CHAPTER VIII
THE LAST STRAW
No really human girl, especially with the memory of Miss Green,clothed in curl-papers and horror, fresh in her mind, could resistrelating such an experience as that of the night before to herroommate at least. Virginia was really human, and so she toldPriscilla, who was wondering over the lost porch key, first vowing herto eternal secrecy, or, at all events, until it should be revealedwhether or not Miss Green would feel it her duty to report the affair.They might have spared themselves a great deal of wonder and a littleworry had they known that Miss Green, after due deliberation in thesmall hours of the morning, had decided that this was not a case forreport. However, she had not decided at the same time that implicittrust might be placed in this somewhat unusual girl from Wyoming. Shewas still disturbed, and somewhat suspicious, as she recalled theevents of the evening before, and felt that Virginia would "bearwatching."
Breakfast that Saturday morning was a painfully lugubrious meal. Tobegin with, every one was late; and Miss Green's frigid manner reallydid not need the added coolness which she invariably bestowed uponlate comers. Imogene did not appear, sending a headache as an excuse,and Vivian arrived, red-eyed from weeping, and minus a neck-tie. Maryand Anne were unusually silent, Lucile audibly wished for the"Continental Breakfast," and Dorothy openly snubbed Virginia, whohoped, perhaps not tactfully, but certainly genuinely, that Imogenewas not ill. Priscilla and Virginia had come in late, but in goodspirits, having just finished laughing over Miss Green's curl-papers.However, their good spirits waned in this atmosphere, only enlivenedby Miss Wallace's futile attempt at conversation. Moreover, Miss Greenfelt Virginia's gayety very inappropriate under the circumstances, andapparently considered it her duty to extend toward her a cool reserve.
Poor Virginia, who upon awaking had decided to try to forget all thediscomfort of the evening before and be happy again, felt herresolution impossible of fulfillment in this atmosphere; and by thetime breakfast was over (be assured it was a short repast) was asdiscouraged and homesick as the night before. She declined Mary's andAnne's invitation to walk with them and the sad-eyed Vivian to thevillage after Saturday morning's house-cleaning; refused to playtennis with Priscilla and the Blackmore twins (two jolly girls fromHathaway); quite enraged Dorothy by discovering her and Imogene insecret conversation, when she went to find her sweater which Lucilehad borrowed; and at last, completely discouraged, and sick ofeverything, wandered off down the hill by herself, pretending not tohear some girls from King Cottage, who called to her to wait.
On the way she met the postman, who handed her three letters. Shestuffed them in her pocket; and then, for fear of being followed bythe King girls, hurried into the woods by a short cut she had alreadydiscovered, and found her way to the little gray stone chapel. Sheopened the door and went in, but it seemed cold and damp inside, andshe came out again into the sunshine.
Here she was practically sure of being undisturbed, for the girls didnot often visit St. Helen's Retreat on Saturday morning. She sat downon the stone steps and listened to the wind in the pine trees, whichcompletely surrounded the little chapel. Shafts of sunlight fellthrough the branches upon the brown needles beneath. In among thetangled thickets beyond the trees, the birds were gathering to gosouthward. They seemed in a great bustle of preparation. Virginiaspied thrushes and tow-hees, brown thrashers and robins in greatnumbers; also many bluebirds, whose color was not so brilliant as thatof their mountain bluebird at home. The English sparrows, however,were undisturbed by thoughts of moving, and chattered about the eavesof the Retreat, quite lazy and content.
At any other time Virginia would have watched the birds with eagerinterest, creeping through the thickets to observe them, for she was areal little student of their ways, and loved them dearly. But to-daythe world was wrong, and birds were just birds, she toldherself,--nothing more! Besides, she had been treated unjustly andunfairly, and she had a good cause for feeling blue. No one couldblame her--not even Donald, whose words kept coming to her. She wishedDon had never said them--they bothered her!
She drew her letters from her pocket. In a way, she hated to readthem, she said to herself, because they would make her more homesick.But in a very short time curiosity overcame her, and she began to openthem eagerly. Two were from her father and Don, the other from AuntLou in California. She read Aunt Lou's first--saving the best for thelast. Aunt Lou was glad to hear such pleasing reports both from thosein Vermont, and from Miss King. From Grandmother Webster she had beenconvinced that Colonel Standish was a gentleman though she would againwarn Virginia that one could not be too careful. She knew that St.Helen's and her experiences there would surely be the making ofVirginia, etc., etc.
Virginia folded the letter. In a way she could not help feeling gladthat her grandmother and Aunt Nan, and especially Miss King, werepleased with her. Still, if Miss Green told, would Miss Kingunderstand? But it was of no use to worry, and it was in a littlebetter humor that she opened Donald's letter.
He had missed her, he said. Everything had seemed lost without her. Itwas no fun riding alone, and he had been glad when October came, andhe had gone to Colorado. He liked it much better than the East. Thefellows were more his sort, and they rode a lot; but not one of themcould ride better than she.
"I'm mighty glad," the letter ended, "that Mary Williams is in yourcottage. She's a peach, isn't she? Jack's all right, too. He wrote methe other day that maybe he would come to Wyoming another summer.Wouldn't it be great if Mary could visit you then? I'm glad you've gota good room-mate. Don't forget though, you promised not to be a younglady in June!"
Before she opened her father's letter, Virginia felt decidedly better.Wouldn't it be wonderful if Mary could go to Wyoming with Jack?Maybe--of course, not probably, but maybe--Priscilla's father might lether go, too. Dreams of glorious days in the mountains made her eyesshine. She was almost happy again.
Her father's dear fat letter was supplemented by a laboriously writtenone from Jim, and a note--yes, actually a note from William. AndWilliam could write a good hand, without misspelling a word! Jim'sletter told her that the little colt was growing beautifully, and wasthe image of his mother; that he hadn't much minded the branding; andthat Joe sent his best regards and wished to say that the lump in thelittlest collie's throat had quite disappeared. His rheumatism gotworse, he said, with the colder weather, and he read her books a lotfor company. He closed by saying they all missed her worse every day,and by asking her for them all how she liked the saddle, and "how itset"?
William's note told her that he should send by the next mail two setsof rattles, whose former owners he had killed the week before; andthat he had already planted her garden with some perennials which heknew she would like. He would not tell her what they were, as hewanted to surprise her.
She read her father's letter over and over again. It was filled withpride, for he, too, had received a letter from Miss King, and--what wasstranger yet!--actually one from Grandmother Webster, telling of theirpleasure in Virginia. He was glad every day that she was so happy atSt. Helen's. Were she often homesick, he would be troubled; but herhappiness made his loneliness the less.
The fall threshing was over, he said, and the round-up and brandingcompleted. The men were having a much-needed rest. William had notgone to town once since she left, and if he continued in hisdetermination, she would not know him when she came home. Jim, he wassorry to tell her, seemed far from well. The Keiths were also finishedwith the hardest of the fall labor; and they had all decided to rideup the canyon the next Saturday "To-day," thought Virginia--and campfor over Sunday, just for a change. How they wished she and Don werethere to go along!
Virginia folded the letter and jumped to her feet. An idea had seizedher, dispelling the few remaining blues, for to a nature like her owna new idea is often a cure-all. Why had she not thought of it before?She would ride to-day, just as they were doing at home. Not yet hadshe used her new saddle, but really there had been little opportunity.The days had been t
oo filled with lessons and getting acquainted toallow much time for riding; and they had now become so short that itwas impossible after supper. The first two Saturdays had been takenup--one by a tennis tournament, the other by the Senior and Juniorbasket-ball game--and this was only the third.
But to-day she would ride. She would hurry home, learn herlessons--yes, she even thought she might learn her Latin--and then afterluncheon have the man from the village stable bring up the horse hehad recommended at a previous interview.
The atmosphere at luncheon was less chilled. Mary, Anne, and Vivianbrought from the village the glad tidings that the "Forget-me-not"would be open all winter, and serve hot chocolate and cakes instead ofsundaes; Priscilla and Lucile had won four sets from the Blackmoretwins; and Virginia's spirits were certainly improved. Only Imogeneand Dorothy, who had been together all the morning, preserved, the onea haughty, the other an embarrassed, silence.
Virginia's announcement that she was to ride brought forth greatinterest on the part of the girls, and solicitude on the part of MissGreen.
"You have permission, I presume, Virginia?"
"Oh, certainly, Miss Green. I've talked with Miss King all about it,"answered Virginia, striving to be polite. Later, when she heard MissGreen supplementing over the telephone her own directions to thestable-man, and cautioning him to bring the safest horse in thestable, she tried not to mind.
The horse arrived. To The Hermitage girls, and several from Hathaway,who had come over to watch the proceedings, and who, if they hadridden at all, had mounted nothing larger than ponies, he was a hugebeast. They watched with great interest while Virginia herself threwacross his broad back her shining new saddle, and tightened thegirths.
"What a queer saddle!"
"What's that thing in front, Virginia?"
"The saddle-horn."
"Aren't you afraid you'll fall against it and hurt you?"
Virginia laughed. "Oh, no!"
"See the 'V. H.' on the brass, Anne. Some style to you, Virginia!"
"What's the horse's name, Mr. Hanly?" asked Virginia, preparing tomount.
"Napoleon Bonaparte."
The girls laughed. Virginia swung herself into the saddle. To theadmiring girls it seemed as though she had not touched the stirrup atall. She gathered her reins in one hand.
"Remember, you're to try him, Priscilla, when I get back," she called,riding away.
From one of the lower windows of the Hermitage, some, one cleared herthroat.
"Use extreme caution, Virginia," some one called, but Virginia wasalready out of hearing.
She had intended to ride down to the gate-posts, and then farther outinto the country on the road which led away from Hillcrest. But by thetime she came in sight of the stone posts she had quite decidedlychanged her mind. Napoleon Bonaparte was hopeless! If he had not soannoyed her she might have laughed at his combination of gaits. Histrot was torture; and it was only by the utmost urging that one couldprevail upon him to canter. This urging, Virginia discovered to hersurprise, was most effective when accomplished by yanking upon thereins, a proceeding which a Western horse would not have borne at all.His periods of willingness to canter were of short duration, for whichthe rider at the end of the period usually felt thankful. Moreover, heinvariably stumbled when going down hill; and, to cap the climax, andadd the finishing touch, he had the asthma, and, after a few momentsof speed, sounded like a freight train.
The gate-posts reached, Virginia was resolved upon one thing! Shecould not ride Napoleon! She would ride to the village stable and seeif a change were possible. She turned Napoleon's heavy head, and rodeon, wondering what Donald would say if he could see her steed, andgreatly hoping that the village stable contained some improvement.
Mr. Hanly, who had driven down with the mail-carrier just ahead ofher, met her at the stable door.
"Anything the trouble, miss?"
Virginia for the moment ignored his question.
"Mr. Hanly, how old is Napoleon?"
Mr. Hanly calculated. "About eighteen, miss."
"Eighteen!" cried Virginia. "Then I don't wonder! Why, Mr. Hanly, hecan't go at all. He hasn't a gait to his name! Besides, he wheezesterribly. Has he the asthma?"
Mr. Hanly explained that for years Napoleon had been afflicted with achronic cold; but that he had been in his day a good saddle-horse, andsafe.
"Oh, he's perfectly safe, Mr. Hanly! He's too safe! But, you see, I'veridden all my life, and I can't ride him. I really can't! Haven't yousomething else?"
Mr. Hanly considered. Yes, he had a saddle-horse belonging to aHillcrest gentleman, who was away at present, but who had left wordthat his horse might be exercised. Still, he would hardly venture tosaddle him for Virginia. He was safe enough, but inclined to take thebit in his teeth. No, he would not dare to allow her to have him.Still, she might look at him if she liked.
Virginia swung herself off Napoleon, and went in the stable to viewthe horse described. He was assuredly not in the same class asNapoleon. She knew by his build that he was a good saddle-horse. Shemust have him, she thought to herself. Fifteen minutes later, thepersuaded, if not convinced, Mr. Hanly was somewhat dubiously removingthe saddle from poor, perspiring Napoleon, and strapping it, withVirginia's help, on the back of the black horse.
In another moment Virginia was up and away, leaving Mr. Hanly, who waswatching her, somewhat reassured in the doorway.
This was something like riding, she told herself, as she canteredalong the country road. The black horse, though nothing like her ownPedro, was still a good horse. He could even singlefoot, and did nothave the asthma.
She rode miles into the country beyond St. Helen's. The afternoon wasperfect--one of those autumn afternoons when the summer lingers, loathto go; when the leaves drift slowly down, and the air is filled withan unseen chorus; and when all about an Unseen Presence makes itselffelt, and causes one to feel in harmony with the God of theOut-of-doors.
Virginia's cheeks were rosy red; her hair was flying in the wind, forshe had lost her ribbon, and had long since stuffed her cap in herpocket; her eyes were glowing with happiness. She reached the FiveMile Crossways and turned back toward home. Then the black horseshowed his paces. He fairly flew over the road, Virginia delighting inhis every motion. One mile--two--three--he galloped furiously. They werewithin a mile of St. Helen's. Virginia sought to quiet him, but he wason the homeward way, and he knew it. They rounded a curve, still onthe gallop, when some rods ahead, Virginia espied a lone figure in agray shawl. It was Miss Green. Virginia strove with all her might topull the black horse into a walk so that she might speak, but he didnot choose to walk; and it was with a considerably lessened, but, tothe startled Miss Green, furious gallop that they passed, Virginiawaving her hand as her only means of salutation. She heard MissGreen's peremptory and horrified command for her to stop, but shecould not heed it. Her mind was at that time completely occupied withwondering if the horse would willingly turn into the avenue leading toSt. Helen's. Fortunately he did, perhaps imagining it for a newentrance to his stable, and Virginia disappeared from sight among thepines.
"Some rods ahead, Virginia espied a lone figure in agray shawl."]
It is safe to say that Miss Harriet Green never before ascended thehill leading to St. Helen's in such a short space of time. When shearrived, quite out of breath, at The Hermitage, Priscilla was justpreparing to mount the black steed, before the eyes of an interestedaudience. She waved her hand as a signal for operations to cease untilshe might find breath to speak. Then, after clearing her throatvigorously:
"Priscilla," she said, "dismount immediately. Virginia, tie thatdangerous animal to the hitching-post. Mary, telephone Mr. Hanly tocome at once and take him away. Virginia, you will now walk with me toMiss King's office!"
The girls listened mystified. What had Virginia done? Virginia, moredazed than they, obediently followed Miss Green, who, in stonysilence, crossed the campus, and into Miss King's gold and brown room.Miss King sat by the western window, a b
ook in her hand. She smiled asthey entered, a smile that died away at the sight of Miss Green'sface.
"What is it?" she asked.
Miss Green spoke, acidly and at length. Virginia, standing by thewindow, listened, still dazed, to this tale of her willfuldisobedience, her fool-hardiness, her cruelty to animals, her refusalto stop at a command from her teacher. When Miss Green had finished,she turned to Virginia, as though expecting a denial, or anexplanation, but Virginia did not speak. Miss King did, however--veryquietly.
"You did quite right, Miss Green, in coming to me, since you did notunderstand matters--quite right. You see, as regards horseback riding,I left the choice of a horse entirely to Virginia, because we know solittle of horses, and I know she is thoroughly familiar with them. Iam sure she will always be careful of my desires, which I have fullydescribed to her. Virginia, if you will remain a few minutes, I willtalk this matter over with you."
Miss Green left the room, with feelings quite indescribable. Virginia,still in khaki, with disorderly hair and a heightened color in hercheeks, remained with Miss King. For half an hour they talked togetherof books and lessons, of Thanksgiving and Vermont, of Wyoming and themountains. Strangely enough, except for the briefest explanation ofVirginia's inability to obey Miss Green, they did not speak ofhorseback riding; but when Virginia left she was far happier than whenshe had entered.
As for Miss King, she sat alone in the brown and gold room and watchedthe sun go down behind the hills. She seemed thoughtful--troubled,perhaps. By and by she rose from her seat by the window, went to thedesk, and wrote a letter. Then she returned and sat in the twilight.
"Harriet has been with me a long time," she said to herself at last."But neither because of her superior Latin instruction, nor for thesake of our old friendship, can I any longer allow my girls in TheHermitage to lack a home atmosphere. Perhaps, after all, Athens needsHarriet. I may be doing the Ancient World a favor, who knows?" And thelittle, gray-haired lady smiled to herself in the twilight.
The Girl from the Big Horn Country Page 8
