Peggy Stewart at School Part 6

On Sunday morning Neil Stewart, with Mrs. Stewart and Peggy drove into Annapolis to attend service at the Naval Academy Chapel where their entrance very nearly demoralized Polly Howland, no hint of their intention having been given her. They were a little late in arriving and the service had already begun. As Polly was rising from her knees after the first prayer Peggy was ushered into the pew, and Polly, _Polly_ under all circ.u.mstances, cried impulsively:

"Oh, lovely!" her voice distinctly audible in the chancel. Whether the Chaplain felt himself lauded for the manner in which he had read the prayer, or was quick to guess the cause of that unusual response, it is not necessary to decide. Certain, however, were two or three distinct snickers from some pews under the gallery, and Polly nearly dove under the pew in front of her.

There was no chance for the thousand and one topics of vital importance to be even touched upon while the service was in progress, but once the recessional rolled forth Peggy's and Polly's tongues were loosened and went a-galloping.

"Oh, Daddy has a plan for the afternoon which is the dearest ever,"

announced Peggy, the old light back in her eyes, and the old enthusiasm in her voice.

"Tell it right off then. Captain Stewart's plans are the most wonderful ever. I'll never forget New London," cried Polly.

"Why, he wants you and the Little Mother and Durand and Ralph and Jean and Gordon--"

"Gordon?" echoed Polly, a question in her eyes.

Peggy nodded an emphatic little nod, her lips closing in a half-defiant, half who-dares-dispute-his-judgment little way, then the smile returned to the pretty mouth and she continued, "Yes, Gordon Powers and his room-mate, great, big Douglas Porter, and Durand's new room-mate, Bert Taylor, he comes from Snap's old home, so Daddy learned, to come out to Severndale this afternoon for a real frolic."

She got no further for they had reached the terrace in front of the Chapel by that time where greetings were being exchanged between many mutual friends and the two girls, so widely known to all connected with the Academy were eagerly welcomed back.

Meanwhile, out on the main walk the Brigade had broken ranks and the mids.h.i.+pmen were hurrying up to greet their friends. Captain Stewart was a favorite with all, and one of the very few officers who could recall how the world looked to him when _he_ was a mids.h.i.+pman. Consequently, he was able to enter into the spirit and viewpoint of the lads and was always greeted with an enthusiasm rare in the intercourse between the mids.h.i.+pmen and the officers. Mrs. Harold was their "Little Mother," as she had been for the past five years, and Peggy and Polly the best and jolliest of companions and chums, their "co-ed cronies," as they called them.

Mrs. Stewart they had met in New London, but there was a very perceptible difference in their greeting to that lady: It was the formal, perfunctory bow and handclasp of the superficially known mids.h.i.+pman; not the hearty, spontaneous one of the boy who has learned to trust and love someone as Mrs. Harold's boys loved and trusted her.

The crowd which had poured out of the Chapel was soon dispersed, as everybody had something to call him elsewhere. Our group sauntered slowly toward the Superintendent's home where Captain Stewart left them and went in to make his request for the afternoon's frolic. It was promptly granted and orders were given to have a launch placed at his disposal at two-thirty P.M.

Such a treat, when least expected, sent the boys into an ecstatic frame of mind, and when the bugle sounded for dinner formation they rushed away to their places upon old Bancroft's Terrace as full of enthusiasm as though averaging eight and ten instead of eighteen and twenty years of age.

CHAPTER VI

A NEW ORDER OF THINGS

That Sunday afternoon of October first, 19-- was vital with portent for the future of most of the people in this little story.

It took but a short time to run out to Severndale, and once there Neil Stewart made sure of a free hour or two by ordering up the horses and sending the young people off for a gallop "over the hills and far away."

Shashai, Silver Star, Pepper and Salt for Peggy, Polly, Durand and Ralph, who were all experienced riders, and four other horses for Douglas, Gordon, Jean and Bert, of whose prowess he knew little. He need not have worried, however, for Bert Taylor came straight from a South Dakota ranch, Gordon Powers had ridden since early childhood and Douglas Porter had left behind him in his Southern home two hunters which had been the joy of his life. But Jean Paul Nicholas, Ralph's little pepper-pot of a room-mate, had never ridden a horse in his life, and the running he would come in for at the hands of his fellow mids.h.i.+pmen if they suspected that fact might have made almost any other lad hesitate before taking his initial spin in the company of experts. Not so little Jean Paul with his broad shoulders, the brace of an Admiral and his five-feet-six-inches; a veritable little bantam-c.o.c.k, and game to the finish.

As the happy cavalcade set off, waving merry farewells to the older people gathered upon the piazza, Tzaritza bounding on ahead, their route led them past the paddock where Shelby and old Jess, with several others connected with the estate, stood watching them. Shelby as an old hand and privileged character, took off his hat and waved it hilariously, as he called out:

"Well _that_ is one sight worth while, Miss Peggy. We've got our _own_ girl back again, praises be!" while old Jess echoed his enthusiasm by shouting:

"Praise de Lawd we _has_, an' we got de boss yander, too!"

"Sure thing, Shelby!" answered Durand.

"He's all right, Shelby!" cried Ralph.

"Nicest Daddy-Neil in the world," was Polly's merry reply, then added, "Oh, Peggy, look at Roy! He's crazy to come with us," for Roy, the little colt Peggy had raised, was now a splendid young creature though still too young to put under the saddle.

Peggy looked toward the paddock where Roy was running to and fro in the most excited manner and neighing loudly to his friends.

"Let him come, Shelby, please," she called, and the foreman opened the gate. Roy darted through like a flash, giving way to all manner of mad antics, rus.h.i.+ng from one four-footed companion to another, with a playful nip at one, a wild Highland-fling-of-a-kick at another, a regular rowdy whinny at another, until he had the whole group infected, but funniest of all, Jean Paul's mount, the staid, well-conducted old Robin Adair, whose whole fifteen years upon the estate had been one long testimony to exemplary behavior, promptly set about demonstrating that when the usually well-ordered being does "cut loose" he "cuts loose for fair."

Jean Paul was essentially a sailor-laddie, the direct descendant of many sailor-laddies, and he was "built upon nautical lines," so said Ralph.

On the summer cruise just ended he had demonstrated his claim to be cla.s.sed among his sire's confreres, for let the s.h.i.+p pitch and toss as it would, his legs never failed him, his stomach never rebelled and his head remained as steady and clear as the s.h.i.+p's guiding planet.

But he found navigating upon land about as difficult as a duck usually finds it, and was about as well qualified to bestride and ride a horse as that waddling bird is. Consequently, he had "heaved aboard" his mount with many well concealed misgivings, but up to the present moment none of his friends had even suspected his very limited experience as a horseman, but truth to tell, never before in his life had Jean Paul's legs crossed anything livelier than one of the gymnasium "side horses."

Now, however, the cat was about to escape from the bag, for Robin Adair, flinging decorum and heels behind him, set forth on a mad gallop to overhaul Roy, who had elected to set the pace for the others. Whinnying, prancing, cavorting, away Roy tore in the lead, Robin Adair hot-foot upon him, Jean Paul striving manfully to keep his pitching seat, which he felt to out-pitch any deck ever designed by man. In about two minutes the pair were a hundred yards in the lead, Jean's cap had sailed airily from his head, and after flaunting into Silver Star's face, had roosted upon a near-by shrub. Jean himself promptly decided that reins were a delusion and a snare (Robin's mouth _was_ hard) and let them go to grasp the pommel of his Mexican saddle. But even that failed to steady him in that outrageous saddle, nor were stirrups the least use in the world; his feet were designed to stick to a pitching deck, not those senseless things. In a trice both were "sailing free" and--so was Jean. As Robin's hind legs flew up Jean pitched forward to bestride the horse's neck; as he bounded forward Jean rose in the air to resume his seat where a horse's crupper usually rests.

Oh it was one electrifying performance and not a single move of it was lost upon his audience which promptly gave way to hoots and yells of diabolical glee, at least the masculine portion of it did, while Polly and Peggy, though almost reduced to hysterics at the absurd spectacle, implored them to "stop yelling like Comanches and _do_ something."

"_Aren't_ we doing something? Aren't we encouraging him and helping on a good show?" "Oh, get onto that hike!" "Gee whiz, Commodore, if you jibe over like that you'll go by the board." "Put your tiller hard a-port."

"Haul in on your jib-sheet," "Lash yourself to the main-mast or you'll drop off astern," were some of the encouraging words of advice which rattled about Jean's a.s.sailed ears, as the s.p.a.ce grew momentarily wider between him and his friends, those same friends wilfully holding in their mounts to revel in "the show."

But Jean's patience and endurance were both failing. He could have slain Robin Adair, and he was confident that his spine would presently shoot through the crown of his head. So flinging pride to the four winds, he shouted:

"Hi, come on here one of you yelling chumps, this craft's steering-gear's out of commission! Overhaul her and take her in tow. I'd rather pay a million salvage than navigate her another cable's length."

"'Don't give up the s.h.i.+p!'" "'Never say die!'" "Belay, man, belay!" were the words hurled back until Peggy crying:

"You boys are the very limit!" pressed one knee against Shashai's side and said softly: "Four Bells, Shashai."

Robin Adair was no match for Shashai. Robin was as good a hackney as rider ever bestrode, but Shashai was a thoroughbred hunter with an Arab strain. Ten mighty bounds took him to Robin's head and for Peggy to swing far out of her saddle, grasp the dangling reins, speak the word of command which all her horses knew, loved and obeyed, took less time than it has taken to write of it.

"One Bell, Shashai. Robin, halt! Steady!" and Jean Paul's mount came to a standstill with Jean Paul sitting upon its haunches, and Jean Paul's eyes snapping, and Jean Paul's teeth biting his tongue to keep from uttering words "unbecoming an officer and a gentleman;" for "being overhauled by a girl" after he had "made a confounded fool of himself trying a land-lubber's stunt" was not a role which seemed in any degree an edifying one to him.

To her credit be it said, Peggy managed to keep a straight face as she turned to look at her disgruntled guest, which was more than could be said of his companions who came crowding upon him, even Polly's self-control being taxed beyond the limit.

"Why didn't you tell me you'd never ridden?" asked Peggy, her lips sober but her eyes dancing.

"Because it would have knocked the whole show on the head," answered Jean, yanking himself forward into the saddle which only a moment before had seemed to be in forty places at once.

"So you decided to be the whole show yourself instead! You're a dead game sport, Commodore. Bully for you!" cried Durand, slipping from his mount to examine the "rigging of the Commodore's craft."

"Do you want to try it again?" asked Polly.

"Will a fish swim?" answered Jean. "Do you think I'm going to let this side-wheeler s.h.i.+pwreck me? Not on your life, Captain. Clear out, the whole bunch of you chumps. If I've got to cross the equator I'll have the escort of ladies, not a bunch of rough-necks. Beat it! You let a _girl_ overhaul and slow down this cruiser and now you're all ready to come in for a share of the salvage. Get out! Clear out! Beat it! Take 'em away, Captain, and leave me the Admiral. She can give everyone of you the lead by a mile and then overhaul you on the first tack. Get out, for I'm going to take a riding lesson and I'm going to pay extra and have a private one."

"Yes, do go on ahead, and, Polly, call Roy. He is responsible for Robin's capers but he will behave if you take him in charge."

"Come on, Roy--and all other incorrigibles," laughed Polly, unsnapping her second rein and slipping it around Roy's silky neck. Roy loved and obeyed Polly almost as readily as Peggy, and cavorted off beside her as gay as a grig.

"We'll report heavy weather and a disabled s.h.i.+p, messmate," called Ralph.

"Report and hanged. You'll see us enter port all skee and s.h.i.+p-shape, and don't you fool yourself, my c.o.c.k sure wife (Bancroft Hall slang for a room-mate), so so-long. Now come on, Peggy, and put me wise to navigating this craft, for it has me beat to a standstill."

"Go on, people; we'll follow presently and when we overhaul you you'll be treated to a demonstration of expert horsemans.h.i.+p," called Peggy after the laughing, joking group, her own and Jean's laughs merriest of all.