Under the
blossoms rode the Little Colonel, all in white herself this May
morning, except the little Napoleon hat of black velvet, set
jauntily over her short light hair. Into the cockade she had
stuck a spray of locust blossoms, and as she rode slowly along
she fastened a bunch of them behind each ear of her pony, whose
coat was as soft and black as the velvet of her hat. "Tarbaby"
she called him, partly because he was so black, and partly
because that was the name of her favourite Uncle Remus Story.
"There!" she
exclaimed, when the flowers were fastened to her satisfaction. "
Yo' lookin' mighty fine this mawnin', Tarbaby! Maybe I'll take
you visitin' aftah I've been to the post-office and mailed these
lettahs. You didn't know that judge Moore's place is open for
the summah, did you, and that all the family came out yesta'day
? Well, they did, and if Bobby Moore isn't ovah to my house by
the time we get back home, we'll go ovah to Bobby's."
As she spoke,
she passed through the gate at the end of the avenue and turned
into the public road, a wide pike with a railroad track on one
side of it and a bridle-path on the other. Two minutes' brisk
canter brought her to another gate, one that had been closed all
winter, and one that she was greatly interested in, because it
led to judge Moore's house.
Judge Moore was Rob's grandfather,
and she and Rob had played together every summer since she could
remember.
The wide white
gate was standing open now, and she drew rein, peering anxiously
in. She hoped for the sight of a familiar freckled face or the
sound of a welcoming whoop…
…She was
turning slowly away when down the pike behind her came the quick
beat of a horse's hoofs and a shrill whistle. A twelve-year-old
boy was riding toward her as fast as his big gray horse could
carry him. He was riding bareback, straight and lithe as a young
Indian, his cap pushed to the back of his head. He snatched it
off with a flourish as he came within speaking distance of the
Little Colonel, his freckled face all ashine with pleasure.
"Hello! Lloyd,"
he called, "I was just going to your house."
"And I was
looking for you, Bobby," she answered, as informally as if it
were only yesterday they had parted, instead of eight months
before.
"Come and go
down to the post-office with me. I must take these lettahs."
"All right,"
said Rob, wheeling the gray horse around beside the black pony,
and smiling broadly as he looked down into the Little Colonel's
welcoming eyes. "You don't know how good it feels to get back to
the country again, Lloyd. I could hardly wait for school to
close, when I'd think about the fish waiting for me out here in
the creek, and the wild strawberries getting ripe, and the
horses just spoiling to be exercised. It was more than I could
stand. What have you been doing all winter?"
"Oh, the same
old things: school and music lessons, and good times in the
evenin' with mothah and papa Jack and grandfathah."
As they jogged
along, side by side, the Little Colonel chatting gaily of all
that had happened since their last meeting, Rob kept casting
curious glances at her. "What have you been doing to yourself,
Lloyd Sherman?" he demanded, finally. "You look so --- so
different!" There was such a puzzled expression in his sharp
gray eyes that the Little Colonel laughed. Then her hand flew up
to her head.
"Don't you see?
I've had my hair cut. I had to beg and beg befo' mothah and papa
Jack would let me have it done; but it was so long, --- away
below my waist, --- and such a bothah. It had to be brushed and
plaited a dozen times a day."
"I don't like
it that way. It isn't a bit becoming," said Rob, with the
frankness of old comradeship. "You look like a boy. Why, it is
as short as mine."
"I don't care,"
answered Lloyd, her eyes flashing dangerously. "It's comfortable
this way, and grandfathah likes it. He says he's got his Little
Colonel back again now, and he sent to town for this Napoleon
hat like the ones I used to weah when I was a little thing."
"When you were
a little thing!" laughed Rob, teasingly. "What do you think you
are now, missy? You're head and shoulders shorter than I am."
"I'm eleven
yeahs old, anyway, I'd have you to undahstand, Bobby Moore,"
answered the Little Colonel, with such dignity that Rob wished
he hadn't spoken. "I was eleven last week. That was one of my
birthday presents, havin' my own way about cuttin' my hair, and
anothah was the house pahty. Oh, you don't know anything about
the house pahty I'm to have in June, do you!" she cried, every
trace of displeasure vanishing at the thought. "Grandfathah
and papa Jack are goin' away fo' amonth to some mineral springs
in Va'ginia, and I'm to have my house pahty in June to keep
mothah and me from bein' lonesome. It will not be a very big
one, only three girls to spend June with me, but mothah says we
can have picnics every day if we want to, and invite all the
boys and girls in the Valley, and we can have the house full
from mawnin' till night. I'll invite you right now for every day
that you want to come. We'll expect you at all the pahties and
picnics and candy-pullin's that we have. I want you to help me
give the girls a good time, Bobby."
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