stewed quince, elderberry wine,—and a romantic road to ride over."
"I like it."
Frank opened a discussion on fishing; Laura and I withdrew, and went to the window-seat.
"I am light-hearted," I said.
"It is my duty to be melancholy," she replied; "but I shall not mope after Frank has gone."
"'After them the deluge,'" said I. "How long will they stay?"
"Till they are bored, I fancy."
"Oh, they are going; we must leave our recess."
Frank and she remained; the others bid us good-night.
"I shall not come again till Christmas," he said. "These college-chaps will amuse you and make the time pass; they are young,—quite suitable companions for you girls. Vive la bagatelle!"
He sighed, and, drawing Laura's arm in his, rose to go. She groaned loudly, and he nipped her ears.
"Good-bye, Margaret; let Laura take care of you. There is a deal of wisdom in her."
We shook hands, Laura moaning all the while, and they went home.
Frank and Laura had been engaged three years. He was about thirty, and was still too poor to marry.
Wednesday proved pleasant. We had an early dinner, and our cavalcade started from Laura's. I rode my small bay horse Folly, a gift from my absentee brother. His coat was sleeker than satin; his ears moved perpetually, and his wide nostrils were always in a quiver. He was not entirely safe, for now and then he jumped unexpectedly; but I had ridden him a year without accident, and felt enough acquainted with him not to be afraid.
Redmond eyed him.
"You are a bold rider," he said.
"No," I answered,—"a careful one. Look at the bit, and my whip, too. I cut his hind legs when he jumps. Observe that I do not wear a long skirt. I can slip off the saddle, if need be, without danger."
"That's all very well; but his eyes are vicious; he will serve you a trick some day."
"When he does, I'll sell him for a cart-horse."
Laura and Redmond rode Jones's horses. Harry Lothrop was mounted on his horse Black, a superb, thick-maned creature, with a cluster of white stars on one of his shoulders. Maurice rode a wall-eyed pony. Our friends Dickenson and Jack Parker drove two young ladies in a carriage,—all the saddle-horses our town could boast of being in use. We were in high spirits, and rode fast. I was occupied in watching Folly, who had not been out for several days. At last, tired of tugging at his mouth, I gave him rein, and he flew along. I tucked the edge of my skirt under the saddle-flap, slanted forward, and held the bridle with both hands close to his head. A long sandy reach of road lay before me. I enjoyed Folly's fierce trotting; but, as I expected, the good horse Black was on my track, while the rest of the party were far behind. He soon overtook me. Folly snorted when he heard Black's step. We pulled up, and the two horses began to sidle and prance, and throw up their heads so that we could not indulge in a bit of conversation.
"Brute!" said Harry Lothrop,—"if I were sure of getting on again, I would dismount and thrash you awfully."
"Remember Pickwick," I said; "don't do it."
I had hardly spoken, when the strap of his cap broke, and it fell from his head to the ground. I laughed, and so did he.
"I can hold your horse while you dismount for it."
I stopped Folly, and he forced Black near enough for me to seize the rein and twist it round my hand; when I had done so, Folly turned his head, and was tempted to take Black's mane in his teeth; Black felt it, reared, and came down with his nose in my lap. I could not loose my hands, which confused me, but I saw Harry Lothrop making a great leap. Both horses were running now, and he was lying across the saddle, trying to free my hand. It was over in an instant. He got his seat, and the horses were checked.
"Good God!" he said, "your fingers are crushed."
He pulled off my glove, and turned pale when he saw my purple hand.
"It is nothing," I said.
But I was miserably fatigued, and prayed that the Lake House might come in sight. We were near the wood, which extended to it, and I was wondering if we should ever reach it, when he said,—
"You must dismount, and rest under the first tree. We will wait there for the rest of the party to come up."
I did so. Numerous were the inquiries, when they reached us. Laura, when she heard the story, declared she now believed in Ellen Pickering. Redmond gave me a searching look, and asked me if the one-story inn had good beds.
"I can take a nap, if necessary," I answered, "in one of Mrs. Sampson's rush-bottomed chairs on the veranda. The croak of the frogs in the pond and the buzz of the bluebottles shall be my lullaby."
"No matter how, if you will rest," he said, and assisted me to remount.
We rode quietly together the rest of the way. After arriving, we girls went by ourselves into one of Mrs. Sampson's sloping chambers, where there was a low bedstead, and a thick feather-bed covered with a patchwork-quilt of the "Job's Trouble" pattern, a small, dim looking-glass surmounted by a bunch of "sparrow-grass," and an unpainted floor ornamented with home-made rugs which were embroidered with pink flower-pots containing worsted rose-bushes, the stalks, leaves, and flowers all in bright yellow. We hung up our riding-skirts on ancient wooden pegs, for we had worn others underneath them suitable for walking, and then tilted the wooden chairs at a comfortable angle against the wall, put our feet on the rounds, and felt at peace with all mankind.
"Alas!" I said, "it is too early for currant-pies."
"I saw," said one of the girls, "Mrs. Sampson poking the oven, and a smell of pies was in the air."
"Let us go into the kitchen," exclaimed Laura.
The proposal was agreeable; so we went, and found Mrs. Sampson making plum-cake.
"The pies are green-gooseberry-pies," whispered Laura,—"very good, too."
"Miss Denham," shrieked Mrs. Sampson, "you haven't done growing yet.—How's your mother and your grandmother?—Have you had a revival in your church?—I heard of the young men down to Jones's,—our minister's wife knows their fathers,—first-rate men, she says.—I thought you would be here with them.—'Sampson,' I said this morning, as soon as I dressed, 'do pick some gooseberries. I'll have before sundown twenty pies in this house.' There they are,—six gooseberry, six custard, and, though it's late for them, six mince, and two awful great pigeon pies. It's poor trash, I expect; I'm afraid you can't eat it; but it is as good as anybody's, I suppose."
We told her we should devour it all, but must first catch some fish; and we joined the gentlemen on the veranda. A boat was ready for us. Laura, however, refused to go in it. It was too small; it was wet; she wanted to walk on the bridge; she could watch us from that; she wanted some flowers, too. Like many who are not afraid of the ocean, she held ponds and lakes in abhorrence, and fear kept her from going with us. Harry Lothrop offered to stay with her, and take lines to fish from the bridge. She assented, and, after we pushed off, they strolled away.
The lake was as smooth and white as silver beneath the afternoon sun and a windless sky; it was bordered with a mound of green bushes, beyond
