Peggy Stewart at School Part 9

CHAPTER VIII

A RIDING LESSON

In spite of the Sturgeon's protests that "it was _most_ impolitic to establish a precedent in the school," Tzaritza became a duly enrolled member of the establishment, and from that moment slept at Peggy's door, a welcome inmate of Columbia Heights. Welcome at least, to all but one person. Miss Sturgis loathed all animals.

In the ensuing weeks Peggy and Polly slipped very naturally into their places. In her own cla.s.s and in the West Wing Natalie Vincent had always been the acknowledged leader, for, even though the daughter of the Princ.i.p.al, not the slightest partiality was ever shown her and she was obliged to conform as strictly to the rules as any girl in the school.

She was full of fun, eternally in harmless mischief, and, of course, eternally being taken to task for her misdeeds.

By the usual order of the attraction of opposites Marjorie Terry and Natalie had formed a warm friends.h.i.+p. Marjorie the quiet, reserved, rather shrinking girl from Seattle. She never joined in any of Natalie's wild pranks, but on the other hand was a safe confidant, and if she could not follow her more spontaneous friend's lead, she certainly never balked or betrayed her. The other girls had christened them Positive and Negative and they certainly lived up to their names.

The girls whom Peggy and Polly had discussed so frankly the night after their arrival all roomed in the West Wing. Stella in her own large, handsome room, for her father was manager of an immense railroad system in the middle West. Rosalie Breeze and oh "cursed spite!" Isabel Boylston--"_Is_-a-bel," as she p.r.o.nounced it,--roomed together and squabbled incessantly. At least, Rosalie did the squabbling, _Is_-a-bel affected the superior, self-righteous air which acted upon Rosalie's peppery temper as a red rag upon a bull. It was Miss Sturgis, of course, who had advised placing them together. Isabel was a great favorite of Miss Sturgis, and Rosalie was the reverse.

Mrs. Vincent had not entirely approved the arrangement, but the school was unusually crowded this year and two of the girls' parents had insisted upon single rooms for their daughters. Juno Gibson, from New York, had announced very positively that unless she could have a room to herself in Columbia Heights School she would pack her three trunks and go elsewhere, and Papa Gibson was not in the habit of disputing his daughter's will or wishes unless they conflicted with his own. In this matter he didn't care a straw, so Miss Juno was not compelled to have "a dozen girls eternally under foot and ruining my clothes by crowding the closets full of theirs."

Lily Pearl, "Tootsy-wootsy," as her companions had dubbed her, roomed with Helen Gwendolyn Doolittle, "Cutie," and a sweet, sentimental pair they made, though Helen spent every possible moment with the latest object of her adoration, Stella Drummond, for whom she had instantly conceived an overwhelming infatuation; a p.r.o.nounced school-girl "crush."

Of the other girls in the school only a pa.s.sing glimpse need be given.

Sat.u.r.day afternoons were always perfectly free at Columbia Heights, and the girls could do practically as they chose. There was one rule, or rather the absence of it, which had appealed very strongly to Mrs.

Harold and gone a long way toward biasing her choice in favor of the school. If the girls wished to go into the city--that is, the girls in the Soph.o.m.ore, Junior and Senior grades--to do shopping or make calls, they were entirely at liberty to do so unattended by a teacher, though Mrs. Vincent must, of course, know where they were going. With very rare exceptions this rule had always worked to perfection. The very fact that they might do as they chose, and were put upon their honor to uphold the reputation and dignity of the school, usually acted as an incentive to them to do so, whereas the eternal surveillance and suspicion of the average school acts as a mighty inspiration to circ.u.mvent all regulations.

Another pleasant feature of Sat.u.r.day afternoons were the long riding excursions through the beautiful surrounding country, with a groom accompanying the party and with one of the girls acting as riding mistress. Besides Peggy and Polly, Stella was the only girl who had her own horse at Columbia Heights, the others riding those provided by the school. They were good horses and the riding-master, Albert Dawson, was supposed to be a good man, conscientious, painstaking, careful. He was conventional to a degree. He taught the English seat, the English rise, the English gait, and his horses were all docked and hogged in the English fas.h.i.+on. Dawson would doubtless have taught them to drop their H's as he himself did, had he been able to do so.

When Shashai and Silver Star arrived upon the scene, manes and forelocks long and silky as a girl's hair, tails almost sweeping the ground and flowing free, poor Dawson nearly died of outraged conventions, though he was forced to admit that the Columbia Heights stables held no horseflesh to compare with these thoroughbreds.

"But oh, my 'eart, look at that mess o' 'air and mind their paces. They lopes along for all the world like them blooming little jackals we used to 'ave bout in Hindia when I was in 'is Lords.h.i.+p's service. They'd ruin my reputation if they was to be seen in the Row," he deplored to Jess, who was grooming his pets as carefully as old Mammy would have brushed Peggy's hair.

Jess gave a derisive snort. He had lived a good many more years than Dawson and his experience with horseflesh was an exceptionally wide one.

"Well, yo'-all needn't be a troublin' yo' sperrits 'bout de gait ob dese hyer horses. Dey kin set de pace fo' all dat truck yonder, an' don' yo'

fergit dat fac'. Yo's got some fairly-middlin'-good ones hyer," and Jess nodded toward the stalls, "but dey's just de onery cla.s.s, not de quality. No-siree. Now, honey, don' yo' go fer ter git perjectin' none cause I'se praisin' yo' to yo' face. Tain't good manners fer ter take notice when yo's praised. Yo' mistiss 'll tell yo' dat," admonished Jess, as Shashai reached forward and plucked his cap from his head. "Yo'

gimme dat cap, yo' hyer me!"

But Shashai's teeth held it firmly as he tossed it playfully up and down, to Jess' secret delight in his pet's cleverness, though he outwardly affected strong disapproval, after the manner of his race.

The horses were like playful, fearless children with him, and Jess was bursting with pride at the result of his handiwork. And certainly, it was worth looking upon, for no finer specimens of faultlessly groomed horseflesh could have been found in the land.

"Yes, but think of the figure I'll be cutting when I take my young ladies for a turn in the park or on the havenue," protested Dawson.

"Couldn't ye just knot hup them tails a bit, and mebbe braid that fly-away mane down along the crest? If I'm bordered to take my young ladies into the park or the city this hafternoon, I swear I'll hexpire of mortification with them 'orses."

But this was too much for Jess. Dawson had at last touched the match, and he caught the full force of Jess's wrath:

"Sp-sp-spire ob--ob mortification! Shamed ob dese hyer hosses! Frettin'

cause yo's gotter 'scort a pair of animals what's got pedigrees dat reach back ter Noah's Ark eanemost! Why, dey blood kin make you-all's look lak mullen sap, an' dey manners, even if dey ain' nothin' but hosses, jist natch.e.l.ly mak' yo' light clean outer sight. Sho'! Go long, chile! Yo' gotter live some. Dar, it done struck five bells--_dat_ mean ten-thirty, unerstan'--an' you's gotter git half-a-dozen ob yo'

bob-tailed nags ready fo' de ridin' lessons yo' tells me yo' gives de yo'ng ladies at _six_ bells,--_dat's_ eleben o'clock,--Sattidy mawnin's.

I's pintedly cur'us fer ter see dem lessons, _I_ is. Lak 'nough befo' de mawnin's ober _yo'll_ take a lesson yo'-self," and Jess ended his tirade by throwing an arm across each silky neck and saying to his charges:

"Now, come 'long wid ole Jess, honeys. Yo's gwine enter high sa.s.siety presen'ly, and yo's gotter do Severndale credit. Yo' hyer me?"

Poor Dawson was decidedly perturbed in his mind. Hitherto he had been the autocrat of "form and fas.h.i.+on," the absolute dictator of the proper style. Under his ordering, horses had been bought for the school, cropped, docked and trimmed on the most approved lines, until nothing but a hopeless, forlorn stubble indicated that they had once boasted manes or forelocks, and poor little affairs like whisk-brooms served for tails, or rather did not serve, especially in fly-time. But that was a minor consideration. Fas.h.i.+on's dictates were obeyed.

With the aid of his grooms Dawson soon had five horses saddled and bridled, curbs rattling and saddles creaking. There were only two cross saddles. Then he turned to Jess.

"Ye'd better be gettin' them hanimals ready, for I dare say I've to give the young ladies their lessons too."

"Hi-ya!" exploded Jess. Then added: "Come 'long, babies, an' git dressed up. Yo' all's gwine git yo' summons up yonder presen'ly."

Shashai and Star obediently walked over to the bar upon which their light headstalls hung, sniffed at them with long audible breaths, then each selecting his own carried it to Jess in his teeth.

"Well, Hi'll be blowed!" murmured Dawson.

Jess pretended not to notice, but saying unconcernedly: "Dat's all right. Now put 'em on lak gentlemen," he held one in each hand toward his pets. They took the bits in their mouths, slipped their heads into the headstalls and then waited for Jess to buckle the throat-latches, for that was a trifle beyond them. "Now fotch yo' saddles," ordered Jess, pleased to the point of foolishness. The horses went to the saddle blocks, selected their saddles, lifted them by the little pommel and carried them to Jess like obedient children.

No mother was ever more gratified than Jess. "Now honeys, yo' stan'

right whar yo's at twell yo' summons come from over yander. Yo's gwine hyar it all right," and with this parting admonition to good behavior, Jess went unconcernedly about his business of putting away the articles of his pets' toilets.

"They'll be a-boltin' and raisin' the very mischief if you leave them alone," warned Dawson.

"What dat yo' say? I reckons yo' ain' got _yo'_ horses trained like we-all back yonder got _ours_. Paht ob dey eddications must a-been neglected ef dey gotter be tied up ter keep 'em whar yo' wants 'em fer ter _stay_ at. Yo' need'n worry 'bout Shashai and Star. _Dey's_ got sense."

Dawson vouchsafed no reply. One must be tolerant with garrulous old n.i.g.g.e.rs, but he'd keep an "hey on them 'orses" all the same.

The riding school used in stormy weather and the circle for fine, were not far from the house. At five minutes before eleven the girls who were to have their Sat.u.r.day morning lessons prior to the ride in the afternoon, went over to the school and an electric bell notified Dawson that his young ladies awaited their mounts. With due decorum and self-importance he and Henry, the groom, led the horses from the stable, Dawson calling over his shoulder:

"You'd better come on with your Harabs, I can't be waitin' with my lessons."

"We-all'll come 'long when we's bid," was Jess' cryptic retort.

Dawson scorned to reply, but mounted on his big dapple-gray horse, Duke, body bent forward and elbows out, creaked away. When he reached the big circle where a group of girls stood upon the platform for mounting, Peggy and Polly, in their trim little divided skirts, looked inquiringly for Shashai and Silver Star. Peggy asked:

"Are our horses ready, Dawson?"

"Yes, Miss, I believe so, Miss, but your man seemed to think I'd best let you ring, or do--well, I don't rightly know _what_ 'ee hexpected you to do, Miss. But 'ee didn't let me bring the 'orses, beggin' your pardon, Miss."

"Oh, that's all right, Dawson; Jess is just silly about the horses and us. You mustn't mind his little ways. It's only because he loves us all so dearly. Besides it isn't necessary for anyone to bring them. I'll call them," and placing a little silver bo's'n's whistle to her lips Peggy "piped to quarters." It was instantly answered by two loud neighs and the thud of rapid hoofbeats as Shashai and Silver Star came sweeping up the broad driveway from the stables, heads tossing, manes waving and tails floating out like streamers. The girls with Peggy and Polly clapped their hands and shrieked with delight.

"One bell, Shashai! Halt, Star!" cried Peggy and Polly in a breath.

The splendid animals came straight to them, stopped instantly, dropped to their knees and touched the ground with their soft muzzles in sign of obeisance. The girls all scrambled off the platform as one individual, riding lesson and everything else utterly forgotten; here was a new order of things. .h.i.therto utterly undreamed of in the school. It had been a case of "pigs is pigs" or "horses is horses" with them. That the animals they were learning to ride _a la mode_ might be something more than mere delightful machines of transportation had never entered their heads.

"Oh, how did you make them do it? Will you show us? Will any horse come if you know how to call him? Can they all do that? Didn't it take you forever and ever to teach them? Aren't they beauties! What are they trying to do now?" were the questions rattling like hail about Peggy's and Polly's ears.

For answer Peggy opened a little linen bag which she carried, handing to Polly three lumps of sugar and taking three out for her own pet. The horses crunched them with a relish, their light snaffle bits acting as only slight impediments to their mastication.

"Do you always give them sugar? Oh, please give us some for our horses,"