The Little Colonel's Knight Comes Riding

by Annie F. Johnston

  CHAPTER X

  BY THE SILVER YARD-STICK

  WITH her days shadowed by anxiety over Ida's illness, the care andresponsibility of Wardo and her sympathy for Betty's disappointment,Lloyd still found one bright spot, untouched by other people's troubles.If, like the old sun-dial at Warwick Hall, she had taken for her motto:"I only mark the hours that shine," those hours when Leland Harcourtcame to teach her Spanish were the ones that would have been numbered.

  If she had felt that he regarded it as a bore, or that it cost him theslightest effort, she would have dropped the study immediately; but whenhe made it plain that it was the chief interest of his days, and the onething that made his summer in the Valley endurable, she could not helpbeing flattered by his assertions, and exerted herself all the more tomake the hour a pleasant one.

  It was an agreeable sensation to know that she could interest a man whohad known so many interests; that it was she who held him inLloydsboro; that every turn of her head, every inflection of her voice,every phase of her varying moods had a charm for him. It made her tinglewith satisfaction when she realized that she had justified Gay'sconfidence in her power, but sometimes after he had gone she felt thatshe was not exerting it to the extent she had promised. She wasn't"keying him up to any higher pitch." She wasn't inspiring him with theambition which his family seemed to think was all that was necessary tomake him capable of any achievement. The idea of her influencing him didnot seem as preposterous and ridiculous as it had the first few weeks oftheir acquaintance, but somehow it did not seem so necessary. Sometimesshe wondered if the "sweet doing nothing" that Gay said was in his bloodhad not affected her also. Maybe that was why she liked his veryindolence, and forgave in him what she would have condemned in any otherchronic idler. Maybe he was influencing _her_.

  "But he sha'n't!" she declared to herself when the thought firststartled her, and to prove that he hadn't she seized the firstopportunity which came in her way to take him to task. His signet ringbore the same crest that was on the silver ladle, and he used it onemorning to seal a note for her. With a significant glance in itsdirection she asked saucily, "Senor Tarrypin, when are you going to putyour family motto into actual use? When are you going to begin strivingtill you ovahcome--till you do something really worth while in theworld?"

  With the question came the quick remembrance of a winter day by thechurchyard stile, and Malcolm's boyish voice protesting earnestly--"I'llbe anything you want me to be, Lloyd." And then like a flash came thatother scene and Phil's pleading voice, "I say it in all humility, Lloyd,this little bit of turquoise kept me 'true blue.'"

  If she had expected any such earnestness in Leland's reply she was soondisillusioned, for with an amused side-glance at her, as if he foundthis serious mood the most diverting of all, he said indifferently:

  "Oh--_manana_."

  "To-morrow!" she translated quickly. "But to-morrow never comes."

  "Then neither need the effort."

  "But without the effort--the striving," she persisted, looking down atthe imprint of the tiny dagger on the seal, "there never will be anycrown."

  He shrugged his shoulders carelessly. "What's the odds, when one doesn'tcare for a crown?"

  "You're just plain lazy!" she cried, provoked that her effort to inspirehim had met with such a reception.

  He smiled as if she had paid him the greatest of compliments, then satup with an air of interest.

  "This is a topic we've never struck before," he said lightly. "It's likecoming across an inviting bypath we've never travelled over. Now supposeyou tell me just what is your ideal way for a man to spend his life inorder to get the most out of it."

  Lloyd stole a quick glance at him to see if he were in earnest. Thelight tone seemed almost mocking, but the half-closed eyes gazing outacross the lawn were serious enough, and she studied her reply a moment,feeling that maybe her opportunity had come at last.

  "I think," she began timidly, "that the man who gets the most out oflife is the one who makes most of himself--who starts out as they did inthe old days to win his spurs and his accolade. Maybe you know the storyof Edryn, the one that gave Warwick Hall its motto."

  He nodded, with that slightly amused smile which always disconcertedher. "Yes, I know. That's Gay's pet war-cry--'Keep tryst.' But go on,I'd like to hear your version of it."

  In the face of such an invitation she found it very hard to proceed, butafter a moment's hesitation she said almost defiantly:

  "Oh, I know you'll considah it a bit of school-girl sentiment to look atlife in such a figurative way, but I think it's beautiful:

  "'_To duty and to sorrow_,'" she quoted softly, "'_to disappointment anddefeat thou mayst be called. No matter what the tryst there is but onereply if thou wouldst win thy knighthood!_'"

  "But suppose one never hears any call," he asked teasingly. "Never feelsthe spirit move him to make any particular exertion."

  "Then it's yoah own fault!" cried Lloyd. "It's just as it says in thelegend. '_Only those will hear who wake at dawn to listen in highplaces, and only those will heed who keep the compass needle of theirsoul true to the North star of a great ambition!_'"

  "Pretty strenuous work, isn't that, for an August day?" he answered."And that's all very well for poets and priests and young idealists todream of, but when all's said and done, what's the good? What's theuse?"

  Clasping his hands behind his head he leaned back in his chair and beganreciting in a dreamy way, as if he were chanting the rhythmical lines, apoem called "Drifting." It was like an incantation, and Lloyd satlistening as if he were weaving some spell around her:

  "'My soul to-day Is far away Sailing the Vesuvian Bay. My winged boat, A bird afloat, Swims round the purple peaks remote.

  * * * * *

  "'I heed not if My rippling skiff Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff; With dreamful eyes My spirit lies, Under the walls of Paradise.'"

  As he went musically on, verse after verse, Lloyd sat listening, whollyunder the spell of his voice, yet with a baffled impotent sense of beingcarried along by a current in exactly the opposite direction from theone in which she had started to go.

  "'No more, no more The worldly shore Upbraids me with its wild uproar--'"

  It was a Lotus land of irresponsibility and ease and personalgratification that he was revealing to her as his ideal of life. Hehadn't openly made fun of her enthusiasm and zeal, but he had chilledher ardour and silenced her, and left her with the feeling that herknights with their struggles after accolades and ambitions and all thosethings were silly folk who made much ado about nothing. It made hercross.

  In the silence that followed there was a shriek from Wardo, somewhereback near the servants' quarters, and then such a lusty crying thatLloyd sprang up frightened, and ran to the rescue. She wasconscience-smitten for having left him so long to the care of Enoch,Cindy's little grandson, whom she had bribed to amuse him for an hour.It was only because his constant presence and interruptions seemed tobore Leland that she had done it. Wardo did make tyrannical demands onher attention, she had to admit, dearly as she loved the child. But whenshe found him crying from a bee-sting, and his poor little lip swollenout of all resemblance to a Cupid's bow she felt a twinge of resentmenttowards Leland. If she hadn't sent Wardo away from her, she thoughtreproachfully, he wouldn't have been stung, and she wouldn't have senthim if Leland had acted nicer about having him around. He had actuallymuttered in Mom Beck's hearing that it was "a beastly bore always havingthat kid poking in."

  She had resented it at the time Mom Beck repeated it, but excused it onthe ground that he was not used to children, and that Wardo's persistentquestions and demands did tax one's patience dreadfully sometimes. Butnow as he clung to her, sobbing and screaming, she thoughtreproachfully, "He might at least have come around to find out what wasthe mattah, when he knows how devoted I am to the poah little thin
g,even if he didn't take any interest in him himself. I'll keep Wardo withme all the time aftah this, even if it does bo'ah him."

  Leading him back to the porch she took him in her lap and quieted himwith the promise of a wonderful box of paints which he should have nextday, with which to colour all the pretty pictures in all the magazines.And she quite ignored Leland for awhile to punish him, not knowing thathe understood her pique and was amused at it, and that he was enjoyingthe picture she made rocking back and forth in the low chair, withWardo's golden curls pressed against her shoulder, and the dimpled armsclinging around her neck.

  Next day she forgot the paints until it was too late for her to getthem, and Betty who was going over to The Beeches and past the store,offered to take Wardo and let him have the pleasure of buying themhimself. After they had gone she went down to the porch to wait forLeland. It was almost lesson time. Yesterday's feeling of resentment hadentirely passed, and she looked down the avenue expectantly from herseat behind the vines. Any moment he might turn in at the gate. Thethought gave her a pleasant thrill of anticipation. As the momentsslipped by she opened her book and began repeating the verses marked forher to memorize.

  Presently she looked up to see a small coloured boy wandering up theavenue as if he had no particular destination in view and no greatdesire to arrive anywhere. She supposed he was the bearer of a messageto the cook, but instead of going around the house he came towards herwith a note in his hand. It was from Leland she saw at the first glance,and written in Spanish at the second.

  She could read enough of it to understand that he was not coming thatmorning, but for the rest of it she had to turn to her lexicon for helpin translating. After some time and with much difficulty she managed tomake out the reason. He had gone to Louisville for the day quiteunexpectedly with his brother--a matter of business. He was sorry not tobe able to keep his engagement with her. Only dire necessity kept himaway, and he would be with her in the evening. Until then adieu. She hadto turn to her lexicon again for that next word, and having found itwondered how he had dared to put it in--that caressing little name, thatword of endearment which he would not have presumed to use in English.It made the colour flame up in her face.

  But he was not coming. She let the note fall to her lap with anexclamation of disappointment. Then wide eyed and surprised she sat upstraight, suddenly aware how deep that disappointment was; suddenlyrealizing what she had never known till this moment, how large a placeLeland Harcourt had grown to hold in her thoughts. Everywhere she turnedshe could see his face with that quick flashing smile she loved to bringto it. She could see that impetuous toss of the head, the eager gestureof his long slender hand, the easy grace of his manner that gave himhis distinguished, patrician air.

  "Why, I'm like Hildegarde!" she whispered wonderingly. "'His eyes are soblue they fill all my dreams!' Only Mistah Harcourt's are dark."

  Now if Lloyd had never heard the story of the Three Weavers, never beena member of the Order of Hildegarde, never made the promise to herfather about the silver yard-stick, her reverie in the hammock thatmorning might have led to a very different result. But because she hadpromised, and because she must keep tryst no matter how hard it was todo, she faced the matter squarely.

  "He wouldn't have put that word in the note if he wasn't beginning tocare for me," she admitted, "and it wouldn't make me have that queahlittle sawt of half-way glad feeling if I wasn't beginning to care forhim."

  The hammock swung faster. She was thinking of a day on the seashoreyears before, when she had been playing out on the rocks. And while shebuilt her little castles the tide came creeping in, creeping so quietlythat she did not know it was there until all the sand between her andsafety was covered and a fisherman had to wade in and carry her out.Although she did not put the comparison into words, that was what shefelt was happening now, and much as she liked him and loved to be withhim and missed him when he did not come, she felt that his influenceover her was creeping up like a tide that would surely drown her abilityto keep her promise to her father.

  "He _does_ influence me," she admitted to herself. "I might as well behonest about it. Sometimes he can almost make me believe that black iswhite. How do I know but what I might grow to be like poah mistakenHertha? He was only a page, but she called him prince in her thoughtuntil she really believed him one."

  Then as yesterday's conversation came back to her she sprang from thehammock saying to herself, "And he isn't even a knight, or he wouldn'thave made fun of my poah little attempt to make him listen to the King'scall. I'll not think about him a minute longah. It would only besquandahing the golden thread that Clotho left me."

  Running up the stairs she got her hat and started to follow Betty. Butall the way up and all the way down and all the way that she wenttowards The Beeches that little word at the end of the letter--thatsweet caressing bird-note of a name, sang itself over and over to her.He had called her that, and to-night he was coming.

  She did not go all the way to The Beeches, for she met Betty on the wayback, Wardo proudly bearing his box of paints, and Betty re-reading aletter which she had found in the office. It was from Madam Chartley.There was a vacancy in Warwick Hall itself and she was to fill it; wasto be her beloved Miss Chilton's assistant in the English classes. Herhappiness was as great over this news as her disappointment had beenover the return of her manuscript. As Madam Chartley wanted her at theschool by the first of September there were only two weeks in which tomake her preparations to leave.

  Although Lloyd had heard the matter discussed she never fully believedthat Betty was going away from Locust until she had the letter in herown hands and read Madam Chartley's expression of pleasure at theprospect of having Betty with her permanently. It swept away all thoughtof her own affairs, for Betty had grown as dear to her as a sister inthe years they had been together. She followed her mournfully into thewhite and gold room, offering to help her with her preparations, andpouring out her regret and her disapproval of Betty's plans. It wasn'tnecessary at all she insisted for Betty to leave them, and Locustwouldn't be the same place with her gone.

  Wardo required less attention than usual that afternoon, for charmedwith his new paints, he sat at a low table in Betty's room while thegirls sewed and talked, and coloured the pictures in every magazine hecould lay his hands on. It was sunset when Lloyd noticed how long he hadbeen bending over the table, and persuaded him to lay aside his brushtill next day.

  "Look at the pretty red sunset," she urged, trying to interest him insomething else. "It's as red as a cherry."

  He looked at it solemnly, considering her comparison. "No, it's wed asthe blood of a thousand dwagons," he answered.

  Lloyd looked at him in astonishment. "What do you know about dragons,child?"

  "Betty telled me, when I painted one wif my paints, here in this book."He began turning the leaves of one of the magazines. "Dwagons is thestwongest fings there is," he added with a knowing wag of his head,feeling that she needed enlightenment. "But my fahvah could fightone--He's so stwong. My fahvah could fight anyfing."

  "Always the same old story," said Lloyd in a low tone to Betty. "Isn'tit dreadful? Always harping on the perfection of his hero. Seems to meit would have been bettah if she had not tried to keep the truth fromhim. The disillusionment is going to be feahful some of these days. Itwill shake his belief in everything."

  As she rocked back and forth with his warm little body nestled againsther, she thought how differently Ida would have chosen could she haveknown that this precious little soul was to be given into her keeping.If somebody had only gone to her with old Hildgardmar'swarning--"Remember that in the right weaving of this web depends notonly thy own happiness but the happiness of _all those who come afterthee,_" it might have made a world of difference. But nobody had openedher eyes to the enormity of the responsibility she was assuming, andnow, maybe despite all her careful training and frantic efforts to makeher little son what she would have him be, she might not be able to turnhis life out of the cha
nnel of his inherited tastes and appetites.

  It must be _awful_ she thought, hugging him closer, to love a child withthe passionate devotion that Ida loved this one, and have it grow upinto a worthless vagabond like Ned Bannan. Then a stray wonder crossedher mind if Leland Harcourt's mother would have been disappointed in himif she could have lived to see him wasting his splendid talents andopportunities; just drifting along in an aimless, thistledown sort ofexistence when he might be such a power for good if he would only exerthimself.

  "He doesn't measuah up to the third notch at all," she admitted with afeeling of regret.

  Just then there was a long distance call for her at the telephone, andhastily putting Wardo down she went to answer it.

  "It's from Mistah Harcourt," she called carelessly, in answer to hermother's inquiry from the next room. "He was coming ovah to-night butsomething detained him in Louisville, and he called me up to tell me notto expect him."

  She hoped that she had kept the flutter out of her voice that the soundof his voice brought into her pulses. For at the close of thiscommonplace message was the request that she make no engagement with anyone else for the next night. He had something to tell her, andthen--there was that same word with which he had closed his note--thatsoft musical name, seeming twice as personal and significant because ofthe tone in which he said it. She felt that he must be conscious of thequick blush it brought to her face as she hastily hung up the receiver.

  That night for the first time that summer Lloyd was alone with herfather and mother. Betty had Madam Chartley's letter to answer, and theold Colonel had gone out to dinner. The three sat on the broadwhite-pillared porch in the moonlight, Lloyd on the step at her father'sfeet, her arm on his knee. Ever since the telephone message her thoughtshad been in a tumult. It was useless for her to pretend that she didn'tknow why Leland wanted to see her alone, and what it was he was comingto tell her. She was glad and sorry and half frightened and altogetherconfused. "He isn't the prince at all," she kept saying to herself as ifit were a charm that would help her ward off his approach and keep hertrue to her Hildegarde promise.

  And yet--his wooing was the kind one reads of in books. She would besorry to have _that_ come to an end. It was so delightful to have someone write poems to her and sing songs in such a way that every tone andglance dedicated them to her alone. If one could only go on that waythrough all the summers, being adored in that fashion, knowing she wascrowned queen in somebody's heart, how delightful it would be. But shedidn't want things to come to a crisis when she would have to make gravedecisions and solemn promises. She didn't want to go one step fartherthan this borderland of romance where they lingered now. What she wantedwas just to go on building her little castles as she had done that dayon the sea-shore, and yet be assured that the tide wouldn't comecreeping up any farther. It was just far enough now to be interesting.She wished they would begin to talk about things like that, but sheshrank from bringing up such a subject herself. After awhile shebroached one almost akin.

  "Mothah," she asked, breaking a long comfortable silence that had fallenon them, "do you think that Lucy is happy?"

  "No, not entirely--that is just at present," Mrs. Sherman answeredslowly, as if considering. "She's hardly adjusted herself yet to the neworder of things, but she will in time because she's such a yieldinglittle soul, and is really devoted to her husband. For instance, when heinsisted she gave up her church to please him and joined his. It meant agreat struggle and a sacrifice on her part, and he is not at all devout,doesn't attend services more than twice a year; so it couldn't havemade such a vital difference to him where she went. Then at home herfather always placed a certain amount in the bank every month to hiswife's credit, so there never was any unpleasantness about moneymatters. While Jameson is very wealthy and lavishes luxuries andbeautiful clothes on her, he reserves the pleasure of buying andspending entirely to himself. Treats her like a child in their financialarrangements, and doles out little allowances as if she couldn't betrusted to spend it intelligently. She's so sensitive that she'd rathergo without than ask him for a cent, and it often puts her in anembarrassing position to be without."

  "In other words," put in Papa Jack, "he's thoroughly inconsiderate andselfish, although I imagine he'd be mightily amazed if any one appliedthat term to him since he is so lavish in giving things in his own way."

  "Yes, he is," was the answer. "I've noticed it in a dozen little ways.It's always _his_ wishes and _his_ tastes that have to be consulted,never Lucy's. Yet aside from that trait he is a thoroughly fine man, andbecause she respects him and looks up to him and is such a sweetyielding little creature, he'll come in time to be the centre of heruniverse, and she'll revolve around him like a loyal little planet. Buta girl of a different temperament wouldn't. If she were impetuous andhighstrung like you for instance," she added with a smile at Lloyd, "shewould see the injustice of it and resent it so bitterly that there wouldbe continual friction and jar. With your temperament you couldn't livepeaceably with anybody like that."

  "I know I couldn't," admitted Lloyd frankly, "especially if he showedany jealousy. Mistah Jameson is jealous of every friend Lucy evah had atthe Post. He doesn't like it a bit when she refers to the good times sheused to have with the boys there, even when they were just ordinaryfriends. Half a dozen times I've seen the tears come to her eyes at someinconsiderate thing he'd say, and I'd think if I were Lucy I couldn'tsit there and take it like a martyr. I'd have to jump up and shake himtill his teeth rattled."

  "What a cat and dog time you would have," laughed Mrs. Sherman. "Worsethan little Mary Ware's nightmare that she had after Eugenia's wedding."

  "By the way," exclaimed Mr. Sherman, slapping his pockets to find aletter he had placed in one of them, "I knew there was something Iintended to tell you. Jack Ware is on his way here now."

  Then in answer to the surprise and the questions that greeted hisannouncement he explained, "I suggested making him assistant manager ofthe mines and the Company wants to have a look at him, and put himthrough a sort of examination. He's so young they rather doubt myjudgment in the matter. But they'll find out when they see him. Wetelegraphed him to come, and he left Arizona several days ago. He'll behere only a day and night probably."

  Lloyd left her seat on the step and took a chair beside her father,sitting straight and alert in her interest. It was hard to realize thatJack Ware was grown. He was only fourteen when she had known him on thedesert. "Oh, will you evah forget," she laughed, "the way he looked whenwe surprised him at the washtub, all tied up in an apron, helping Joycewith the family washing?"

  "His readiness to pitch in to whatever is to be done is his chiefcharacteristic," was the answer. "That is what makes him so valuable atthe mines. Patient and reliable and strong, he is one of the finestyoung fellows of my acquaintance. He'll be one of the big men of theWest some day, for young as he is, he is into everything that makes forthe welfare and development of the territory he lives in."

  All the rest of the evening was spent in recalling that visit to Ware'sWigwam, and when Lloyd went up to bed, although Leland Harcourt's namehad not been mentioned, she felt that her doubts and unspoken questionsabout him had been answered. She must not listen any more to that littlename, that caressing little name that left such a thrill in its wake.

  "Wise old Hildgardmar," said Mrs. Sherman in a playful tone after Lloydhad left them. "I don't suppose when you sent for Jack that it enteredyour head you were giving her the very safeguard of contrast that Ihoped she might have, but you will be doing it all the same."

  "No, I didn't," he confessed, "but I think you are magnifying theinterest she has in Harcourt. She never mentioned his name all evening."

  "But she talked all around him," answered Mrs. Sherman, "and I think shecame to the conclusion before she went up-stairs that he does notmeasure up to your standards, and is almost sure that he does not evenmeet hers."