Wych Hazel

by Susan Warner; Anna Bartlett Warner

CHAPTER XV.

TO MOSCHELOO.

The next morning Mr. Falkirk appeared in the breakfast-room, as was his very frequent, though not invariable wont.

'I want your orders, Miss Hazel, about horses.'

Hazel—deep in a great wicker tray of flowers—looked up to consider the question.

'Well, sir,—we want carriage horses of course,—and saddle horses. And I want a pony carriage.'

'I don't think you need two carriages at present. The pony carriage would have to have a pony.'

'Yes, sir. Pony carriages, I believe, generally do. I am not well enough known in the neighbourhood yet to expect other means of setting my wheels in motion. But if I have nothing but that, Mr. Falkirk, then you and I can never go together.'

'And if you do not have that, then you could not go alone.'

'Precisely, sir. Mr. Falkirk, don't you want a rose—what shall I say! —to—do something to your meditations?' And before Mr. Falkirk had time to breathe, she was down on her knees at his side, and fastening an exquisite "Duchess of Thuringia" in his buttonhole.

'Yes, I look like it,' said he grimly, but suffering her fingers to do their will nevertheless. 'Miss Hazel, if the princess goes about in a pony carriage, I shall be in daily expectation of its turning into a pumpkin, and leaving her on the ground somewhere.'

'No, sir. Not the least fear of your turning into an amiable godmother,—and you know that was essential.'

'Ponies are ugly things,' said Mr. Falkirk ruefully. 'However,
I'll ask Rollo; and if he can find one, that suits him——'

'Then do let him keep it!' interposed Miss Hazel, facing round. 'What possible concern of Mr. Rollo's are my horses?'

'Simply that I am going to ask him to choose them. He knows more about such things than any one else, and I dare say he will give me his help. I wanted to know your fancy, though very likely it can't be met, about the other horses; colour and so forth.'

'Not white—and not black,' said Wych Hazel. 'And not sorrel— nor cream.'

'That is lucid. You said saddle horses—Ah! what's this?'

It was a little combination of brisk sounds in the hall, followed by the entrance of Rollo himself in a gray fisherman's dress. Unless he was very hard to suit he might have enjoyed the picture now opened before him. The pretty room, with its garden outlook; the breakfast table, bright and quaint together, with its old-time furnishings; and flowers everywhere, arranged and un-arranged. As he came in, Wych Hazel had just (quite surreptitiously) hung a garland of pansies on the high carved peak of Mr. Falkirk's chair, and then dropped into her own place; with a De Rohan rose in the belt of her gray dress. Not in the least like Roll's gray, but white with the edge taken off, like a pale cloud.

'So!' she said, looking up at him as he stood beside her,— 'have you come to confess?'

'Not this time. I have come to ask if I may catch some of your trout—if I can.'

'Not this time! If you wait for another the score will be heavier.'

'May I have your trout?'

'Really, if they give their consent I will. Good morning, Mr.
Rollo!—will you sit down and let me give you some coffee?'

'As I came for that too, I will, thank you. Will you lend me
Vixen to-day?'

'Why yes—as I am going fishing myself, and so cannot use her,' said Miss Hazel, giving critical attention to cream and sugar. 'But it is very good of me—after the way you have behaved.'

'It is very good of you. Is that thing all you have got to ride, except the respectable cob?'

'Half broken, isn't she?' asked Mr. Falkirk.

'Half—hardly. She shies wickedly.'

'I am glad Hazel hears you. I hope she will not mount her again after that.'

Rollo's eyes came over to Wych Hazel's with an expression she could not quite read. It was not petitioning; it might be a little inquisitive. But she chose rather to answer Mr. Falkirk.

'I needed no help to find out that she shied, sir. Then I have a little sympathy with that particular species of what Mr. Rollo is pleased to call "wickedness." '

'It is very unfair, of course,' said Rollo, 'to speak of an action from its results—but we all do it. Now a horse's shying may break your neck. It is true a lady's shying may break your heart; but that don't count.'

'We are just talking about horses, Rollo. I want your help.'

'I will give it with promptness—if Miss Kennedy command me.'

'Mr. Rollo's innocent way of talking about commands would deceive anybody but me,' said Wych Hazel. 'But I am learning to know him by slow and painful degrees.'

The only answer to this was a mischievous smile, which did not embolden further charges. But whether boldly or not, Hazel went on with a fair show at least of bravery.

'What was that I was told so impressively yesterday?' she said. ' "There are circumstances where fear is highly commendable in a woman, when it is yet not desirable in a man." And after all that, did you not speed away like a very poltroon, and leave me to face everything by myself? Confess, Mr. Rollo!' The demure eyes were brimming with fun.

'How much did you have to face?' asked the gentleman taking another roll.

'Ten people and two catechisms. And if Madame Lasalle says true—Have you a sketching club here? and is she its president?'

'We have no such club—and it has no such president—and whether
Madame Lasalle says true is a matter entirely unknown to me.
Do you say you are going fishing to-day, Miss Kennedy?'

'Mr. Falkirk told Madame Lasalle I might. And she is to "tell me everything,"—fill up her sketches, I suppose; so the sport may be extensive. Yesterday her pencil marks were delightfully indistinct, and made the most charming confusion between cats and dogs and canary birds. Miss Maryland was a preacher, her father the personification of imprudence, and you—'

She had run on in a sort of gleeful play, not at all guessing what the pencil marks really meant, and stopped short now only for fear her play might chafe.

'What was I?' said Rollo, with a quietness that was evidently careless.

'You,' said Wych Hazel impressively, 'were (in a general way) a Norwegian, a Dane,—making your way everywhere and laying waste the country.'

Something in Mr. Falkirk's face as she finished these words made her instinct take alarm. The colour mounted suddenly.

'O, please do not speak to me again—anybody!' she said, looking down. 'I was all alone yesterday afternoon, and had to descend into the depths of Morton Hollow—and I believe I am a little wild at getting back. And Mr. Morton, sir—O, you have not asked what he said to me!' She checked her self again, too late! Whatever should she do with her tongue to keep it still. The Camille de Rohan at her belt was hardly deeper dyed than she.

'What about Mr. Morton?' said Rollo. 'Forgive somebody for speaking—but it was impossible to ask without!'

'O—nothing—only a compliment for Mr. Falkirk,' said the girl, trying to rally. 'And Mr. Falkirk had said—And I have lived so long alone with Mr. Falkirk that I have got into a very bad habit of forgetting that anybody else can be present!'

It did not exactly help on the progress of self-control, that at this point Dingee came in, bearing in both hands a lovely basket of hot-house grapes and nectarines, themselves specimens of perfection, with a long wreathing stem of wonderful white orchids laid across its other treasures. Dingee evidently enjoyed his share in the business, for his white teeth were in a glitter.

'Mass' Morton, Miss Hazel. He done send 'em to my young mistiss, wid his greatest 'spects. He say he done percolate de Hollow and couldn't find nuffin more gorgeous, or he's send him.'

'Dingee!' said his young mistress, flashing round upon him, 'do you venture to bring me a made-up message? Take the basket to Mr. Falkirk!'

But she shrank back then, as they saw, with extreme shyness. The little fingers trembled, trying to busy themselves among spoons and cups; and one pitiful glance towards Mr. Falkirk besought him to take the affair into his own hands, and send whatever return message might be needful. O to be a child, and put her head down under the table! And instead of that she must keep her place—and she did, with the most ladylike quietness. Mr. Falkirk had reason to be content with her for once.

'Nobody waiting, is there, Dingee?' said Mr. Falkirk.

'Ye' sir.'

'Take him this, and send him off politely; but no message,
Dingee, if you want to wag your tongue in this house!'

'Ye' sir. Got to be one somehow, sure!' said Dingee. ' 'Bout sumfin Mass' Morton done say to Miss Hazel. Real stupid feller he is dat come—can't make out what he says, nohow.'

'About a drive,' said Wych Hazel, looking over once more at her guardian. 'I expect you to say no, sir.'

'What did you say, my dear?'

'I said I would ask you, sir—the shortest way to a negative.'
Her lips were getting in a curl again.

Mr. Falkirk went out to speak to Mr. Morton's messenger, and coming back again stood looking down at the basket of fruit with the wreath of white orchids lying across it.

'I hope you are grateful to fortune, my dear,' he remarked rather grimly.

'I hope you are, sir,—I have nothing to do with that concern,' said Wych Hazel with prompt decision.

'You don't know,' said Mr. Falkirk. 'It's an enchanted basket, Miss Hazel. Looks innocent enough; but I know there are several little shapes lurking in its depths—ants or flies or what not—which a little conjuration from you would turn into carriage horses, pony and all.'

'They are safe to eat grapes in the shape of ants and flies for the term of their natural lives,' said Rollo contentedly. He did not care for Mr. Morton. Indeed he looked as if it would be difficult to disturb him, more than superficially, about anything. And that, not for want of elements of disturbance, but because of other elements of character, which in their strength slumbered, and perhaps were scarcely self- conscious. The last words moreover were a shield over Wych Hazel's possible shyness. However it was, Mr. Falkirk looked across from the orchids to him, and considered him somewhat fixedly.

'If we are not to get them out of the basket—but that would be very like a fairy tale—will you see to the matter of the horses, Rollo?'

'If Miss Kennedy commands me,' he said, with a smile. But Miss
Kennedy was in a mood to keep her distance.

'I have told Mr. Falkirk,' she said. And now came up the question of her engagement at Moscheloo; if she was going, she ought to be off, and it appeared that there was no vehicle on the place in fit order to take her. Mr. Falkirk proposed to send to Crocus.

'Too far,' said Rollo. 'Suppose you put yourself in the saddle, and let me convoy you over to Moscheloo? It's good for a ride, this morning.'

'I thought you wanted Vixen?' said the girl, turning towards him.

'You don't.'

'Do you know what I do want, as well as what I do not, Mr.
Rollo?'

'The trouble is, it is not to be had to-day. But there is the grey cob. Always take the best there is to be had. Put on your habit, and I'll give you a very decent canter across the country to Moscheloo. Come!' he said, with a look compounded of sweetness and raillery. But raillery from Rollo's eyes was a little keen.

She laughed with a pretty acknowledgment of the raillery, but a first did not answer. It was a great temptation! The breakfast had left her excited and restless, and to get away from it all—to have a canter in the fresh wind! Then, she hated the very name of the grey cob!—She looked over to Mr. Falkirk. He was looking at her earnestly, but he did not speak.

'Shall I do that, sir?'

'If you go, you cannot do better,' he said, in a tone which certainly signified a want of satisfaction at something; but that was not unprecedented in their discussions.

'But my habit!—O well, I can manage that. Then will you be ready very soon, Mr. Rollo?'

Dane was ready, there was no doubt of that; but Mr. Falkirk was on the verandah also, when the little mistress of Chickaree come forth to be mounted; and for the occasion the red squirrel went back to the old grave punctilio of manner he could assume when he pleased.

That was all the surrounding pairs of eyes could see; a grave deference, a skilful care in performance of his duties as Wych Hazel's squire. But to her, out of ken of all but herself, there was an expression of somewhat else; in every touch and movement and look, an indescribable something, which even to her inexperience said: 'Every bit of your little person, and everything that concerns it, is precious to me.' Not one man in many could have so shewn it to her, and hidden it from the bystanders. It was a bit of cool generalship. Then he threw himself on his own horse, like the red squirrel he was, and they moved off slowly together.

Well, she was not a vain girl, having quite too much of a tide in her fancies, notions and purposes to be stopping to think of herself all the while. So, though Rollo's manner did make her shy, it stirred up no self-consciousness. For understanding may sleep, while instincts are awake. It was very pleasant to be liked, and if she wondered a little why he should like her—for Miss Kennedy was certainly not blind to some of her own wayward imperfections—still, perhaps the wonder made it all the pleasanter. She was not in the least inclined to take people's attentions in any but the simplest way (if only they were not flung at her by the basketful); and in short had no loose tinder, as yet, lying round to catch fire. Perhaps that says the whole. So she was about as grave and as gay, as timid and as bold, by turns, as if she had been seven years old.

'I promised you a canter,' said her companion, taking hold of her bridle to draw the grey aside from a bad place in the road. 'Next time you shall have a gallop—so soon as I can find what will do for you. Never mind for to-day.'

'You think this most respectable horse could so far forget himself as to canter?'

'Try.'

And away they went, with that elastic, flying spring through the air which bids spirits bound as well, and leaves care nowhere. For the old grey had paces, if his jollity was somewhat abated; and Vixen went provokingly, minding her business like one who thought she had better. Nevertheless it was a good canter.

'You will be a good rider,' said Rollo, when at length they subsided to a trot, stretching out his hand again and drawing Wych Hazel's reins a little further through her fingers. 'There, that is quite enough for him, steady as he is. Do you keep so free a rein in the household as you do in the saddle?'

'There has been no household—and no bridle, except for me.'

'Is Mr. Falkirk partial to a short rein?'

'What is "short?" ' she said with a laugh. 'That is an utterly unsettled point. Are women never appointed guardians, Mr. Rollo?'

'Certainly,' said Rollo, gravely. 'Always, when they marry.'

She glanced at him, doubting whether he might be laughing at her.

'But I mean as Mr. Falkirk was.'

'Not often; but it occasionally happens. I congratulate you that your case was not such.'

'Ah, you do not know!' she said quickly, with a sort of outbreak of impatience.

'You don't know either,' said he.

'Yes I do. Not much about women to be sure—I have known very few. But I do know Mr. Falkirk, and love him dearly, and think a great deal more of him than you possibly can, Mr. Rollo.'

'I have thought a great deal about him,' said Rollo, in a sort of dry, innocent manner. 'But I will tell you—a man's guardianship leaves you a moral agent; a woman's changes you into a hunted badger; and if you were of some sorts of nature it would be a hunted fox. You know I have been under guardianship too?'

'Yes, but I thought it was Dr. Maryland's?' she said looking at him with astonished eyes. 'And you speak—Ah, you do not know, as I said, after all. You never wanted anything that a man could not give you.'

He laughed a little, his eye brightening and changing as he looked at her with a very winning expression.

'I had all that a man could give me. Dr. Maryland was father and mother in one, gentle and strong. But I have been in wardship under a woman too, partially, and it was as I tell you. Dr. Maryland would say: "Dane, don't go there," or "let that alone," and I did, except when a very wicked fit got hold of me. But she would stick a cushion with pins, to keep me out of it, and if she wanted to keep a cup from my lips she rubbed gall where my lips would find it.'

'Two guardians!' said Wych Hazel; 'so that queer woman at Catskill thought I had. But it is a great deal harder to have a man find fault with you, nevertheless.'

'Why?' said Rollo, laughingly and seriously too.

'They are so quick in their judgments,' said the girl; 'so sure about the evidence. The jury agree without retiring, and sentence is passed before you are summoned to attend your own trial. You are out of play; you suddenly find yourself convicted of manslaughter in the fourth degree—or the fiftieth; it makes no difference.' The words came out with her usual quick emphasis, and then Miss Hazel remembered that one or two of her words were suggestive. She flushed very much, drooping her head.

'Coroner's inquest?' said Rollo, with a mixture of gentleness and fun. But she made no answer, unless by the soft laugh which hardly let itself be heard. He stretched out his hand again, laying it this time lightly upon hers, altering its bearing.

'Curb him in a little more,' said he, 'a little—so. Now touch him gently on the shoulder. What is it you think you miss so much in a man's guardianship?'

She looked round at him then—one of her girlish, searching looks, resolving perhaps how far it was safe to be confidential.

'A good many things, Mr. Rollo,' she answered, slowly. 'I do not believe you could understand. But I would rather have fourteen lectures from Mrs. Bywank than just to hear one of Mr. Falkirk's stiff "Miss Hazels." '

'I cannot remember any lectures from Mrs. Bywank,' said Rollo, looking as if his recollections in that quarter were pleasant— 'which were not as soft as swansdown. But here we are coming to Moscheloo. How much do you know about fishing?'

'Rather less than I do about anything else. O, I remember Mrs.
Bywank said she used to know you.'

'Mrs. Bywank is an old friend. In the times when I had, practically, two guardians—though only Dr. Maryland held the position officially—when there was nobody at Chickaree, I used to go nutting in your woods and fishing in the same brook which will, I hope, give me some trout to-day; and when I was thoroughly wetted with a souse in the water, or had torn my clothes half off my back in climbing to the tops of the trees, I used to carry my fish ad my difficulties to Mrs. Bywank. She cooked the one and she mended the other; we eat the fish in company, and parted with the promise to meet again. Seems to me I ought to have had lectures, but I didn't get them from her.'

'Well, that is just it,' said Hazel, with her earnest face.
'She understood.'

'Understood what?' said Rollo, smiling.

'Things,' said Hazel, 'and you.'

'There's a great deal in that. Now do you want another canter?'

There was a mile of smooth way between them and the grounds of Moscheloo; a level road bordered with Lollard poplars. The grey went well, spite of his age and steadiness, and Vixen behaved her prettiest; but she was not much of a steed after all, and just now was shewing the transforming power of a good rider. And the rider was good company. They came to the open gate of Moscheloo, and began to ascend more slowly the terraced road of the grand entrance. The house stood high; to reach it the avenue made turn after turn, zig-zagging up the hill between and under fine old trees that overshadowed its course.

'Here we are, said Rollo, looking up toward the yet distant house. 'How many people do you suppose there will be here that know anything about fish!'

'Why, it is a fishing party!' said Wych Hazel. 'I suppose I am the only one who does not know.'

'I will tell you beforehand what to expect. There will be a great deal of walking, a good deal of luncheon, a vast deal of talk, and a number of fishing rods. I shouldn't be surprised if you caught the first fish. The rest will be dinner.'

'And you will reverse that,' said Wych Hazel,—'little dinner and much fish.'

'Depends,' said Rollo. 'I am going to look after Mr. Falkirk, if he is in my neighbourhood.'

'Look after him!—Let him learn how it feels?' she said, with a laugh.

'Not just in that sense,' said Rollo, smiling. 'Only keep him from getting lost in the woods.'

'He has nothing to do in the woods till I come,' said Wych Hazel. 'And I thought you said you were off for a day's fishing?'

'I'll combine two pleasures—if I can.'

'What is the other?' she said, looking at him.

'Woodcraft.'

A tinge came up in her cheeks that might have been only surprise. She looked away, and as it were tossed off the first words that came. Then with very sedate deliberation:

'Mr. Rollo, I do not allow anybody to practice woodcraft among my trees without my special oversight. Not even Mr. Falkirk.'

'Suppose Mr. Falkirk takes a different view,' said Rollo, also sedately, 'am I answerable? Because, if that is your meaning, I will tell him he undergoes my challenge.'

'He is not to cut a tree nor a branch till I come home.'

'Suppose we arrange, then, for a time when you will come out and give a day to the business. Shall we say to-morrow?'

'O yes, I agree to that.'

'There shall not be a tree cut, then, till to-morrow. And to- morrow you shall have a lesson. Now here we are.'