IN OCTOBER'S DAYS
September slipped by, a lonely month for Peggy as contrasted with
August. At first she did not fully realize how lonely, but as the days
went by she missed her father's companionship more and more. Formerly,
after one of his brief visits she had taken up her usual occupations,
fallen back into the old order of things, and been happy in her dumb
companions. But this time she could not settle down to anything. She was
restless, and as nearly unhappy as it was possible for Peggy Stewart to
be. She could not understand it. Poor little Peggy, how could she
analyze it? How reason out that her life, dearly as she loved it, was an
unnatural one for a young girl, and, consequently, an unsatisfactory
one.
Dr. Llewellyn was troubled. Tender, wise and devoted to the girl, he had
long foreseen this crisis. It was all very well for the child Peggy to
run wild over fields and woodland, to ride, drive, paddle, sail, fish or
do as the whim of the moment prompted, happy in her horses and her dogs.
Mammy and Harrison were fully capable of looking to her corporal needs
and he could look to her mental and spiritual ones, and did do so.
Situated as Severndale was, remote from the other estates upon the river
and never brought into social touch with its neighbors, Peggy was hardly
known. When Neil Stewart came home on leave he was only too glad to get
away from the social side of his life in the service, and the weeks
spent with his little girl at Severndale had always been the delight of
his life. They took him into a new world all his own in which the small
vexations of the outer service world were entirely forgotten.
And how he looked forward to those visits. He rarely spoke of them to
his friends, mentioned Severndale to very few and hardly a dozen knew of
Peggy's existence. It was a peculiar attitude, but Neil Stewart had
never been reconciled to the cruel fate which had taken from him the
beautiful wife he had loved so devotedly, and the thought of guests at
Severndale without her there to entertain them as she had been
accustomed to, was peculiarly abhorent to him. He became almost morbid
on the subject and did not realize that he was growing selfish in his
sorrow and making Peggy pay the penalty.
But something in the way of an awakening had come to him during his
recent visit, and it had shocked him. The child Peggy was a child no
longer but a very charming young girl on the borderland of womanhood. In
a year or two she would be a young woman and entitled to her place in
the social world. Poor Neil Stewart, more than once upon retiring to his
bedroom after one of his delightful evenings spent with Peggy,
desperately ran his fingers through his curly hair and asked aloud:
"What under the sun AM I to do? I can't leave that child vegetating here
any longer, yet who will come to live with her or where shall I send
her?"
But the question was still unanswered when he left Severndale and now
Peggy was beginning to experience something of her father's unrest.
October came. Her work with Dr. Llewellyn was resumed. Each Sunday she
drove into Annapolis to old St. Ann's with Harrison; a modest,
unobtrusive little figure who attended the service and slipped away
again almost unnoticed. Indeed, if given a thought at all she was
vaguely supposed to be some connection of the eminently respectable
elderly woman accompanying her. Harrison was a rather stately imposing
body in her black taffeta, or black broadcloth, as the season demanded.
People did not inquire. It was not their affair. The rector on one or
two occasions had spoken to Harrison, but Harrison had been on her
dignity. She replied politely but did not encourage intimacy and, if the
truth must be confessed, Dr. Smith, rather piqued, decided that he had
done his duty and would make no further advances. This had happened some
time before the beginning of this story.
In October, as usual, a number of colts were disposed of. Some were sold
to people in the adjacent towns or counties, others sent to remote
purchasers who had seen them in their baby days, followed their up-
bringing and training, and waited patiently for them to arrive at the
stipulated age, four years, before becoming their property. No colt was
ever sold under four years of age. This was an inviolable law of
Severndale, mutually agreed upon by Dr. Llewellyn, the business manager,
Shelby, the foreman, and Peggy, the mistress.
"Ain't going to have no half-baked stock sent off THIS place if I have
the say-so," had been Shelby's fiat. "I've seen too many fine colts
mined by being BRUCK too young and then sold to fools who don't seem to
sense that a horse's backbone's like gristle 'fore he's turned three.
Then they load him down fit to kill him, or harness him in a way no
horse could stand, or drive him off his legs, and, when he's played out,
they get back at the man who sold him to them, and like as not there's a
lawsuit afoot that the price of the colt four times over couldn't
square, to say nothing of a reputation NO stock-farm can afford to
have."
Shelby's sense was certainly very sound horse-sense and was rigidly
abided by. Consequently, the colts which left Severndale were in the
pride and glory of their young horsehood, and this year they were a most
promising lot. There were eleven to be disposed of, and, thanks to
Peggy's care and training, as fine a bunch of horseflesh as could be
found in the land. She had trained--not broken, she could not tolerate
that word--every one and each knew his or her name and came at Peggy's
call as a child, loving and obeying her implicitly. Among them were two
exceptionally beautiful creatures--a splendid chestnut with a white star
in the middle of his forehead, and a young filly, half-sister to the
chestnut and little Boy. The chestnut was called Silver Star, the filly
Columbine, for the singular gentleness of her disposition. She was a
golden bay, slender and lithe as a fawn, with great fawn-like brown eyes
full of gentleness and love for all, and for Peggy in particular. She
had been sold, under the usual conditions during the previous year and
was soon to be sent to her new home.
One morning, the second week in October, Peggy opened a letter which
held unusual interest for her. It was from a lady whose home was in
Wilmot Hall in Annapolis. Wilmot Hall was the hotel near the Naval
Academy and mostly patronized by the officers and their families. The
letter was from the wife of a naval officer who wished either to hire or
purchase a riding horse for her niece who would spend the winter with
her. She stated very explicitly that the horse must be well broken
("Yes, broken!" fairly snorted Peggy. "Broken! I wonder if she would
want a literally 'broken' horse? Why will they never say trained!") and
gentle, as her niece had ridden very little. The letter then went on to
ask if Mrs. Harold might call some day and hour agreed upon. But what
amused Peggy most, and caused her to laugh aloud as she took a spoonful
of luscious sliced peaches, was the manner in which the letter was
addressed.
Old Jerome who was serving her in the pretty delft breakfast-room took
an old retainer's privilege to ask:
"What 'musin' you, honey-chile?"
"Didn't know I was an esquire, did you, Jerome? Well I am, because this
letter says so. It is addressed to M. C. Stewart, Esq. As I am the only
M. C. Stewart I must be the esquire to boot. Wonder what the lady will
think when I sign myself Margaret C. Stewart," and Peggy's silvery laugh
filled the room.
"Don' yo' mind what dey calls yo', baby. How dey gwine know yo's our
young mist'ess? Don' yo' let dat triflin' trebble yo' pretty haid," said
the faithful old soul, fearful lest his mistress' pride might be
touched, and hastening to serve the second course of her breakfast in
his best "quality style."
"It doesn't trouble me even a little bit, Jerome. It's just funny. I'm
going to answer that letter right after breakfast, and I wish I could
see my correspondent's face when she finds that her 'esquire' is one of
her own sex. But I'll never dare let her guess I'm just a girl."
"Jes' a gurl! Jes' a gurl," sputtered Jerome. "Kyant yo' just give her a
hint dat yo's a yo'ng lady and we-all's mistiss?"
"'Fraid not, Jerome. She will have to learn that when she comes out here
to see Silver Star, if she really comes. I'd let her have Columbine if
she were not sold. If that girl, who ever she is, could not ride
Columbine she would fall out of a rocking chair. But Star is a darling
and never cuts pranks unless Shashai sets him a bad example. I fear
Shashai will never forget his colt tricks," and Shashai's mistress
wagged her pretty head doubtfully.
"Shas'ee's all right, Miss Peggy. Don' yo' go fer ter 'line him. When I
sees yo' two a kitin' way over de fiel's an' de fences, I says ter ma
sef, Gawd-a-mighty, Je'ome, yo's got one pintedly hansome yo'ng mistess
AN' she kin ride for fair."
"And that same young mistress is in a fair way to be spoiled by your
flattery that is pretty certain," laughed Peggy, rising from the
breakfast table and gathering up the pile of letters she had been
reading.
"Huh, Huh. Spiled nothin'," protested Jerome as she disappeared into the
adjoining library.
Seating herself at her very business-like desk she wrote in a clear,
angular hand:
Severndale, Round Bay Station.
October 20, 19--
Mrs. G. F. Harold,
Wilmot Hall,
Annapolis, Md.
Dear Madam:
Your favor of October eighteenth has been duly received and contents
noted. In reply would say that I shall be very glad to have you call and
inspect our stock.
We have one colt, a four-year old, sired by the Emperor, dam the
Empress, which I shall be glad to show you. There are also others, but I
am considering pedigree, disposition and gait since you state that you
wish a horse for an inexperienced rider.
Would suggest that you run out to Round Bay Station, via B. A. Short
Line R. R. on Saturday, October the twenty-third, 1.30 P. M. weather
permitting, where I shall meet and convey you to Severndale.
Awaiting your pleasure I am
Very truly yours,
Margaret C. Stewart
How little it often requires to change our whole future. Little did
Peggy guess as she wrote that letter in Dr. Llewellyn's most approved
form, that it was destined to entirely revolutionize her life, introduce
her to a hitherto unknown world and round out her future in a manner
beyond the fondest hopes of "Daddy Neil."
This is a big world of little things.
The letter went upon its way and in the course of the morning Peggy
almost forgot it.
At ten o'clock Dr. Llewellyn came for the regular morning lessons. If
these were a little unusual for a girl of Peggy's age she was certainly
none the worse for her very practical knowledge of mathematics, her
ability to conduct correctly the business side of the estate, for upon
this, as the business manager, good Dr. Llewellyn insisted, and if that
bonny, well-poised, level little head sometimes grew weary over
investments, and interest, and profits and losses, and nestled down
confidingly upon his shoulder, the subjects were none the less fully
digested, and Peggy knew to a dollar, as he did, whence her income was
derived and to what use it was put.
Then, too, Dr. Llewellyn in his love for the classics made them a fairy
world for the girl and the commingling of the practical with the ideal
maintained the balance.
When one o'clock came dinner was served and after that Dr. Llewellyn
went his way and Peggy hurried off to her beloved horses.
On this day Columbine was to bid good-bye to Severndale. As Peggy
entered the big airy stable with its row upon row of scrupulously neat
box stalls, for no other sort was permitted in Severndale, Columbine
greeted her from one of them, as though asking: "Why am I kept mewed up
in here while all my companions are enjoying their daily liberty out
yonder?"
Peggy opened the gate and entered the stall. The beautiful creature
nestled to her like a petted child.
"Oh, my bonny one, my bonny one, how can I send you away?" asked Peggy
softly. "Will they be good to you out yonder? Will they understand what
a prize they have got? Washington is far away and so big and so
fashionable, they tell me. It would break my heart to have you misused."
The filly nickered softly.
"I am going to send a little message with you. If they read it they will
surely pay heed to it."
She drew from the pocket of her blouse a little package. It was not over
an inch wide or three long, and was carefully sealed in a piece of oil
silk. Parting the thick, luxuriant mane, she tied her missive securely
underneath. When the silky hair fell back in place the little message
was completely concealed. Peggy clasped her arms about the filly's neck,
kissed the soft muzzle and said:
"Good-bye, dear. I'll never forget you and I wonder if I shall ever hear
of you or see you again?"
Her eyes were full of tears as she left the stable. Two hours later
Columbine was led from her happy home. What later befell her we will
learn in a future volume of Peggy Stewart. Meanwhile we must follow
Peggy's history.
On the following Saturday, in the golden glow of an October afternoon,
with the hills a glory of color and the air as soft as wine, Peggy drove
Comet and Meteor, her splendid carriage horses, to the Bound Bay station
to meet Mrs. Harold and her niece. Tzaritza bounded along beside the
surrey and old Jess, the coachman of fifty years, sat beside his young
mistress, almost bursting with pride as he watched the skill with which
she handled the high-spirited animals, for Jess had taught her to drive
when she was so tiny that he had to hold her upon his lap, and keep the
little hands within the grasp of his big black ones.
Leaving the horses in his care she stepped upon the little platform
which did primitive duty as a station, to await the arrival of the
electric car which could already be heard humming far away up the line.
As her guests stepped from the car she advanced to meet them, saying as
she extended her hand to Mrs. Harold:
"This is Mrs. Harold, I reckon. I am Peggy Stewart. I am glad to meet
you."
There was not the least hesitation or self-consciousness and the frank
smile which accompanied the words revealed all her pretty, even teeth.
"I got your message and I am right glad to welcome you to Severndale."
The lady looked a trifle bewildered. She had expected to meet the owner
of Severndale, or, certainly, a mature woman. Her correspondence had, it
is true, been with a Margaret C. Stewart, whom she assumed to be Mr.
Stewart's wife or some relative. Intuitively Peggy grasped the
situation, but kept a perfectly sober face.
"I am very glad to come," said her guest, and added: "This is my niece,
Polly Howland."
"It's nice to see and know you. I don't see many girls of my own age.
Will you come to the surrey?" and she indicated with a graceful motion
of her hand the carriage in waiting just beyond. Mrs. Harold and her
niece followed their guide.
Old Jess made a sweeping bow. He must do the honors properly. Peggy
helped her guests into the rear seat, then sprang lightly into the front
one, drew on a pair of chamois gloves, and taking the reins from Jess,
gave a low, clear whistle. Instantly Tzaritza bounded up from beneath
some shrubbery where she had lain hidden, and cavorting to the horses'
heads made playful snaps at their muzzles. The next second they had
reared upon their hind legs. Mrs. Harold gave a little cry of terror and
Polly laid hold of the side of the surrey. Peggy flashed an amused,
dazzling smile over her shoulder at them as she said reassuringly:
"Don't be frightened. Down, Tzaritza. Steady, my beauties."
At her words the beautiful span settled down as quiet as lambs and swung
into a gait which whirled the surrey along the picturesque, woodland
road at a rate not to be despised, while Peggy drove with the master-
hand of experience. Indeed she seemed to guide more by words than reins,
or some perfectly understood signal to the splendid creatures which
arched their necks, or laid back an ear to catch each low spoken word.
For a time Peggy's guests were too absorbed in watching her marvelous
skill and almost uncanny power over her horses to make any comment. Then
the young girl broke into a perfect ecstasy of delight as she cried:
"Oh, how do you do it? How beautiful they are and what a superb dog. It
is a Russian wolfhound, isn't it?"
"Yes, she is a wolfhound. But I don't quite understand. Do what?" and
Peggy glanced back questioningly.
"Why drive like that. Make them obey you so perfectly."
"Oh! Why I reckon it is because I have driven all my life. I can't
remember when I haven't, and I love and understand them so well. That is
all there is to it, I think. They will do almost anything for me. You
see I was here when they were born and they have known me from the very
first. That makes a lot of difference. And I have a great deal to do
about the paddock. I superintend it. The horses are never afraid of me
and if they don't know the meaning of fear one can do almost anything
with them,"
How simple it was all said. Mrs. Harold was more and more puzzled. The
drive was longer than she had expected it to be and she had ample time
to observe her young hostess.
"And your mother or aunt, whom I infer is my correspondent, shall I meet
her at Severndale!"
"My mother is not living, Mrs. Harold, and I have no own aunt; only an
aunt by marriage, the widow of Daddy's only brother, but I have never
seen her."
"Then I am at a loss to understand with whom I have been corresponding
about a wonderful horse called Silver Star. Someone who signs her
letters Margaret C. Stewart, and who evidently knows what she is writing
about, too, for she writes to the point and has told me a dozen things
which no one but an experienced business woman would think of telling.
Yet you tell me there is neither a Mrs. nor Miss Stewart at Severndale."
"I am afraid I am the only Miss Stewart at Severndale, though I am never
called Miss Stewart. I'm just Miss Peggy to the help, and Peggy to my
friends. But, of course, when I write business letters I have to sign my
full name."
"You write business letters. Do you mean to tell me you wrote those
letters'?"
"I'm the only Margaret Stewart," answered Peggy, her eyes twinkling.
"But here we are at Severndale."
The span made a sharp turn and sped along a beautiful avenue over-arched
by golden beeches and a moment later swept up to a stately old colonial
mansion which must have looked out over the reaches of Round Bay for
many generations.