There was no evading the fact that a terrible misfortune had fallen upon the Calthorp household; and, for a time, this great sorrow excluded every other thought.
But they were all brave-hearted, having that one quality in common; and so, even while suffering most acutely, Madam found that the feeling she had experienced in regard to her son’s blindness faded in the light of the great pity which now filled her soul. She had feared that she could never bear to look upon him and witness his helplessness; but, instead of this being the case, she found herself watching him in silent admiration for the fortitude he displayed, and growing even prouder than before.
“Well. Blind or seeing, he is still—a man! Able to support his own courage, and that of those who lean upon him! And how beautiful is Steenie’s tenderness! She seems to understand that he wishes to do everything for himself which he can do; but her own bright eyes watch constantly to aid him in those he cannot.”
Mary Jane, observing her mistress’s face, and following the direction of her eyes, smiled, well pleased. Then she stole away to remark to Resolved: “You said we might ’bout as well gin up, when Mr. Dan’l come home that night an’ laid his goggles off, ’cause they wasn’t no more use a pertectin’ stun blindness no longer; but—they’s some kinds o’ onseeingness wuss’n ever ailded mortal eyes. An’ that’s sperritooal. Thar was Madam, a nussin’ up wrath ag’in the day o’ jedgment, jest ’cause her only had married somebody ’t she hadn’t picked out fer him; an’ him a cl’arin’ out ter Californy with his wife, an’ a buryin’ her thar; an’ a comin’ back home this way he is. But I tell ye, brother Resolved, it was the plain doin’s of the Lord, er my name ain’t Tubbs!”
“Well, mebbe. I mean—o’ course. I ain’t a goin’ back on my perfession; but some folks has got a terr’ble gift o’ makin’ sunthin’ out o’ nothin’. Didn’t uset ter be yer way ter call bad good; but, my-soul-I-declare! Ain’t no makin’ ye out, now-a-days, ye’ve growed that weak-minded an’ soft-spoke. Howsomever, one thing ye can’t turn ner twist inter no great hilarity: an’ that’s that pesky Mexicer.”
“I should like ter know why not? Ain’t he jest like a shadder ter Mr. Dan’l? If that poor deluded popist critter ain’t ’arnin’ his board an’ keep, I know some other folks ’at ain’t wuth their salt.”
“Hm-m. From the soond o’ that, I conclude ’at thar’s some—o’ the ’riginal Mary Jane left, arter all!” retorted the other, and doddered away.
It had seemed providential, indeed, that Sutro Vives—old fellow though he was—had come to them when he did. With the profound love which he had always felt for little Steenie, he now turned to Steenie’s father; and his wonderful vitality enabled him to discharge with perfect ease tasks which would have fallen very heavily upon poor Resolved Tubbs.
Another two weeks had passed; and they had all, in a measure, become accustomed to Mr. Calthorp’s affliction, and to the coming of the “four Westerners,”—as Mary Jane called the three human visitors and the equine one,—when Steenie came home from school a picture of childish distress.
“I can’t—can’t—can’t—go to that horrid school! Never no more, never!” with which exclamation she burrowed into the nest her father’s arms made for her, and hid her tearful face on his breast.
He waited until her sobs had subsided, and then inquired: “Why not, darling?”
“Because—oh, ’cause—I hate it! Maybe that’s bad, but I do. The children go ‘buz-z, buz-z’ over their books; and it’s hot; and I can’t breathe, a’most; and, oh, Papa, I want to go home!”
“My little one, I shall have to forbid your ‘boys’ writing to you, if their letters make you homesick.”
“It isn’t that. It isn’t, really, truly. But—am I a ‘runaway circuser,’ Papa, dear?”
“Why, no. Certainly not. Why should you need contradiction of such a silly charge?”
“’Cause that’s what they all call me—’most every one. An’ they say: ‘Why won’t you give us a ride on your old Spot-back, Californy!’ And: ‘She’s the girl ’at ’s only in the Primary! ’Cause she’s brought up in a stable;’ an’ such heaps o’ mean things that I feel—I feel’s if I should suff’cate. Need I go, Papa, dearest?”
“I cannot tell yet. Let us talk it over with Grandmother. Rather, I will do that, and you do what is far more to your liking and better for you,—wash away your tears, find Sutro, and tell him he may go for a horse at the livery-stable; then jump on Tito’s back and ride your troubles away.”
When obedience is happiness, it is always prompt; but even happiness has its drawbacks. It was this very riding on the piebald horse which had excited the envy and malice of a few of Old Knollsboro small folks. The majority of Steenie’s school-fellows were full of an unexpressed admiration for her wonderful horsemanship as exhibited in the—to her quiet—rides through the village streets; but she was not the first person who has forgotten the flavor of the grapes in the sting of the wasp hidden among them,—although, heretofore, her sunny nature had risen above her annoyances with its own gay rebound.
Now, when she had ridden out of the yard, and the merry tones of her farewell had satisfied her father’s ear that all was well for the present, he went “to talk it over,” as he had promised, with the mother, whom he now consulted in all things.
“Well, Daniel, this is very strange! It seems like a Providence. I have observed Steenie closely; and I am sorry to say that the school plan has not worked as successfully as I had hoped. She doesn’t know what is the matter; but I do. It is the unwonted confinement. She asked Mary Jane what a prison was like; and when it was described, said: ‘Oh, I thought, maybe, it was like our school-house.’ It is really very opportune.”
“But what, Mother? I do not understand.”
“This morning’s call from Mrs. Courtenay. She says the Judge was so pleased with Steenie, and that Beatrice talks so much about her, they beg me to allow our little girl to go to Rookwood every day and share their child’s instruction and amusement. That two such lonely only children can do each other a deal of good. What do you say?”
“Yes, with all my heart. If you approve.”
“It does seem an admirable arrangement. The Judge has always expressed his deep obligation to your father for assistance when his own prospects were poor; and I can understand a proud man’s desire to render some recognition of this ‘claim,’—though such, I am sure, I have never felt it. Steenie will have only the most helpful surroundings at Rookwood; and she will be fully appreciated. I am glad, very glad.”
“Why, Mother! Your voice sounds as if you—actually—loved my little one.”
“I do, my son.”
“And have you quite forgiven her likeness to her mother?”
There was a moment’s pause. Then Daniel Calthorp felt his mother’s kiss upon his cheek, and, in that rare caress, died from both hearts all bitter memories.
Mary Jane witnessed this little incident through a crack in the door. Alas, Mary Jane was a “mortal woman!” Then she stole away with misty eyes,—misty, perhaps, from the strain of peeping,—murmuring piously: “And a little child shall lead ’em.”
But her piety did not prevent her being the first to meet Steenie on her return from the ride, and imparting the intelligence which was the result of Mrs. Courtenay’s visit, instead of leaving that pleasant business to those whose own it really was.
“You ain’t never a goin’ back to no more prisony-school, at all, Steenie Calthorp!”
“Why—not? Will Papa let me stay home every day?”
“No. But trot along an’ hear. I ain’t a goin’ ter take the good news out o’ nobody’s mouth, I guess!”
For once, neglecting to care for her play-fellow, Tito, Steenie bounded in-doors, eager to have Mary Jane’s statement confirmed; which being done, her pleasure knew no limits.
“Why, Papa Calthorp! It’ll be a’most the same as San’ Felisa! They’s a great big house, forty times bigger’n this, an’ a great big grass all round it; an’ trees, an’ flower-beds, an’ hammocks, an’—an’—things! And Sutro must go, too; an’ I’ll ride Tito. An’ sometimes, maybe, the Judge’ll let me go into the fields where the horses are. I’ve seen them, dozens of them—beauties—corralled, I mean paddocked, in cute little places with green fences around them, an’ a reg’lar shed for them to go under when it rains. Just like some o’ the girls play ‘house’ at recess. Oh, do you s’pose he will?”
“I do not doubt it. Especially as he loves horses almost as well as you, and sympathy of tastes makes ready friendships. I foresee a very happy road to learning for you, my Steenie.”
With this assurance in her ears, the child went gayly away on Tito’s back toward Rookwood, with Sutro walking beside her at a pace which Resolved Tubbs could never have equalled, even in his youth.
“Oh, Steenie, how glad I am!” cried Beatrice, for welcome. “Mama says we are to have our lessons out of doors; ’cause it’s good for me, an’ what you’re used to, as well.”
“Only I never had lessons at all, till I came to Old Knollsboro! But just learned to read an’ write a little. An’ do you think your father will ever let me go to see his horses?”
“I b’lieve you care more for them than for anything! You funny girl!” answered Beatrice, reprovingly. “You’re just the same as he is; an’ Mama says horses are to my father what play-hour is to school-boys. I don’t know ’xactly what she means—but—he loves them, anyway.”
“Course he does. He couldn’t help it, could he?”
“Mama can help it. She says she ’xpects some of us’ll get killed; ’specially with Diablo, that ’xpensive colt. He isn’t anything—yet; never had anything on him, even a halter; but Papa says, ‘he must be broken, if he scours the country to find somebody brave enough to do it!’”
“Diablo? Oh, he’s the one ’at ’most killed the groom, isn’t he?”
“Yes. An’ he’s kicked a whole lot of folks. He’s out in his paddock all alone; and the men just give him food and water, an’ let him stay there. Mama says that he ought to be shot, and then he couldn’t hurt anybody else.”
“Why! How dreadful!”
“What? To hurt folks?”
“To shoot a beautiful fellow like Diablo. I’ve looked at him over the fence, when I’ve been riding with Sutro; and he is the finest horse in Old Knollsboro.”
“How do you know that?”
“Well, he’s the finest one I’ve seen here, yet. He has better points, even, than Gray Monarch, Kentucky Bob’s thoroughbred.”
“My! That’s what Papa calls him: thoroughbred; an’ says when he’s trained he’ll be su-perb. But I’d like to know who’ll do it. Say. Is that old man coming to school too? Who is he? Isn’t he queer? He’s as wizzly-up as can be; but he makes me think of grasshoppers, he’s so awful jumpy an’ quick.”
Steenie laughed. “He’s my body-servant, he says; but he’s a real ’ristocratic. He’s a Californian, like they used to be, and a caballero. But after my mother died, he gave up everything but taking care of me. He’s a perfect darling.”
“Is he?” asked Beatrice, doubtfully. “He doesn’t look very—very pretty; but, I mean he’s beautiful, of course, only—here’s Ma’amselle! Now for b-a-ba k-e-r-ker, baker; p-a-pa pay-e-r, I mean p-e-r-per. Do you like to spell?”
“No. It makes me awful dizzy.”
“Me, too. But ’rithmetic’s more worser. Never mind. The quicker we get done, the quicker recess’ll come. I think recess is the nicest part of studying, don’t you?”
“Yes,” answered Steenie, with conviction. “Why, look there! There’s my Sutro talking to your father! And they’re walking away toward—oh!—do—you b’lieve they’ll go to the horse fields without us?”
“I s’pose they will.”
“Oh, dear!”
At which tone of regret, Beatrice said, kindly, “You’re the queerest girl! But I’ll ask Papa to let us go, recess-time. Papa! Papa!”
The Judge turned about and waited while the children ran up to him. “Well, little folks! What now? How could you tear yourselves away from your dear books? Eh?”
“Now, Papa, please don’t tease! I’m sure you wouldn’t like to have a whole line of hard, two-syllabled words to learn, and rows and rows of dazzly figures to add up, would you?”
“I certainly should not; on such a morning as this, too. But if I were a little girl, two little girls, I’d go at those words and figures ‘slap bang!’ And I’d get them all tucked away inside of my cranium, so tight and sure that Ma’amselle would be obliged to say: ‘Really, young ladies, tres bien! and I will compensate you for your so hard labor, and give you leave at eleven of the clock, precisely, to go to the library of the father and look in.’”
“And, what then? What then, Papa?”
“Maybe, peanuts; maybe, horses. Different tastes need different rewards.”
To Steenie this was not as intelligible as to Beatrice, who readily translated for her new friend’s benefit Judge Courtenay’s meaning, which was: that he evidently wished to be let alone then; but that if they were studious they might leave off lessons at eleven o’clock, and come to the library, when he would take them to see the horses. “If anybody cares about those old things!”
Steenie cared so very much that she infected Beatrice with her own feeling; and her few weeks at a “really school” had been of such use to her, that once her books were opened, she allowed herself no respite till she had conquered the tasks set before her.
Which good example was, also, infectious to the untrained Beatrice, who surprised and pleased Ma’amselle by her sudden attention to duty.
It is true that bright glances were occasionally darted back and forth, and signs exchanged to mark the progress of learning on either side; but, in spite of this, when eleven o’clock came they not only had done their work with satisfaction to their teacher, but with real pleasure to themselves,—a cause of considerable astonishment, also.
“Now, for Papa and fun! My father’s a awful jolly man. You can’t ’most gen’ally tell if he’s teasing or earnest. But—he’s nice.”
“So’s mine. I guess fathers are always nice, aren’t they?”
“No, not always. I know a father ’at whips his girl. With a whip, like you do horses,” asserted Beatrice, gravely.
“I never—whip horses’ Never! I wouldn’t be so cruel!”
“My—sake! Why, are you ‘mad?’ Why shouldn’t you whip ’em? Everybody does.”
“They don’t at Santa Felisa. I’ve seen folks do it here, though; till I’ve had to run away an’ cry. I think it’s puf-fect-ly dreadful!”
“Why, Steenie Calthorp! You are the veriest oddest one! My Papa’ll laugh at you. Pshaw! He whips horses himself; an’ he’s a Judge,—a Judge-of-the-Supreme-Court! If you know what that is.”
“I don’t. And I don’t care if he is, he oughtn’t to. Bob says so, an’ Bob knows. He says it’s ruiny to any poor thing to do it. Once he caught a vaquero doing it to one of the Plunketty man’s ploughers; and he just snatched the rawhide out of the fellow’s hand, and gave it to the fellow himself! Just as he was hurting the horse. I tell you, wasn’t he mad? And didn’t he jump around lively?”
“I should s’pose he did.”
“And Bob says: ‘Now you know how ’tis yourself!’ and that vaquero could be trusted anywhere after that. Only once he tried to shoot Bob; so Bob had to lick him again, an’—that settled it.”
“I should s’pose it did!” quoted an amused voice, and Judge Courtenay’s hand rested lightly on Steenie’s curly head. “You see I was tired waiting for eleven o’clock, because that old señor of yours has promised me a treat, too; so I came out to meet you on the path from your summer-house school-room.”
“How nice! What is it, Papa?”
“This little girl is to give it to me.”
“I? Why, what can a little girl like me do for a big man like you?” asked Steenie, in eager wonder.
“Show me how Kentucky Bob tackles an unbroken colt.”
An instant’s critical scrutiny of the genial face before her convinced Steenie that the words were “earnest,” not “fun;” still—she could hardly believe her own vision. “Do you really, truly mean it?”
“I really, truly do. If you are not afraid.”
“Afraid? My! I couldn’t be afraid of a horse, could I? I love them so; and my father says that they know it, ’stinctively.”
“Instinctively. Well—the old caballero’s stories seem almost incredible; but now is your chance to prove them true,” responded Diablo’s owner, studying, in his turn, very critically the animated face of the little girl beside him. He did not at all believe any of the “yarns” which Sutro had “spun” to him during their ramble over the horse-farm; but he had immensely enjoyed the boastful eloquence of one whom he considered a “crack-brained old man;” and he did not seriously intend allowing Steenie to approach nearer than a safe distance of the beautiful colt with the unsubdued will. But he thought it would give her a pleasure to watch Diablo over the paling; and he anticipated great amusement, also, in watching Vives “back down” when once brought face to face with fact,—fact in the shape of a “vicious” four-year-old whom the best horse-trainers had, as yet, been unable to reduce to submission.
But he hadn’t counted at all upon the perfect honesty and credulity of “the Little Lady of the Horse,” nor her own proud acceptance of the title which her adoring Santa Felisans had given their “Little Un;” else what followed then would never have happened.
As they came to the paddock, and looked over the paling, Diablo’s owner pointed him out as: “The handsome brute! There he is. As powerful and wicked as his name denotes. Locked up in those shapely limbs is a mint of money,—that nobody dares conquer for me. A fine animal, eh?”
“He’s perfect! Oh, you beauty, you darling!”
Diablo stood at the extreme end of his paddock, head up, eyes flashing, every nerve quivering at sound of human voices. Of late, many attempts had been made to “break him;” each resulting in fresh torment to himself, and failure to his would-be conquerors. Already he had learned to distrust humanity, and to watch against its assaults.
“Your lariat, Sutro,” whispered Steenie, eagerly. And from his capacious pocket the caballero drew a fine silken cord which he always carried, and silently gave it to her.
The Judge’s attention had been diverted, for an instant, but was recalled by a swish of flying draperies, and Beatrice’s low cry: “My—sake!”
Steenie had leaped over the fence, and was swiftly proceeding down the field, with the springing step of one who merrily goes to meet a friend.
“Merciful powers! Steen—”
But Sutro’s hand was firmly placed over Judge Courtenay’s lips. “Ten thousand pardons! Speak not—move not. Her safety and success depend on silence,” whispered the caballero, impressively.
“Her success!” Strong man though he was, Diablo’s owner turned faint, and he shut his eyes in horror at this terrible result of his own idle jesting.
