CHAPTER VIII

A SCENE AT ROSE COTTAGE

"Where are you going? Have you lost your tongue, Brownie?"

"Brownie" was Uncle George's name for the real May, and the mock May heard it with great pleasure, for it proved that there was no danger of discovery.

"I am going to visit Aunt Linn till mother is better," Gay answered.

"Where is Gay?"

"He was invited to Cedarville," said the unblushing young rogue. "What are you doing up here?"

"Business, Brownie."

"Did you expect to find it on the train, Uncle George?" said audacious Gay, "and is the first letter of its name M? Miss Maud is awfully sweet, isn't she?—and almost as pretty as mother."

"Thank you," said Uncle George, with great gravity. "By the way," he added, "you may need a little extra money while you are here," and he dropped some silver in Gay's outstretched palm, and jumped on the last car as the train moved out of the station, and nodded his farewell from the platform.

"Thanks, awfully," shouted Gay. If this was Uncle George's way of showing his appreciation of the compliment to Miss Berkeley, it was an exceedingly agreeable way, and one to be recommended to all uncles in love.

"Fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty, ninety cents!" counted Gay. "If I stay two weeks I can spend—let me see, twelve—for there'll be two Sundays when I can't spend anything—twelve in ninety goes seven times and a fraction. That's almost eight cents a day!"

Then he pulled up his skirt, but the pocket wasn't there!

"My!" he exclaimed, looking around to see if anybody had noticed his mistake. "How a fellow does forget that he isn't a boy when he's trying to be a girl!"

"Goin' to Miss Linn's?" drawled a voice at Gay's elbow.

A tall, lank man, on whose hatchet-like face an expression of good humor rested as if it belonged there, was standing near, leaning lazily on his whip-handle.

"Yes, I'm going there; I had nearly forgotten it."

"I shouldn't a-let you forget it long. I'm the driver of the stage and I don't let passengers forget to ride with me; that wouldn't be business. Besides, Miss Linn she asked me to look out for you—and I guess you need it—you look lively for a girl."

Gay smiled at this sally. This man was jolly enough to be in a book! If there were others like him a visit to Hazelnook wouldn't be so dull.

"Ready?" asked the driver.

"Yes. That's my box down there—the leather one, and here's the check. I'll help you with the box—I've great muscle."

"Wall! Wall! I ruther guess you're the queerest young lady I ever see! 'Great muscle' have ye? Wall, come along."

Miss Linn's guest helped the driver carry the leather box to the stage. The sight would not have delighted the refined old lady's eyes, but Gay was very well pleased to be of so much assistance, and insisted upon rendering further service in lifting other luggage.

"Will you get in, miss?" said the driver, when the last box was placed.

"I'll get up, if you please."

"Shall I give you a leg up, miss?"

"Thank you, no!" laughed Gay, scrambling up and sitting down in triumph beside the other passenger, a solemn-faced man, who looked like a prig and was one.

"You help yourself pretty well," said the driver, as he took the vacant place at Gay's side.

"A fellow soon gets used to helping himself," replied Gay, carelessly, though inwardly well pleased at the driver's compliment.

"Fellow!" repeated the driver, greatly amused at such boyish manners. "You're a gay one—and you're as spry as they come."

"I'm the best performer on the horizontal bar at my gymnasium."

"I shouldn't wonder if you was."

"I'm going to pitch for our nine when I go back home. I tell you the fellows don't get on to my curves without some study."

"My boy Lyman's crazy over ball. I can't get a stroke of work out of him. So you play ball, do you?"

"Yes, and football, too," said Gay, carried out of all remembrance of the behavior entailed by skirts and a Gainsborough hat trimmed with daisies. "I generally play half-back," he added.

This was more than the prig could bear in silence. "I have a little girl at home," said he; "she is about your age, but she doesn't kick football, nor play ball, nor swing on the horizontal bar."

"Is she sick—or a cripple?" asked Gay, with polite interest.

"She is a lady," the prig answered.

"She must be like our Alice," said Gay, ignoring the prig's sarcasm. "Alice is so quiet and nice that mother often allows her in the drawing-room when there's a tea or anything. Alice is pretty; her hair is long and the color of molasses candy, and Jane braids it for her and ties it with ribbons. And she has little feet, and little, cunning hands, and she wears kid gloves all the time. But my twin sister is the dandy; Alice isn't a patch on her. She'll stand anything without a whimper. Sand! well, I should say so. She'll face the hottest ball without a wink. She's a boss sprinter—you ought to see her take her three hundred yards!—and she never did a mean thing in her life."

The prig was dumb with amazement when Gay finished this remarkable speech; he could only congratulate himself that his little daughter was not there to hear it.

"I wish I might drive," said Gay, with a wistful glance at the reins.

"So ye can," returned the driver. "It's a straight piece, now, clean to Miss Linn's."

"Thank you," said Gay, gathering up the reins in small brown hands as steady as the driver's own. He drove with many a loud, exultant crack of the whip, guiding the horses with more flourishes than a veteran member of a coaching club, over the smooth country road, past the village shops and the post-office, at a smart trot, and up the lane that led to the prig's house as fast as the horses could trot. The prig climbed down over the side of the coach and paid his fare with ill-concealed reluctance; he had been bounced and jolted by the objectionable young romp on the box until his bones and his temper were alike affected. He said "Good afternoon," as if he had been speaking an eternal farewell, and one that gave him considerable satisfaction.

"Now how much further is it?" Gay inquired, as the door closed behind the prig.

"That's Rose Cottage, your aunt's place, down yonder," the driver replied, pointing to a house not far distant.

"So near!" sighed Gay. "If I had known it I would have pulled up the horses a little and pieced out the drive."

In summer everybody in Hazelnook receives callers on the porch, and Miss Linn and Miss Celia were entertaining the judge's mother, the doctor's wife, and the minister on the vine-embowered porch of Rose Cottage when the stage drove up, Gay still handling the reins.

"Auntie! See me!" Gay cried. "I've driven half the way. It is awfully jolly to sit up here and the driver let me use the whip—use it, not just crack it—twice!"

Miss Linn looked at Miss Celia, Miss Celia looked at the judge's mother, the judge's mother looked at the doctor's wife, and she looked in her turn at the minister, who was too much astonished to look at any one!

Finally, Miss Celia said,—

"Aren't you going to get down, my dear?"

Gay rose rather reluctantly; he had hoped to be permitted to drive the horses to the stable, which was a good half-mile back on the road. "Good-by," he said, grasping the driver's hand; "I hope I shall see you soon, and Lyman, too. I'll come round to your stable and see the Holstein cattle you told me about—they must be immense, particularly the yearling. I never had such a good drive in my life."

After this cordial farewell Gay dropped like a ripe plum off the side of the coach to the ground. Off came the daisy-wreathed hat, then he drew his heels well together and bowed profoundly. It was a salute that would have delighted General Haines' military soul, but it did not please the group on the porch. Miss Linn, Miss Celia, the judge's mother, the doctor's wife and the minister rose and stood in a row, like dahlias,—_but no one spoke a word_!