later at a
conversation which took place between the three sisters much light
would have been thrown upon this point. Here Gladys boldly avowed
her belief that Carter would be asked to become Mrs. Stafford.
Never, she said, had she seen Jim treat any girl as he treated
Carter, and without the necessity of much talk about it, the sisters
were unanimously agreed that it would be a good thing to have Jim
Stafford in the family on any terms. It was only too evident that
there was no chance of this on terms more close and acceptable than
the present ones, for his attitude toward the Miss Ayrs of New York
had been strictly limited to the off-hand intercourse of old friends
and neighbors. And Carter, in her guileless heart, would never have
imagined a further reason yet. This existed in the fact that Jim
Stafford had been so ardently angled for by so many of their friends
that it would be a triumph, in a way, to the Ayr girls to have him even
for a cousin. Their thoughts had gone even farther than that, and they
looked forward to being on cousinly terms in the establishment over
which Jim Stafford’s wife would preside in New York.
So when Carter came down to dinner that evening, innocent as a lamb of
any such designs and imaginings as occupied the worldly hearts about
her, she was received with great friendliness by her cousins, and her
gown was pronounced “as smart as possible” by Gladys, “very _chic_” by
Ethel, and to have “quite a _cachet_” by Rosamond.
And indeed it was a charming thing, and she was a charming thing in it!
No one could have dreamed of such a neck and such arms, under their
former unbeautiful coverings, and the clear cool green of her crêpey
draperies brought out the pure tints of skin and hair and eyes.
Jim Stafford, when he came, looked at her quite adoringly, and nobody
could wonder! One or two others of the bachelor _habitués_ of the house
had been bidden to the impromptu dinner and Carter drew all eyes upon
herself, with as little volition and consciousness as a magnet.
After dinner, Stafford got hold of the guitar and beguiled her into the
library, and she sang to him about God’s saints and the gospel train
and the Bridegroom, until every other member of the party followed and
gathered around her.
This was more agreeable to Carter, perhaps, than to her companion, for
he found any further _tête-à-tête_ with her impossible, and, to make up
for it, he asked her, on leaving, if he could see her to-morrow at some
appointed hour. She said yes, certainly, and fixed the time. Gladys,
who happened to be standing not far off, heard this.
When Carter went to her room that night, she looked long, and with
great satisfaction at the image which the cheval glass reflected. She
knew that she was pretty, but, indeed, she had never dreamed that she
could look so charming as this. Money was a wonderful thing, and she
would not be able in the future to wear such clothes as these, and she
did like them! She liked admiration, too, and to-night she had had it
unstintedly. Whence was it, then, that came this sense of lack, of
wanting, of imperfectness? She felt it, to a degree that positively
oppressed her, and as she doffed her brave attire and made herself
ready for bed she could scarcely keep the tears out of her eyes. Two,
at least, refused to be suppressed and lay wet upon her cheek as she
finally fell asleep.
Next morning, when she joined her three cousins in their upstairs
sitting-room, a very smiling welcome greeted her.
“We were just talking of you, Carter,” Gladys said, “and of how well
you looked last night. Jim Stafford thought so, evidently! And,
by the way, we were wondering how much you really know about Jim
Stafford.”
“I don’t know a great deal,” Carter answered. “Very little, in fact,
except that he is very kind and nice; and also, as I hear, very rich.”
“Do you know how rich?” said Gladys, with solemnity.
“No! How should I?” said Carter, looking rather wondering.
“I don’t know myself,” said Gladys, “but it’s a great many millions in
money; besides a superb house, horses, carriages, pictures, and all
sorts of things.”
“And a house at Newport,” put in Ethel, “a simply magnificent place!”
“And a yacht that is absolute perfection!” said Rosamond.
“And a collection of pearls of all colors, set in bracelets, necklaces
and rings, which he has been collecting for years as a wedding present
for his wife,” said Gladys with grave ardor.
Indeed, the solemnity of all these announcements seemed to Carter so
funny that she said with a little laugh:
“What are you all so serious about? There does not seem to me anything
profoundly solemn in all this.”
“The subject of Jim Stafford is more serious than you realize,
perhaps,” said Gladys. “I think it best to tell you that we all think
that he is going to make you an offer of marriage.”
Carter looked from one to the other with genuine surprise.
“I don’t believe it,” she said, and the next minute a crimson flush
suffused her face, and she added in a tone of indignation, “If there is
the least chance of such a thing it must be prevented.”
“Prevented!” said three voices at once in different tones of surprise
and protest.
“Yes--prevented,” Carter said. “I like him too much to want to hurt his
feelings, and if what you say is so, he must be stopped before he goes
farther.”
“Carter Ayr,” said Gladys, in a tone of voice thoroughly provoked,
“I’d like to know what you are thinking of and what you expect! You
Southern people do act as if you owned the earth! What prospects in
life have you got to make you throw away such a chance as this--the
most brilliant marriage that any girl here could hope to make! If Jim
Stafford asks you to marry him--as I believe he will--I’ll not believe
it that you’ll be such an idiot as to refuse him.”
Carter rose to her feet, and flashed upon her a pair of angry eyes.
“Why should I not refuse him?” she said. “There is but one cause for
marriage, and that does not here exist. Do you, for an instant, suppose
that I, my father’s daughter, one of the Ayrs of Virginia, would marry
a man for his _millions_, and his _houses_, and his _yachts_, and his
_pearls_?”
She hit these several objects off, with a tone which seemed to turn
them into chips, and blocks, and sawdust, and shavings, and then, with
a sudden softening of all her face, a sudden lowering of her voice and
another blush, she said, as she sank back into her seat:
“Besides--to settle the matter at once--I am engaged.”
“Engaged!” said her cousins together, and Gladys added:
“To whom, pray? Some neighbor in Virginia?”
Then, once more, Carter sprang to her feet, and stood there
palpitating, as she said:
“Yes--to a neighbor in Virginia!--a man whose only earthly possession
is a small farm, which is all that is left of a great estate. But he
is a man, and not a dude--and he works, instead of playing, and has
paid off thousands of dollars of debts which he did not make, working
day and night for the money, which, after all, is less than you are
accustomed to see thrown away at a day’s racing! He is not fashionable,
and you would scorn his looks and his dress, too, as you did mine,
if he were to come among you--but he is handsomer and stronger than
any man I’ve seen here--and dearer and better than any man in all
the world! Do you think I’d give up such a man as that for _money_?”
(accentuated as if it had been _dirt_!) “You don’t know him, you don’t
know me, you don’t know Virginia if you can think that! I like Mr.
Stafford, and I hope you are wrong in what you think; but if not, I
believe he would understand me, whether you do or not.”
“Carter,” said her cousin, insistently, “are you going to be fool
enough to throw away such a chance as this, for the sake of a mere
school-girl’s sentiment? You can’t play fast and loose, after your
Southern fashion, with a man like Jim Stafford. If you throw him aside
to-day, you can’t count on getting him back.”
Carter’s eyes were fairly blazing. She moved toward the door, but
before she passed it, she turned, and said proudly:
“What I have to say to Mr. Stafford is my own affair and his. You would
not understand, but he, I think, would.”
What she said to him was simply this (and he gave her occasion to say
it, two minutes after she came down to see him, dressed in one of her
homely little Virginia gowns):
“Don’t say any more, Mr. Stafford, please. You have been so good to me,
and I like you so much that I can’t bear to make you sorry, but I’m
engaged to be married to a man in Virginia, whom I love with all my
heart, and so that settles it.”
It settled it simply and at once for the poor young fellow, but he took
it hard. New York saw him no more that season, and when Carter was
married in the spring his magnificent collection of pearls was sent
to Virginia with a note which implored her to take them as a wedding
present, and said that unless she consented to wear them, no other
woman ever should.
He believed it, poor fellow, but Carter didn’t. That was the only thing
that comforted her as she stood, with her lover’s arm around her waist,
turning over the splendid jewels.
“Of course they must go back,” she said, “but not just yet. I can’t
bear to hurt him.”
“Poor, poor fellow!” was her companion’s response, spoken in tones of
heart-felt commiseration, “what a beggar he is, with all his millions,
and how criminally rich I feel!”