ON THE COLLECT
"Peter, Peter," said Grandma Effingham in a tone of gentle remonstrance,
"if thee would only let the ball alone Tabitha would keep quiet."
"Stop it, Peter," said Betty, from the doorway, as the irrepressible
youngster rolled over and over on the rug, himself, the gray cat, and
the ball of gray yarn hopelessly entangled. "Much you deserve all the
stockings that grandma knits for you so perseveringly; just look at the
condition of that ball"--and by a skillful flank movement she rescued
the yarn as Tabitha's pranks and Peter's tumble came to a hasty
conclusion, and the chief culprit gained his feet and began to apologize
for his frolic, as the cat fled through the door.
"I was just waiting for you, Betty; you girls take such a long time to
put on your capes and furbelows. I'll warrant Kitty will detain us when
we stop for her, and we must hasten, for the sun will not stay up much
longer. Just let me find my muffler and my skates," and off tore Peter,
while Betty tucked up her gown preparatory to an afternoon on the
Collect Pond, whose frozen surface was the resort of all fashionable New
York, both those who joined the skaters, and others who watched them
from the surrounding banks, making a gay, bright winter scene for the
spectators as well as the participants.
It was some three weeks since Betty's eventful journey, and as the
strangeness of her new home and surroundings wore off she was beginning
to enjoy herself. First of all, the dear happiness of being once more
with Clarissa, who had brightened and strengthened each day since her
arrival; then Grandma Effingham's storehouse of anecdotes and pleasant
stories, to which Betty listened with delight and the respectful
deference that youth of those days paid to age; and last (though Betty
would have denied it stoutly) the frequent visits to the Verplancks of a
certain tall soldier, whose red coat made her eyes sparkle with disdain,
even while her heart beat quicker at sound of his voice. Truly, Betty's
soul was torn within her, and for every smile that Yorke succeeded in
winning he was sure to receive such dainty snubs, such mischievous
flouting following swiftly after, that he almost despaired of ever
carrying the outworks, much less the citadel of the willful maid's
heart.
Kitty Cruger had received Betty most cordially, but the acquaintance had
not yet progressed toward intimacy. On several occasions when Betty had
been especially teasing, Yorke had seen fit to retaliate by seeking
Kitty's side, and, although he was far from suspecting it, he had thus
piqued his little lady-love extremely. For Kitty was a reigning belle,
and the toast of the British officers as she had been of the
Continentals, and she liked Yorke and Yorke's attentions. If Betty had
only known whose face came oftenest in Kitty's dreams, and that a blue
sword-knot was her most cherished possession, perhaps the dawning
jealousy which she felt toward her would never have existed. Who can
say?
The winter had set in with great rigor, and the troops had even crossed
on the ice from Staten Island to the city; sad tales reached Betty's
watchful ears of privations endured in the army of General Washington,
and it made her cheeks burn and tingle to hear the jests and laughter of
the Tory guests who visited the house, at the expense of the so-called
"rebels" against King George. Of Oliver, Betty had no sign; whether he
had been in the city and accomplished whatever mission he had in view,
she knew not. She did not dare to confide in Clarissa, for even had her
sister's health permitted, Betty deemed it scarcely safe to put her to
the test of loyalty as between husband and brother.
All these thoughts and many more were crowding Betty's brain as she ran
down the steps of the Verplanck mansion and followed Peter toward Queen
Street, where Kitty lived. The sun shone brightly and the air was crisp
and clear; Betty looked charming in her dainty hood, tied with a
rose-colored ribbon which nestled softly under her chin and played at
confining the dancing curls. Contrary to Peter's expectations, Kitty was
watching for them, and they proceeded with some speed along the snowy
streets until they reached the Minetta Water, as the small stream was
called which wound its way across the Lispenard Meadows, and connected
the "Collect" (or Fresh Water Pond) with the Hudson River. At the end of
Great Queen Street was a wooden bridge, and crossing it, the little
party continued up Magazine Street until they reached the Collect Pond,
on two sides of which were low buildings of various kinds, being
rope-walks, furnaces, tanneries, and breweries, all run by water from
the pond. Betty thought she should some day like to come out and
investigate them with Peter; they were not very sightly, but they might
prove interesting. These buildings shut out the view, and until Betty
stood on the very bank she had no idea how brilliant a scene the Collect
presented. The ground on the north side between them and Broadway rose
to the height of a hundred feet, and this hillside was covered with
spectators who were watching the skaters with which the ice was alive.
Among the crowd were many women of fashion, muffled in their furs,
carrying huge muffs to keep their fingers warm, and scarlet uniforms,
dotted here and there, served to heighten the effect of brilliancy and
animation. As they turned the corner of a furnace whose big chimney had
sheltered them for a moment, a young man darted up the bank and greeted
Kitty.
"How late you are," he said reproachfully. "Philip Livingston and I
have been watching for you this hour. The ice is in fine condition; may
I put on your skates?"
While young De Lancey was thus engaged Peter and Betty were making ready
also. Up in the Litchfield hills, where the winter set in early and
lasted late, Betty had learned to use her skates well, and she and her
brother Oliver had been the best skaters in the township when she was
hardly more than a child. Even the timid Pamela had gained boldness and
dexterity on the clear, frozen pond; and therefore when Betty, with the
ease of a practiced skater, glided off without assistance, Peter flew
after her in round-eyed amazement.
"I say, Betty," he exclaimed, breathless with his effort to catch her,
"how you do fly! My eye! there isn't one of these New York dames or
maids who can equal you," and he chuckled with triumph as Betty began to
execute some very difficult motions which she and Oliver had often
practiced together.
"Give me your hand, Peter; there, now, glide this way, and take the
outside roll--oh! have a care; if you turn like that you will surely
catch your skate in mine. That's better; now cross hands, and go
gently; see, I am cutting a face on the ice."
Surely enough, as Peter glanced behind he saw a gigantic profile grow on
the smooth surface beneath Betty's little foot, and the skaters around
them paused to wonder and admire.
"There," said Betty, making a final flourish, "come back to the bank and
let us find Kitty." But as they flew along Betty saw a familiar red coat
appear beside Kitty's advancing figure, so dropping Peter's hand she
dashed off in an opposite direction. She headed for the north bank,
which was less crowded, but slacked her speed a little, fearing an
air-hole, as she debated which way to turn.
"Mistress Betty," said a voice just behind her, and with a little start
she realized that the obnoxious scarlet coat had reached her side, "will
you skate a turn with me down the pond?"
"Surely," and Betty's most roguish smile beamed into Yorke's eyes as she
wheeled toward him. "Perhaps you will try a race with me, Captain
Yorke?"
"With pleasure, and for what stakes?" returned Yorke, bending down to
secure a strap which he felt loosen.
"I meant but a trial of speed to the bridge there, where we cross the
Minetta Water. A stake? Well, name it."
"A knot of rose-colored ribbon," said Yorke softly.
"Another!" cried Betty unguardedly, and could have promptly bitten her
tongue for the betrayal of her thought.
"Ah, then you do remember?" asked Yorke. "In what have I so deeply
offended that I can scarce gain speech of you! Why do you flout one who
longs to show you his devotion?"
"You forget, sir," said Betty coldly, "the coat you wear. Do you fancy
that scarlet commends itself to a rebel maid like me, or that the cause
you represent can be aught but hateful to a loyal Wolcott?"
"Betty, Betty! I do beseech you"--
"Nay, we will put entreaty outside the question. A race, I think I said,
Captain Yorke. I will make the stake that self-same bow of
rose-color--if you have kept it so long."
An indignant flush dyed Yorke's face. "So be it," he said briefly, and
in a flash they were off; she, graceful, and almost like a winged bird,
as she sped along; and he, tall, straight, and muscular, with a long,
staying stroke, which impelled Betty's admiration. The distance to the
bridge was a good half mile, and the spectators on the hill presently
perceived the racing pair, and from the cries and shouts which arose she
learned, to her added chagrin, that they were seen, and their trial of
speed would be eagerly followed. On flew Betty, so intent upon reaching
her goal that she never noticed how Yorke crept closer and closer; they
were almost to the bridge, when his voice sounded at her shoulder:--
"You should have the race, sweetheart, but I cannot part with the
ribbon," and with a sudden rush Yorke darted past her and gained the
bridge barely three seconds in advance.
"Forgive me," he had time to whisper, as Betty stood still, with
flashing eyes and half-quivering lip, while they waited for Peter,
Kitty, and Philip Livingston, who had followed them down the course;
"'twas too dear a stake for me to lose." But as the words left his lips,
to his astonishment and delight, with all a child's frankness, Betty
gave him her hand.
"Nay, you won the race fairly, and Betty Wolcott craves your pardon."
"Oh, my eye!" shouted Peter, as he flung himself between them; "'t was
the prettiest race of the season, was it not, Kitty? Do, do try a game
with the rest of us, and I'll be your hurlie myself."
A hurlie, be it known, was a small boy or man who, in the fashion of a
ball-game of the day, propelled the balls along the icy surface of the
pond with a long, sharp-pointed stick, and the race was accorded to
whoever first caught the ball,--often a trial of both speed and
endurance when the course was a long one.
"Are you deserting me, Peter?" put in Kitty playfully; "the other
hurlies are busy with the De Lancey party; we must have two or three at
least."
Yorke moved a step forward; his first impulse was to offer his services
to Kitty, as he had done before, but some fine instinct warned him not
to jeopardize his half-reconciliation with Betty, and before he could
speak, Philip Livingston whistled to a tall, slight lad who was standing
looking at them from the bank close at hand. In response the lad ran
down, leaped on the ice, and said pleasantly,--
"Your pleasure, sir. Did you call me?"
"Can you drive a ball for me?" asked Philip; "if so, I'll promise you a
shilling for an hour of your time."
"Indeed I will," said the boy; "but let me first go tell Jim Bates,
there, who maybe will be returning to Paulus Hook, and I'll just bid him
wait for me over yonder in the tan-yard until you gentlefolks have had
your game."
Off darted the new recruit, and was seen to join a man wearing the wide
hat and somewhat greasy garb of a fisherman, who, after a few words,
nodded assent, and with somewhat slouching gait proceeded leisurely
across the bridge in the direction of the tan-yard referred to. Amid
much laughter the game began; some other acquaintances came down the
bank and joined them, and presently Betty found herself darting over the
ice hither and thither, following Peter's purposely erratic course, and
pursuing the ball, determined this time to outdo Yorke, who followed her
every motion, and whom she again began to tease and laugh at. But to
Yorke anything was better than her scorn or displeasure, and when, by a
lucky stroke and a quick turn of her skates, Betty bent down and
captured the elusive ball, he was the first to raise a shout of
triumph, in which the merry party joined with the heartiness of
good-fellowship and breeding.
It was growing dark and cold as Betty climbed up the bank and seated
herself on a pile of boards, while Peter unstrapped her skates. As she
looked up, she saw Yorke and Philip Livingston talking with the boy who
had been hurlie for Kitty, and it crossed her mind to wonder where Kitty
had vanished. So she rose to her feet and walked leisurely along with
Peter toward the tan-yard and turned the corner of the furnace chimney.
As she did so, she almost stumbled against a man, who drew back
suddenly; on the other side stood Kitty, and Betty distinctly saw a
piece of white paper pass from Kitty's muff into the hand of the
stranger, whom she instantly recognized as the greasy fisherman who had
crossed the bridge half an hour before.