Part 2

All this time Carter had been watching the scene with eagerness, their coach being very near to the judges’ stand, and now, as the little darkey, bearing her beloved Southern colors, turned his defiant face upward toward the judges’ stand, and she saw it clearly for the first time, a suspicion, which had been slowly dawning on her, was turned into reality--a reality that thrilled her through with excitement.

“He must do it! He shall!” she said, in a low tone to Jim Stafford. “Take me down there, and I’ll make him!”

Stafford looked at her aghast. He was excited enough himself, for the time was flying, and, with a little more delay, the race would be declared off.

“By Jove!” he said, in one second’s hesitation, and then, remembering the ox, he added, “Come on, then, quickly,” and in another instant she was nimbly descending the ladder and he was making a way for her to get to the railing.

The party on the coach stared protestingly, and Gladys made an effort to recall her, but little heed paid Carter, as she found herself close up to the railing, toward which the colored jockey was even now advancing, in his defiant resolution to leave the field.

A dozen men were following him, with urgent beseechings and threats, to which he turned an absolutely deaf ear, until suddenly, across this clamor a soft, clear voice said, with a ring of command:

“You, Little Tom!”

The darkey turned, as if shot, and looked the speaker full in the face.

“Get up on that horse this instant!” said the same clear voice, imperiously. “Bring him here,” it added, to the man who was holding Quicksilver’s bridle, and as the restive animal was brought near, it suddenly became apparent that the human creature had been subdued.

The bewildered jockey stared full at the young lady before him, and when she said:

“Get up--quick, I say! You haven’t a second to lose.”

The resolute command was immediately obeyed, and the red-and-white-shirted jockey was on the horse and in his place, five seconds only before the order to start was given.

Only those in the immediate neighborhood had seen and heard what passed, and even they were so preoccupied by the paramount excitement of the moment, that, in their eagerness to follow the horses now flying away down the track, they forgot to think about the girl who had saved the day by some occult authority which she possessed, and so she managed to slip through the crowd almost unobserved, and to regain her seat upon the coach, followed by Stafford in a state of ecstacy over her success.

Meantime, the horses, like a pack of hounds, were bunched together on the other side of the course, but now the grey could be seen to be steadily gaining, and soon the red and white colors could be distinguished. Quicksilver was ahead, and every instant was an advance for him. As his slight young rider, leaning forward with his mount, rose in his stirrups, and rested in delicate poise, the breeze whipping into fluttering folds the striped silk of his shirt, and seeming to blow backward, in its strong current even Quicksilver’s lowered ears, the crowd sent up a wild yell of enthusiasm, in which one alien-sounding voice was heard exclaiming:

“Good for you, Little Tom!”

The voice was so low, however, that no one heard it very plainly except Stafford, and now, as the race ended, with Quicksilver first, and no second, he turned delightedly to his companion, saying:

“Good for you, Miss Ayr of Virginia! It was you who saved the day, and now will you be good enough to tell me how you did it? If ever I saw a creature determined to go his own way and defy consequences, it was that angry negro, until you spoke to him, when he came down like a lamb. How you managed it--(and without even the aid of mud!)--is what I want you to explain.”

“O, there is nothing wonderful in it when you come to find out,” said Carter. “It’s our Little Tom, who ran off from home some time ago and his mammy has been grieving for him ever since. Of course when I spoke to him, he would not dare to disobey me.”

“So it appeared,” said Stafford, “though he did not scruple to disobey and defy a dozen determined men! I must say I don’t understand it. And since he is a grown man, why do you call him ‘Little Tom,’ may I ask?”

“To distinguish him from the other Toms on the place,” said Carter. “There were so many of them--Little Tom, and Tom, and Uncle Tom, and Old Uncle Tom, and Old _Old_ Uncle Tom.”

This explanation, which Carter made so simply, proved immensely amusing to the men of the party, who laughed and enjoyed it sufficiently to hide, in part, the lack of enthusiasm which the ladies had shown.

Stafford insisted on going and looking Little Tom up, and bringing him to drink a glass of champagne in honor of his triumph. He came, sheepishly enough, when he heard who had sent for him, though he had borne himself with a good deal of swagger in the crowd where Stafford found him.

“Howdy, Miss Kyarter,” he said, taking off his cap, and dangling it nervously in his hands, as he stood on the ground looking up at her. “I sut’ny is glad tuh see yuh. Them white folks kinder confused me ’bout dat race, en mammy ain’ whup all the temper out’er me yit! I sut’ny is glad you bin come ’long, en mek me ride. I leet more loss dat money! En I gwine let yuh tek half of it home wid yuh, fuh a presen’ tuh mammy.”

“That’s right, Little Tom,” said Carter. “It’ll please mammy mightily. I’m going to tell her about the race and what a fine horse you rode.”

“Yes’m, he’s right smart fine, Quicksilver is, but I don’ think he ekills we all’s Whitefoot. I ain’ see none dese yer horses dat’s up to Whitefoot _yet_! Ef ole Mars’d lemme bring Whitefoot on hyar, en ride ’im at a race, he’d beat ’em all, en dat’s what I tell ’em every time.”

Carter, who was intimately acquainted with Little Tom’s character and points of view, smiled to herself at this compliment to poor old Whitefoot, whose best days were so far in the past. She knew it was only done to impress strangers with the importance of the people to whom, in spite of his desertion of them for scenes more congenial to his adventurous spirit, he was and would always remain loyal.

After this little episode, Carter’s timidity vanished, and, being the centre of attraction on the coach now, she felt far more at her ease, and she talked much and talked well. But, with it all, her voice was so low, her speech so gently modulated, as she told negro anecdotes and imitated their talk, that her cousins found nothing to say afterward, except that she had made herself rather conspicuous, and Carter, who felt that they would gladly have said more, felt that she could well endure that.

Miss Ayr of Virginia had certainly been very unfortunate in the specimens of New York women whom she had so far encountered, and, being very rash and impulsive, she must be forgiven for making the great mistake of judging all New York women by these cousins of hers and their associates in “the smart set.” And as a convert to any faith is always more zealous and infatuated than those who have been born to it, so the Miss Ayrs of New York were the extreme examples of this type.

The little Virginian, who was accustomed to using her wits, had discovered one thing during that day’s experience at the races, which disturbed her very much. This was that she was badly dressed. It stung her pride at first to be compelled to own it, but having done so, she set about the task of remedying this defect. She had naturally a genial and affectionate nature, and her first step was to try to get some help from her cousins. They, however, showed so very little interest in the matter that Carter, who now realized that she was heavily handicapped by her dresses and bonnets, was led to believe that they did not wish to see this disability removed. This thought hurt her, at first, and then inspired her to a course of resolute and independent action.

She knew that her father would be distressed if she came home suddenly and gave her real reasons for such a course; and, besides, she could not travel alone, and the time which her father had set to come for her was still weeks off, so she made up her mind to stay, and to provide herself with such an outfit as would change the face of her staying.

Finding her cousins quite indisposed to give her their aid, she made a note of an address on the belt of one of their dresses, and next morning she went to that address and held a conference with that high authority.

The woman recognized her as a pretty subject, and they put their heads together and got up two charming costumes, one for street, and the other for evening wear. The dressmaker happened not to be very busy, and the dresses were promised in a few days’ time. Then Carter, who had taken in a good deal of the prevailing modes from her yesterday’s experiences, went boldly, all by herself, and bought a hat, and gloves, and shoes.

Every moment it was borne in on her more plainly what a countrified little being she was, and she felt that if she now got safely housed once more, she would not venture out, until she could spread her wings in her new plumage.

It was, therefore, a real regret to her when she presently encountered Jim Stafford, immaculately dressed and gloved and booted, walking down Fifth Avenue with a bunch of fresh violets in his button-hole and a smile on his good-natured face, which deepened into a look of real pleasure as he recognized her and lifted his tall hat.

She would have been quite content to bow and pass on, but he turned and walked with her.

“What luck!” he said, in his jolly way. “Would you believe that I was that moment thinking of you? The stories of the ox and the jockey are all over town to-day, and everybody is wanting to see you. When will you go out on my coach again?”

“Not until I get some better clothes to wear,” said Carter, in her impulsive way. “I never knew, until yesterday, how countrified country people are!”

“And who undertook to enlighten you, I’d like to know?” said her companion, frowning. “Some spiteful woman, of course! There’s nothing the matter that I can see, and if I were you I’d pay no attention to their criticisms.”

“You wouldn’t? Then you are distinctly _not_ me, for I’m mending my ways with the utmost rapidity. You mustn’t ask me to appear again in public, until I can look like other people.”

“But that’s exactly what I don’t want. It’s just because you look--and are--unlike other people that I like you. It would be a perfect shame for you to be changed into one of the people you are going to imitate.”

“Never fear that,” said Carter, with a sudden seriousness. “We are utterly different peoples, I think--the North and the South! I have never been in the North before, and I feel I’m in a foreign land.”

“Don’t say that! I can’t bear to have you feeling that way. What could one do to make you feel at home here?”

“Nothing--I verily believe! The South is in my veins--but I think, in a way, kindness makes one feel at home everywhere--and you _have_ been kind to me!”

By this time they had reached her uncle’s house and she held out her hand as if to say good-bye. Her look was so sweet and winning as he took that little hand, awkwardly gloved as it was, that he felt an inward protest at being dismissed.

“Why may I not come in?” he said.

“There’s no one at home,” she answered, innocently, “the girls were all going to a tea.”

“Decidedly, I shall come in,” he said, as he rang the bell. “Why didn’t they take you to the tea?”

“O, they said they thought I wouldn’t care for it, and they were right.”

When the servant opened the door and ushered them into the drawing-room, he stopped to ask if he should serve tea there.

Carter hesitated a second, but Stafford said promptly:

“Yes, Thompson, you may. I am going to get Miss Ayr to give me a cup.”

So in a very few moments Carter found herself seated before the exquisitely appointed tea-tray, pouring out a fragrant cupful, for this pleasant and friendly man, who was evidently enjoying himself thoroughly.

There was an undeniable sense of pleasure in it. The room was so large and beautiful and luxurious; Thompson deferred to her wishes in such an agreeable manner; the tea was so good; the china and silver so delicate; the man facing her was so _soigné_ in all the appointments of his dress--in short, there was about her everywhere the sense of ease and luxury which money alone brings--and Carter had never cared a rap for money! Her wants had been so few and small that they had always been readily supplied; in fact she had never before imagined the mere material comfort which it was possible to miss out of life.

“Do tell me something more about the darkies,” said her companion, sipping his tea enjoyingly, when Thompson had gone, “I’ve been chuckling ever since, over those stories you told us yesterday.”

Carter knit her pretty brow to try to think up something. It was very pleasant to her to try to amuse this amiable man, for she really felt grateful to him, and anxious to please him.

“O, I’ll tell you about Uncle Enos, when he got religion,” she said, smiling at the remembrance. “It was such a clever thing in him! Enos was our white-washer, and he had been notoriously bad and irreligious, until his conversion. The very next day he came to me and told me of it, and added that, early that morning, while he was white-washing a fence, a serious danger had threatened him in his new life. ‘Miss Kyarter,’ he said, ‘I was wuckin’ away en thinkin’ ’bout de blessed change whar done bin cum tuh me, en I look up en see one o’ them miser’ble, low-life, God-forsaken niggers, whar I had done bin use tuh keep comp’ny with, a-cummin’ down de road. I see him begin tuh laugh en sner, ez soon ez he cum nigh me, en I knowed ’twus kus I done jine de army o’ de Lord. He stop short on t’other side de fence, en he low since I bin done got religion, he s’pose I b’lieve everything de Bible say is true? I tell him, ‘Yes, bless de Lord!’ ‘Well,’ he say, with one o’ his wicked, mischeeveous grins, ‘don’t de Bible say dat when de Lord done finish all He wuks, He bin look at ’em all, en behol’ dey was all good?’ ‘Yes,’ I tell him, ‘dem is de ve’y words o’ de blessed book.’ ‘Well,’ he say, ‘didn’ de Lord mek de _Devil_? How was dat?’ en he slaps his impident fat sides en busted out a-laughin’! He had jiss turn roun’ to go way, when I call him back. ‘Hol’ on, you blasphemious black-skinned raskill!’ I say, ‘you think yuh dun kotch me, do yuh? But wasn’ he a mighty good _Devil_?’”

Stafford laughed, with a feeling of zest that he had not known for a long while. He was evidently immensely amused at the negro characteristics, as Carter unfolded them to him, and the girl, catching sight of a guitar, tucked away in a corner, ran and brought it, in her natural and impulsive way, and, with her head prettily turned on one side, began to tune it.

“I’m going to sing you some plantation hymns,” she said. “Shall I?”

As he responded with the most evident enthusiasm, she got her chords attuned and began to sing to an indescribably plaintive tune:

“O, send down de angel to trouble o’ de water, O, send down de angel to trouble o’ de water, O, send down de angel to trouble o’ de water, And to let God’s saints come in.”

Her voice was exquisitely clear and sweet and she possessed the unusual charm of looking especially attractive when she sang. Altogether, the experience was new to Stafford, and very interesting. To see that pretty creature, in her country-made gown, with the hat thrown aside from her charming head, which it had roughened into picturesque disorder, singing that wistful, yearning tune about God’s saints, with such an absence of any self-consciousness, except that she was giving pleasure, was really a rare delight to the young man of fashion. His whole life was the pursuit of pleasure, and he found it in a very piquant form here.

She sang next a hymn beginning “De Gospel train am coming roun’ de bend,” and then passed into the tripping measure of “Who’ll be de Leader, when de Bride-Groom comes?” a catching little air with which he was enchanted.

Altogether he had not been so well entertained for a long time, and the next morning came a note asking that Miss Ayr of Virginia and one of her cousins would take seats on his coach for an expedition to be got up in special compliment to the first-named Miss Ayr.

It was a surprise to her cousins and, as Carter could see, not a welcome one. Gladys, being spokesman, said that she thought it best to mention the fact that, in her conspicuous seat by the driver, her costume would be a target for criticism.

“Oh, I don’t mind that,” said Carter, lightly. “Mr. Stafford didn’t ask me for my clothes.”

“You would feel awkward, I should think--” began Gladys, but Carter interrupted her:

“Not a bit, I assure you!” she said. “I’ll feel as happy as possible.”

She was malicious enough to keep her secret, and she even suspected some malice on her cousin’s part, in looking forward with satisfaction to finding herself proved to be in the right when the appointed hour should come.

And when it did come, and Miss Ayr of Virginia stepped forth arrayed, she was a charming enough vision to have accounted for a good deal of feminine envy and uncharitableness!

The fit of her gown was faultless, and it was a well-nigh faultless figure which was fitted. The color was fresh and pure and so were the tints of hair, and eyes, and lips, and cheeks. The hat was youth and grace itself, and all smaller details of her toilet were beyond criticism. She was a clever creature, this little Miss Ayr of Virginia, and her present costume gave ample evidence of it.

When the party was ready to set off, she was feeling a wonderful sense of companionship and friendliness with Stafford, and he with her.

“Stunning, by Jove!” he said, as she climbed to her place beside him. “It looks as if Miss Ayr of Virginia was going to beat them on their own ground. It’s really almost too bad of you!”

What a pleasant, light-hearted, boyish creature he was, she thought, and how nice to be so cordially liked by him and to bowl along in the place of honor at his side, the observed and admired of all who passed them!

And not the least pleasant part of it all was the sense of _bien-être_, which came from the consciousness of her irreproachable costume. It made her feel brave and confident even with the women of the party, and, this time, her somewhat timid overtures to them were far more kindly met. Gladys, who had elected to be the one of her cousins to accompany her, treated her rather differently, she thought, and, altogether, it was a delightful occasion.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” asked Stafford, just as this thought was in her mind.

“Oh, yes, tremendously,” she said. “For the first time since I got here I am almost forgetting to be home-sick. Almost, but not quite.”

“Home-sick?” he said. “I don’t like that. Why should you be home-sick?”

“Oh, I’ve almost died of it,” said Carter. “The other day, going to the races, on the line of all those splendid carriages I saw, at the side of the road, an old horse eating oats out of a nose-bag, with a ragged old darkey standing by, and somehow it made me think so of home that I almost burst into tears.”

“But why should you feel so? What is it that you miss so much that could not be supplied here?”

“Here? Oh, I could never feel at home here! What I miss is simply everything--the earth, and the sky, and the trees, and the darkies, and the people, and everything!”

“I should like to see that wonderful country. Will you let me, some day?”

“Strangers are always welcome in the South,” she said; “but you would remain a stranger there. The life would never suit you.”

She felt instinctively that he did not like this, and--out of pure compassion at having hurt a person who had been so good to her--she set to work to make herself as delightful to him as she could, and with such success that Gladys, who was taking notes from a back seat, formed a conclusion, which definitely modified her future course toward her cousin.

So marked was this that when, at the end of the excursion, Gladys invited their late host to come and dine informally that evening, if he had no other engagement, and when he had delightedly accepted and driven away, she followed her little country cousin to her room and offered in the pleasantest way to help her out with an evening toilet.

“I have one, thank you,” Carter said, “but I’m just as much obliged.”

She hadn’t it in her to bear malice, and far enough from her consciousness was any suspicion of the real reason of her cousin’s change toward her. Had she been present a few moments later at a conversation which took place between the three sisters much light would have been thrown upon this point. Here Gladys boldly avowed her belief that Carter would be asked to become Mrs. Stafford. Never, she said, had she seen Jim treat any girl as he treated Carter, and without the necessity of much talk about it, the sisters were unanimously agreed that it would be a good thing to have Jim Stafford in the family on any terms. It was only too evident that there was no chance of this on terms more close and acceptable than the present ones, for his attitude toward the Miss Ayrs of New York had been strictly limited to the off-hand intercourse of old friends and neighbors. And Carter, in her guileless heart, would never have imagined a further reason yet. This existed in the fact that Jim Stafford had been so ardently angled for by so many of their friends that it would be a triumph, in a way, to the Ayr girls to have him even for a cousin. Their thoughts had gone even farther than that, and they looked forward to being on cousinly terms in the establishment over which Jim Stafford’s wife would preside in New York.