EVENING AT THE FARM-HOUSE.
It was dusk when Chester returned. Riding up to the barn-door, he found Sam trying to make the cat draw a basket of eggs by a twine harness. Sam jumped up quickly, having cast off the traces, and began to whistle very innocently. The cat in harness darted around the corner, and disappeared in the shadows; while the mischief-maker swung the eggs on his arm, and, appearing suddenly to have observed Chester, stopped whistling, out of respect.
"What are you doing to that cat?" cried the young man.
"What cat? O!" said Sam, candidly, "she's got tangled in a string somehow, and I was trying to get her out."
"What a talent you have for lying!" laughed Chester. "Now, do you think you can take this horse over to the village without getting into some kind of a scrape?"
"O, yes!"
"Will you ride slow?"
"I won't go out of a walk," exclaimed Sam, positively.
"O, you may trot him, or go on a slow gallop, if you like; but don't ride fast, for he is jaded. Leave him at the tavern, and come home as fast as you like."
Sam was delighted with the idea; and, having put the eggs in a safe place, mounted the horse from the block, and galloped him slowly down the road.
In a little while he began to look back, and touch the animal gently with the whip, when he thought he was out of sight. Racing appeared to Sam to be capital fun. Instead of taking the nearest way to the village, he turned at the first cross-road, along which he could pursue his harmless amusement in a quiet and unostentatious manner.
In a few minutes he had lashed the horse into what is familiarly termed a "keen jump." The fences, the stones, the grove, with its deepening shadows, seemed to be on a "keen jump" in the opposite direction. The boy screamed with delight, and still plied the whip. Suddenly his straw hat was taken off by the wind, and went fluttering over the animal's crupper.
This was an unforeseen catastrophe; and, fearing lest he should not be able to find the lost article on his return, Sam attempted to slacken speed. But the animal manifested a perfect indifference to all his efforts. He sawed on the bit, and cried whoa, in vain. Frank was not a horse to be whipped for nothing, and he now meant to have his share of the fun. He seemed almost to fly. The rider became alarmed, and, to increase his fright, his left foot slipped out of the stirrup. In an instant he found himself bounding in a fearful manner over the pommel, then on the animal's neck. He cleared his right foot, abandoned the reins, and clung to saddle and mane with all his might. But he somehow lost his balance; he then experienced a disagreeable sensation of falling; and, after a confused series of disasters, of which he had but a numb and sickening consciousness, he made a discovery of himself, creeping out of a brier-bush, on the road-side.
The first object that attracted his attention was a riderless horse darting up the next hill, a quarter of a mile off; and here we must leave the bold adventurer, limping slowly, and with much trouble, over the road, in the dim hope of catching, at some future time, a fleet animal, going at the rate of fifteen miles an hour.
After sending Sam with the horse, Chester walked towards the house; but the family there assembled appearing to be in a sad state of confusion generally, he stopped before reaching the door. Willie was shrieking in the shed, and striking his cousin Hepsy, because she insisted on washing his feet before putting him to bed. Georgie was in the kitchen, blubbering sullenly; he had seen Sam trot Frank out of the yard, and was angry at losing the ride he had anticipated on Chester's return. Lizzie was trying to get a book away from Sarah, with much ado, and Mrs. Royden was scolding promiscuously.
"What a home to cheer a fellow, after six months' absence!" murmured the young man, feeling sick at heart; "and it would seem so easy to make it cheerful and pleasant!"
He turned away, and, walking into the orchard, met his brother James.
"Hasn't father returned?" he asked.
"Oh, yes; two hours ago."
"Did he bring my trunks?"
"Yes," said James; "and a load he had of it. The old minister is come, with baggage enough of his own to last, I should think, a year or two."
Chester expressed some disagreeable sentiments touching the old clergyman's visit, and walked with James into the lane, behind the barn, to find his father.
Mr. Royden was rejoiced to meet his long-absent son.
"You milk the old red cow yet, I see," said Chester.
"Yes," replied his father, continuing the humble occupation; "I suppose I shall have to as long as we keep her."
"How many times that foot of hers has knocked over a frothing pail for me!" rejoined Chester.
"I don't know why it is, but nobody except me can do anything with her," said Mr. Royden. "The hired men are as afraid of her foot as of a streak of lightning. Sometimes, when I am away, the boys try to milk her; but she thinks she has a perfect right to knock them around as she pleases. I believe it is because they are not gentle; they fool with her, and milk so slow that she gets out of patience; then, when she kicks, they whip her. That's no way, James. You see, I never have any trouble with her. I'd rather milk her than any cow in the yard; I never knew her to kick but once or twi—"
"This is the third time!" said Chester, laughing.
While his father was speaking the cow's foot had made one of its sudden and rapid evolutions. The pail was overturned; the milk was running along the ground, and the animal was running down the lane.
Mr. Royden got up from the stool, and looked at mischief she had done, with a blank expression.
"You didn't get spattered, I hope?" said he.
"No, I think not;" and Chester passed his hand over his clothes.
"Shall I head her off?" asked James.
"No. I had just finished."
"That's just the time she always kicks, father."
"I know it; and I ought to have been on the lookout. She don't like to have any talking going on during the business of milking. Come, let us go to the house."
The children had been put to bed; the candles were lighted, and the sitting-room looked quite cheerful.
"What made you stay so long, Chester?" asked Mrs. Royden. "You haven't had any supper, have you?"
"Yes; the Dustans invited me to tea."
"And did you walk home?"
"Walk! No, indeed, I rode."
"But you are not going to keep that horse over night, on expense, I hope," said Mrs. Royden.
Chester replied that he had sent Sam with him to the village.
"Now, that boy will do some mischief with him, you may depend! Why couldn't you walk over from the tavern in the first place, instead of hiring a horse? You shouldn't be so careless of expense, Chester."
The young man began to whistle. The entrance of Sarah seemed a relief to him; and he immediately proposed a game of whist. His mother opposed him strenuously, saying that she wanted him to talk, and tell all about his fortunes and prospects, that evening; but it was his object to avoid all conversation touching his own conduct, in presence of the family.
"Come, Jim," said he, "where are the cards? Will Hepsy play?"
"Hepsy is busy," replied Mrs. Royden, curtly. "If you must play, Lizzy will make up the set."
"But the minister?" suggested Lizzie.
"Yes," said her mother. "It will not do to play before him."
"He has gone to bed, I am pretty sure," cried Sarah. "He was very tired, and it is all still in his room."
"Let us have a little sport, then, when we can," said Chester.
The table was set out; the players took their places, and the cards were shuffled and dealt.
"They don't know one card from another over at Deacon Smith's," observed Sarah, sorting her hand. "I never knew such stupid people."
"What is that,—a knave or a king?" inquired Lizzie, holding up one of her cards.
"Don't you know better than to show your hand?" cried James, who was her partner. "It's a knave, of course. The king has no legs."
"You needn't be so cross about it!" murmured Lizzie.
"If you don't know how to play," retorted her brother, "you'd better let Hepsy take your place."
"Children!" cried Mrs. Royden, "if you can't get along without quarreling, I will burn every card I find in the house. Now, do you mark my word!"
To keep peace, Chester proposed to take Lizzie for his partner; a new hand was dealt, and the play went on.
"I wish," said Mrs. Royden, as her husband entered the room, "I wish you would make the children give up their whist for this evening."
But Mr. Royden liked to have his family enjoy themselves; and, as long as cards kept them good-natured, he was glad to see them play. He sat down by the side-table, opened a fresh newspaper he had brought from the village, adjusted his glasses on his nose, and began to read.