CHAPTER II.

A RIDE ON HORSEBACK.

Woodcliff is truly a pleasant home, where Mr. Hamilton has displayed his fine taste, and rendered it one of the most attractive residences in the whole neighborhood. It is a very elegant mansion, surrounded on the first floor by piazzas, while balconies from the second story command a fine view of the adjacent country. It stands majestically on the top of a high cliff, sloping down in grassy terraces to an artificial lake, where numerous goldfish enjoy their merry gambols, and where Madeline frequently sits dabbling her pretty white feet, and throwing crumbs of bread to the pets which she has tamed. At the back of the house may be seen a large conservatory, filled with rare and beautiful flowers, and at the opposite wing a fine library; both wings opening into gardens laid out with the most exquisite taste, adorned with every variety of rich and costly shrubbery.

And here has passed the childhood of Madeline Hamilton, the only and petted child of a father who idolizes her, and who will not cross her strong will, or deny any indulgence that wealth can purchase.

Having lost her mother in her infancy, her only female guide is a maiden aunt, whose weak character is entirely unable to control the strong will of her wayward little niece. Indeed, though often much provoked, a few cunning compliments, and a shower of warm kisses, could at any time disarm Aunt Matilda's anger; so that by flattering her aunt, by numerous blandishments, and by sundry coaxing ways with her father, Madeline pretty generally ruled the household. Though proud spirited and passionate, she had a warm and generous nature--a creature of storms, and tears, and smiles; and parlor and kitchen alike bent to the will of the spoiled child, for her witcheries had bound all to her little car. Her favorite amusement was riding about the country upon a pony, which her father had purchased for her two years before.

Mounted on Selim, away she would scamper up and down the lanes and hills of Woodcliff, sometimes attended by a groom; but if she could contrive to elude his vigilance, most frequently she took these rides alone.

Selim was very gentle, and they were great friends; but occasionally he had been known to run away when suddenly frightened.

Aunt Matilda often remonstrated against these wild rides, but all in vain.

"There she goes like a Mad-cap down the lane! I tell you, brother, that we shall have her brought home some day, either crippled or killed."

Just as Aunt Matilda concluded her speech to Mr. Hamilton, the child turned her beautiful face, beaming with mischief, back upon her father, and waving her little whip in defiance, she tossed her bright locks to the wind, and galloped off.

"I can't bear to restrain her, sister; nothing has ever happened yet, and it seems such a pity to check such a spirit as that."

Madeline was in high glee, and Selim was equally frolicsome. Taking the path with which they were both familiar, she rode gaily along, fearless and joyous, singing some merry song.

Passing a corner of the road, she was suddenly attracted by the sight of the boy of the sea-shore. As she passed, he took off his cap respectfully to the little girl, and she returned the salutation by reining up her horse, and inquiring about his injuries.

"They are quite well, miss," was the reply; "and mother is very thankful to the young lady, who so kindly lent me her handkerchief."

Just then Maddy perceived Harry and Charles riding rapidly up the road, and who started off at a quick pace as they passed her. Charles gave two or three cuts of his whip upon Selim's haunches, a liberty which he would not bear. He started in full gallop. Madeline kept her seat bravely, but with a pale cheek and quivering lip; for now she was really frightened, and found herself incapable of checking his speed. On he galloped, more and more fiercely, for the sight of the flying horses but increased the swiftness of his flight.

Roland saw her danger, and every moment expected to see her thrown as he perceived her swaying backward and forward. With lightning speed, he had started as soon as he saw the mean act of the boys, and by wondrous efforts succeeded in reaching the horse. Exerting all his strength, he headed off the animal at the risk of his life, and seizing the bridle, held on even while the horse was rearing.

"Hold tight, Miss Madeline," said Roland, with a firm voice; "men are coming."

At that moment he was thrown to the ground, but still held on to the bridle, though kicked severely by the frightened animal.

In another instant two men arrived, who succeeded in lifting Madeline from Selim's back; and extricating Roland from his perilous condition, found that he had severely sprained his ankle, and received several bruises.

Madeline was laid fainting upon the ground, and when the boys who had caused the accident rode up, their blanched countenances indicated the terror which they really felt.

"We did not mean to throw you, coz," said Charles; "all we meant was a little sport."

"You might have killed your cousin, young gentlemen," answered Roland.

"Hold your tongue, you low upstart! What right have you here?" was the rude reply.

"It was well that I was near, for Miss Madeline had not much to hope for from her manly cousins."

"Begone! you ragamuffin! We want none of your help."

"I shall not go, sir, until I have seen Miss Madeline safe in her father's house," was the quick reply; and with a firm step, Roland advanced towards the little girl, and after she was sufficiently recovered, succeeded, by the help of the men, in placing her upon Selim's back, who was now quite pacified. Roland, though suffering from a sprained ankle, taking the horse's bridle, led him quietly along.

Seeing Roland master of the field, the two boys sneaked away, and Madeline said,

"I'm glad that they are gone; a pair of mean cowardly fellows! I can't bear Charley Davenport; but I'm afraid that you are hurt, Roland," continued the child, "and I'm so sorry that those rude boys spoke so insultingly. But don't mind them, Roland; I only wish you were my cousin, instead of Charles."

"Don't think of me, miss; you were kind to me when I was hurt the other day; and I am so glad that I can be of any service to you. As to the boys, I pity them; they have never been taught what is true politeness."

"There is Woodcliff, Roland," said Madeline, as she turned into the avenue which led to the house.

Mr. Hamilton and Aunt Matilda ran hastily down to meet her; and soon they perceived her horse led slowly along.

"What is the matter, my darling?" inquired the father, lifting her from the horse, and alarmed at her pallid countenance.

"Not much, now, papa; but if it had not been for the bravery of this good boy, I might have been killed," and as soon as she was seated, she related the story of her rescue to her grateful father.

"Thank you, my brave boy," said Mr. Hamilton, as he wrung Roland's hand. "You have done me a favor which I shall never forget."

As Roland stood uncovered in Mr. Hamilton's presence, he thought that he had never seen a more noble boy, though clad in the garb of poverty. Taking out his pocketbook, he offered him a five dollar note, a great treasure for Roland Bruce. Drawing himself proudly up, while the color mounted to his very temples, he said:

"Excuse me, sir; I would not lose the pleasure of helping Miss Madeline, and poor as I am, I cannot receive anything for an act so simple."

"If I can serve you in any way, my boy, come to me freely; I should be most happy to aid you."

Just then the two cousins rode slowly up the avenue, and felt justly humbled at the sharp reproofs administered in the presence of Roland Bruce.

"Boys, I am heartily ashamed of you. When you practise jokes of this kind, let it be on some one beside a little girl; I am sorry that your cousin had to find a protector in a stranger."

"Papa, look at Roland, how pale he is!" exclaimed Madeline, just as he sank down exhausted on the step of the piazza.

"You are hurt, my boy," said Mr. Hamilton.

Roland tried to smile, but the pain of his ankle was so severe, that he could no longer conceal his sufferings. "I think that I have sprained my ankle," was the answer.

Mr. Hamilton instantly took off the shoe, and was shocked to see how much it was swollen.

"You must come in, my boy, and have remedies applied at once."

After bathing and bandaging the limb, much to the mortification of the two boys, Roland was sent home in the buggy, under the care of the coachman. Charles and Harry shrank away into the house, and Madeline cried because her friend was hurt.

"Won't you send over to-morrow, papa, to see how he is? He is such a good, brave boy."

"Yes, my child, all shall be done that is right; but you must not fret so much about a stranger."

With the careful nursing of a good mother, and the kind attentions of Mr. Hamilton, Roland soon recovered, and Madeline frequently stopped at the cottage door to inquire for her young protector.

Mr. Hamilton was sadly puzzled to know what to do with his wild little daughter.

She was now ten years old, with bright talents, but a wholly undisciplined mind; for nothing of importance had yet been done in the great task of education, unless we except a physical form of perfectly healthy development.

She had free access to her father's library, and devoured indiscriminately whatever came in her way--history, poetry, romance--and it was really amusing to see with what facility she personified her favorite characters; and how much she remembered of the wild legends of feudal days, and of the lords and ladies that graced the Courts of Queen Elizabeth and Mary Stuart.

Sir William Wallace and Robert Bruce, were, however, her great heroes, and were ever uppermost in her mind whenever she heard of a great man.

Fairy tales were her delight; and Madeline was never better pleased than when she could gather an audience of youthful listeners, to whom she could relate the wonderful doings of these little people.

Acting out in her fanciful costumes either the grandeur of Queen Elizabeth, the grace of Mary Stuart, or the changing fortunes of Cinderella, Madeline amused her father and Aunt Matilda by her witcheries part of the day, spending the remainder of her time in her wild frolics on the back of Selim, scouring the woods, or frequently attended by Hector, rambling on the sea-shore.

Two or more hair-breadth escapes by land and water, at last decided Mr. Hamilton that he must get a governess for his mad-cap daughter, and much to her disgust, she was told that papa had gone to Boston to bring back a lady, to take charge of her education.

"Now, I suppose, aunty, that I am to be tied down to old musty books, slate, pencil and pen, and everlasting thrumming on the old piano--good-bye to the wild woods, and the sea-shore. I know I shall get sick; I always get sick over school-books; and then papa will have to send. Miss Prosy away; we'll see, that we will," tapping her little foot impatiently on the velvet carpet, and darting a quick mischievous glance at her aunt, she continued, "I'll make this house too warm for Miss Prosy. I tell you, aunty, she'll be glad to get rid of Madeline Hamilton before long," and tossing aside her ringlets, she dashed out of the room, humming a lively tune.

Madeline sought her maid, Nanny, into whose ears she poured all her grievances.

"Nanny, is it not too bad? There's papa gone off to Boston, to bring back some horrid old teacher to spoil all my fun. I expect she is tall and thin, and yellow and cross. I know I shan't like her; I never did like a teacher yet."

"I'm real sorry, Miss Maddy, for I think you know more now than half of the little girls. You can say Cinderella, and can act Queen Elizabeth, and Queen Mary, and can make verses, and ever so much."

Madeline was a shrewd child, and knew very well that such foolish things were of no manner of use to any little girl.

She could not help smiling at Nanny's simplicity, and said,

"Why, you see, Nanny, these things only amuse me. I know that there is a great deal more to learn, but I don't want to take the trouble."

"Don't be afraid, miss; your papa won't make you learn if you don't want to; and if you don't like the teacher, I can help you to get her away."

"That is a dear good Nanny; I'll give you a new dress, and pretty collar, if you'll only be my friend."

"I know what to do, miss; if I tell your papa that you don't sleep well, and that you are getting pale, he'll think that you are going to be sick, and will send her away, I know."

"Well, Nanny, I am not sick now. I feel as merry as a lark. Do you want to hear my little song, Nanny?"

Dancing about the room, in a sweet clear voice, she commenced singing,

Away, away to the woods for me, Away, away to the dear old sea; Away up the hills, and down the lanes, As I give to Selim the lightest reins.

Then away we scamper in many a race, Giving old Hector a good wild chase; Books and slates are very good things, But Mad-cap would rather dance and sing. Away, away to the woods for me, Away, away to the dear old sea.

"Did you really make up that song, Miss Maddy?" asked the wondering Nanny.

Madeline burst out laughing as she replied, "Why, yes, Nanny, I often make up such little pieces."

"Why, how do you do it, Miss Madeline?"

"I don't know, Nanny; the words just come to me themselves."

"Why sure! what a wonderful child! What's the use of getting a teacher; I guess Miss Prosser can't make verses."