Chapter 4 Red Rose and Tiger Lily by L. T. Meade
THE COLTS—ROBIN AND JOE
The Towers was situated exactly two miles away from the Grange. It was a large, old house, with a castellated roof and a high tower at one end. It was a very old family place, and the Lorrimers had lived there from father to son for several hundreds of years. Like many ancient families, their wealth had diminished rather than increased with the times. The luxurious living, which has been in vogue more or less during the whole of the present century, had obliged them to part with some of their fair acres. The present owner had married for love, not for money. More lands had to be sold to meet the wants of a large and vigorous family, and, at the time when this story opens, the Lorrimers were, for their position, decidedly poor, not rich.
Squire Lorrimer had one dread ever before his eyes. This was the fear of having to part with the dear old Towers itself. If this blow fell, he was certain that it would kill him. He trusted to be able to avert this calamity by putting down expenses in all possible ways. There were too few servants, therefore, for the size of the house, too few gardeners for the size of the gardens, too few horses for the size of the stables.
Nevertheless, there was not in the whole length and breadth of the county of Warwickshire, a jollier, happier, more rollicking household than the Lorrimers. There were ten children, varying in age, from Molly, who would be sixteen on her next birthday, to little Phil, who had not yet attained the dignity of two years. There were six girls in the family and four boys. The two elder boys went to a good grammar school in the neighbourhood; the girls and Boris had a governess who taught them at home. Neither boys nor girls were educated quite up to the requirements of the times, but the father and mother were not going to worry themselves over this fact. Mr. Lorrimer had very strong views with regard to modern education. He had a hearty preference for big bodies instead of big brains. He was intensely old-fashioned as regards all modern views for the advancement of women, and said frankly that he would rather his sons emigrated than spent their lives as city clerks. He had a good deal of faith in things righting themselves naturally, and as his wife believed him to be the cleverest and wisest man in the universe, he was not tormented by any contrary opinions from her lips.
"The children will do very well," he used to say. "If I can only keep the land together, and the old house for Guy to inherit after me, I shall die a happy man. The girls are all pretty, unless we except poor little Elinor, and she, in some ways, has the sweetest face of the bunch; they are sure to find husbands by-and-by, and the younger lads can fend for themselves in the colonies if necessary. You needn't fret about the children, mother," he would add.
"I never fret about them," replied the soft-voiced, placid-looking mother, raising her dove-like blue eyes to her husband's face. "I think we are the happiest family in the world, and the children are the dearest creatures. With all their high spirits they are never really naughty. I have only one care," she added, looking at her husband affectionately and slipping her hand through his arm, "and that is when you talk of the possibility of selling the Towers."
"Well, Lucy, that hasn't come yet," he answered.
"What about that mortgage and the suretyship?"
"Oh, pooh! They are right enough yet. I make it a rule never to think of evil days before they really come. We'll pull through—we'll pull through, no fear. By the way, my dear, I had a splendid offer yesterday for the colts Joe and Robin. I closed with it in double quick time, and the dealer who has bought them will send over to fetch them this morning."
"Very well," said Mrs. Lorrimer. She went to the window of the room where the two were talking and stood there looking out.
She gazed on a lovely scene, composed of woodland, river, and gently sloping meadows and lawns. Exactly opposite her eyes was a paddock, and in the paddock the two colts which had just been sold were contentedly grazing. As Mrs. Lorrimer stood and looked out, a girl was seen to enter the paddock and go swiftly up to the colts, calling their names as she did so. They both came to her immediately. She threw an arm round the neck of one, while she fed them in turn with carrots and apples which she had in her apron. She was a slightly-made girl, with dark hair and a sallow face. Her hair hung heavily about her shoulders. She might have been ten years old, but looked younger.
"There's Nell," said the mother. "I am sorry the colts are going, she has always made such pets of them. I never saw her take to any creatures before as she has done to those two, and they'll follow her anywhere like lambs. I'm sorry you've got to sell them, Guy."
"Sorry!" retorted the Squire, with a sort of snort. "Didn't I tell you, Lucy, that Simmons has given me a cheque for three hundred and fifty pounds for the two. Of course, the creatures are thoroughbred, and may turn out worth a great deal more; still, in these days no one gives a fair price for anything, and three-fifty is not to be sneezed at when your rents are always behindhand and your balance at the bank is overdrawn."
The Squire left the room as he spoke, and Mrs. Lorrimer, with the faintest of little sighs, presently followed his example. Meanwhile, the girl in the paddock was having a thoroughly happy time. As soon as she had finished feeding her favourites, and they had done rubbing their noses against her face and shoulder, she looked eagerly round her, and saw with satisfaction that there was no one watching her from any of the many windows which blinked like eyes all over the old house. She now approached one of the colts cautiously, laid her hand on his neck, and with an adroit, quick movement sprang on his back. He was an untamed, unbroken-in creature. He would have submitted to no burden at all heavier or at all less dear than that of the slim child who had now mounted him.
"Hey, Robin, dear," she said, bending forward, catching hold of a wisp of his mane and almost whispering into his ear, "you'll take me round the paddock three times, won't you, as swift as the wind, and then it will be Joe's turn? As swift as you can fly you shall go, my bonny, bonny Robin. And afterwards you shall have your russet apple; it's in my pocket."
From the colt's attitude, he seemed perfectly to understand every word that was addressed to him. He pricked his ear; his eye glanced backward with loving intelligence. He pawed the ground impatiently—he would not be off until Nell gave the signal, but when it came there was no doubt that he would fly swiftly over the ground. Joe, the other colt, stood near expectantly. His turn was to come, he knew. For him, too, there would be the light weight of a loved little presence, followed by that delicious russet apple when the ride was over. Meanwhile, he would canter after Nelly and Robin, taking care not to go too near nor in any way to intrude himself mischievously.
"Now," said Nell, sitting bolt upright, "now, Robin—one, two, three, away!"
Away they went truly, mane and hair alike flying in the breeze—Nell's short skirts puffed out by the wind, Nell's cheeks with red flames on them, and Nell's dark grey eyes blazing like subdued fires.
Once round the paddock they flew—twice they went—three times. The third round was the fastest and the most delirious of all. Nell was so sure of her seat, so confident in Robin's powers, that she no longer even clasped his arched neck. Up flew her hands in the air. The delirious excitement rendered her giddy.
"Hurrah! hurrah!" she shouted.
The gay words were interrupted by eager words from approaching spectators. The gate of the paddock was pushed open, and Kitty, aged nine, followed by Boris, who was only seven, rushed on the scene. The children were followed by a couple of grooms and a strange, horsey-looking man.
"Oh, Nell, Nell!" exclaimed Kitty.
"They're sold, Nell," said Boris, in a gloomy voice. "You'd better get down. That fellow there has come"—waving his hand with immense dignity in the direction of the horsey man—"that fellow has come to take them away; they're sold."
"I don't believe it," said Nell.
Robin, who obeyed her slightest word, stood stock still when she told him. She dropped off his back with the lightness of a bird.
"Who says they're sold?" she asked. "I don't believe it."
She pressed her hand to her heart as she spoke, a pang of keen pain had shot through it; she turned pale, and her eyes still blazed.
"I don't believe it a bit," she said. "I'll go and find father and ask him if its true; I know it isn't true."
"There's father coming into the field," said Boris. "Yes, it's true enough, but you can ask him."
"Well, my man," said the Squire, who came upon the scene at this moment, "your master has sent you for the colts, I suppose? Here they are, as——Why, what's the matter, Nell? How white you are, child, and—not so tight, Nell, not so tight, you're half strangling me! What is it, my love—what is it?"
"You haven't sold Robin and Joe, father?"
"Oh, now, my little girl"—the Squire began to pat Nell's trembling hands soothingly. He looked hard into her quivering face, then, bending down, whispered something in her ear.
No one else heard the words.
Nell's frantic grasp relaxed; she let her hands fall to her sides and looked piteously round.
Robin and Joe had both followed her across the paddock. Robin expected his russet apple—Joe looked for his canter with Nell on his back.
"There's a brave little girl," said her father. "'Pon my word, I wouldn't do it if I could help it."
"No, father dear; of course not."
"You're a plucky young 'un," said her father admiringly. Boris and Kitty came close; the grooms and the horse-dealer also approached. There was a sort of ring round Nell and the colts.
"Please, father, may I give Robin his apple?" she asked. "He has earned it. May he have it?"
The Squire nodded.
"Of course he may," he said; then he turned to the horse dealer.
"My little girl is fond of these creatures," he said. "I hope you will have patience for a moment or two."
The man touched his hat respectfully.
"Certainly, sir," he answered, "as long as the young lady likes; there's no manner of hurry, and perhaps little miss would like to have another canter. I never see'd no one sit so bird-like on a horse—never, in the whole of my born days."
"Do you hear that, Nell?" said her father. "Would you like another canter? I didn't know you could ride bare-backed."
She smiled up at him, a perfectly brave smile; there were no tears in her eyes, although there were black shadows under them, and her face was as white as a little snowflake.
Robin munched his apple, and Joe came close to Nell and rubbed his head against her shoulder.
She fed him also, to his own great surprise, for he did not think that he had earned a morsel, and then, without a word, turned and walked out of the paddock.
Boris ran after her.
"I say, Nell!" he exclaimed, panting. "Would you like a white rat? I have four, and I—I'll give you one if you'll promise not to forget to feed it."
Nell stood still when Boris made this offer, and looked down into his ruddy, brown, sunburnt face. Boris had bright eyes, as round as two moons. The giving up of one of his white rats meant a great deal to him. Nell carefully weighed the value of the offer.
"No," she said at last in a deliberate tone. "I might forget to feed the rat, and I don't think I ever could love it; but thank you all the same, Boris."
"Don't mention it," said Boris, in his most polite tone; he was immensely relieved by Nell's declining his offer.
She walked slowly towards the house, and Boris turned to Kitty, who had followed him.
"I offered her a rat," he said; "but she wouldn't have it. Do you think she will be very bad for a bit?"
"Yes, I do," said Kitty. "She'll creep up into one of the lofts and burrow in the hay all by herself, and if she can have a right good cry perhaps she'll be better, but if she hasn't a cry, she'll fret awfully, and perhaps she'll turn sulky; but never mind about her now. I'm ever so glad she didn't take the rat. Let's run and feed them before we go to lessons."
"I wish there were no lessons," said Boris. "I hate them. I can't think what use they are. What can it matter in a big world like this, crowded up with boys and girls and men and women, whether I can spell right or not? I don't mind, and I don't see why anyone else should bother."
"I like spelling," said Kitty, who had a very intelligent face. "If I were a man or an embryo man, which you are, Boris, I'd have ambition, and I'd try to get on. I'd like to walk over the heads of the other boys, if I were you, and to take their prizes from them, and to have father and mother looking on, and a lot of grand ladies and gentlemen all dressed in their best praising and cheering and bowing and smiling. But boys are no good in these days. It's girls who do everything. Now, do be quick and let's feed the rats."
"You talk such nonsense," said Boris. "You don't suppose that ladies and gentlemen care whether boys and girls spell words right or not, and what rubbish you do say about best clothes and smiling and bowing."
"I don't," said Kitty, crossly; "it's you who talk rubbish. You have never been to school, so you can't possibly tell. You ask Nan Thornton, and she'll soon tell you what's done at school. Oh dear, oh dear, I wish I were at Lavender House instead of doing my lessons with stupid Jane Macalister!"
"You talk very dis'pectful," said Boris.
"Do I? I don't care. Oh, I am glad you didn't part with the white rat!"