Betty Wales, Senior Part 26

Eleanor nodded brightly and Babbie returned to the matter in hand. "We shall never get a date this way," she declared. "Let's put all the days of next week after Monday into Bob's cap. The first one that K. draws out will be the 'Merry Hearts' afternoon; and the next the Moons.h.i.+ners'

evening. Those that can't come at the appointed times will have to stay at home."

Everybody agreed to this, and Madeline gallantly sacrificed a leaf from her philosophy note-book to write the days on.

"Friday," announced Katherine, drawing out a slip, "and Thursday."

"Those are all right for me," said Madeline.

"And for me."

"Same here."

"And here."

"We'd much better have drawn lots in the first place," said Babbie. "Now if it only doesn't rain on Thursday and spoil the full moon! Tell the others, won't you, girls? I'm due at the Science Building this very minute."

It didn't rain on Thursday. Indeed the evening was an ideal one for a long gallop, with an open-air supper to follow. This was to be cooked and eaten around a big bonfire that would take the chill off the spring air and keep the mosquitoes at a respectful distance. Most of the Moons.h.i.+ners belonged to the Golf Club, and they had gotten permission to have their fire in a secluded little grove behind the course. Babbie, who had organized the Moons.h.i.+ners and was their mistress of ceremonies, held many secret conferences with Madeline Ayres and the two spent a long afternoon sewing behind locked doors, on some dark brown stuff, which Babbie subsequently tied into a big, untidy parcel and carried up to Professor Henderson's. So the Moons.h.i.+ners expected a "feature" in addition to the familiar delights of a bacon-roast, and they turned out in such numbers that Bob had to ride a fat little carriage horse and Babbie bravely mounted the spirited mare "Lady," who had frightened her so on Mountain Day. But there was no storm this time to agitate Lady's nerves, and they kept clear of the river and the ferries; so everything went smoothly and the Moons.h.i.+ners cantered up to the Club house at half past eight in the highest possible spirits.

They could see the grove as they dismounted and every one but Babbie was surprised to find the fire already lighted. The dishes and provisions had been carried out in big hampers in the afternoon, and the wood gathered, so there was nothing to do now but stroll over to the fire and begin.

"Why, somebody's there," cried Betty suddenly. She was walking ahead with Alice Waite. "I can see two people. They're stooping over the fire.

Why, Alice, it's two dear little brown elves."

"Just like those on my ink-stand," cried Alice, excitedly. "How queer!"

Everybody had seen the picturesque little figures by this time, and the figures in their turn had spied the riding-party and had begun to dance merrily in the fire-light. They were dressed in brown from head to foot, with long ears on their brown hoods and long, pointed toes curling up at the ends of their brown shoes. They looked exactly like the little iron figures of brownies that every Harding girl who kept up with the prevailing fads had put on her desk that spring in some useful or ornamental capacity. They danced indefatigably, pausing now and then to heap on fresh wood or to poke the fire into a more effective blaze, and looking, in the weird light, quite fantastic enough to have come out of the little hillside behind the fire, tempted to upper earth by the moonlight and the great pile of dry wood left ready to their hands. For a few minutes after the Moons.h.i.+ners' arrival the trolls resolutely refused to speak.

"'Cause now you'll know we ain't real magic," explained Billy Henderson indignantly, when his chum had fallen a victim to Bob's wiles and disclosed his ident.i.ty.

The fire was so big and so hot by this time that it threatened to burn up the whole grove, so the small boys were persuaded to devote their energies to toasting thin slices of bacon, held on the ends of long sticks, and later to help pa.s.s the rolls and coffee that went with the bacon, and to brown the marshmallows, which, with delicious little nut-cakes, made up the last course.

The Moons.h.i.+ners had spent so much time admiring Babbie's brownies that they had to hurry through the supper and even so it bid fair to be after ten before they reached the campus. Betty, Bob, and Madeline happened to get back to the horses first and were waiting impatiently for the rest to come when Bob made a suggestion.

"Mr. Ware is helping stamp out the fire. Let's get on and start for home ahead of the others. Then we can let most of them in if they're late.

Our matron will rage if she catches us again this week."

"All right," agreed Madeline. "Mr. Ware said he had told a man to be at the Westcott, ready to take some of the horses. Let's not tell any one.

They'll be so surprised to find three horses gone."

"We shall have to hurry then," whispered Betty. "They'll be here any minute."

"On second thought," said Madeline, "I don't believe I can pick out my own horse. It's inky dark here under the trees." Madeline had ridden all her life but she seldom went out at Harding, and so hadn't a regular mount, like most of the other Moons.h.i.+ners.

"Of course you can, Madeline," scoffed Betty. "You rode Hero, that big black beast hitched to the last post, next to my horse. Don't you remember tying him there?"

Bob backed her st.u.r.dy cob out from between two restless companions, and with much laughter and whispering and many injunctions to hurry and to be "awfully still," the three conspirators mounted and walked their horses quietly down the drive.

"My stirrups seem a lot too long," Betty whispered softly, as they pa.s.sed down the avenue, dusky with the shadows of tall elms. "Whoa, Tony! Wait just a minute, girls. Why--oh, Bob, Madeline,--I've got the wrong horse. Somebody must have changed them around. This is Lady."

Whether it was Betty's nervous clutch on the reins as she made this dire discovery and remembered Lady's antics on the ferry-boat, or whether the saucy little breeze which chose that moment to stir the elm branches and set the shadows dancing on the white road, was responsible, is a matter of doubt. At any rate Lady jerked back her pretty head impatiently, as if in answer to her name, s.h.i.+vered daintily, reared, and ran. She dodged cat-like, between Bob and Madeline and out through the narrow gateway, turned sharply to the right, away from Harding, and galloped off up the level road that lay white in the moonlight, between the Golf Club and a pine wood half a mile away.

Betty had presence of mind enough to dig her knees into Lady's sides, and so managed somehow, in spite of her mis-fit stirrups, to stay on at the gate. She tugged hard at the reins as Lady flew along, and murmured soothing words into Lady's quivering ears. But it wasn't any use. Betty had wondered sometimes how it felt to be run away with. Now she knew. It felt like a rush of cold wind that made you dizzy and faint. You thought of all sorts of funny little things that happened to you ages ago. You wondered who would plan Jessica's costumes if anything happened to you. You wished you weren't on so many committees; it would bother Marie so to appoint some one in your place. You made a neat little list of those committees in your mind. Then you got to the pine wood, and something did happen, for Lady went on alone.

Madeline, straining her eyes at the gateway, waiting for Bob and Mr.

Ware to come, couldn't see that.

"She was still on the last I could see," she told them huskily, and Mr.

Ware whipped his horse into a run and rushed after Lady.

Madeline looked despairingly at Bob. "Let's go too," she said. "I can't stand it to wait here."

"All right."

They rode fast, but it seemed ages before they got to the pines. Mr.

Ware was galloping far ahead of them.

"If she's gone so far she'll slow up gradually on that long hill,"

suggested Bob, trying to speak cheerfully.

"Isn't it--pretty--stony?" asked Madeline.

"Yes, but after she'd run so far she wouldn't try to throw Betty."

"Suppose we wait here. Oh, Bob, what shall we do if she's badly hurt?"

"She can't be," said Bob with a thick sob. "Please come on, Madeline.

I've got to know if she's----" Bob paused over the dreadful word.

There was a little rustling noise in the bushes beside the road. "Did Mr. Ware have a dog?" asked Madeline.

"No," gulped Bob.

"There's something down there. Who's there?" called Madeline fearlessly, and then she whistled in case Bob had been mistaken about the dog.

"It's I--Betty Wales," answered a shaky little voice, with a rea.s.suring suggestion of mirth in it. "I'm so glad somebody has come. I'm down here in a berry-patch and I can't get up."

Madeline was off her horse by this time, pus.h.i.+ng through the briars regardless of her new riding habit.

"Where are you hurt, dear?" she asked bending over Betty and speaking very gently. "Do you suppose you could let me lift you up?"

Betty held out her arms, with a merry laugh. "Why, of course I could.

I'm not one bit hurt, except scratched. The ferns are just as soft as a feather bed down here, but the thorns up above are dreadful. I can't seem to pull myself up. I'm a little faint, I guess."

A minute later she was standing in the road, leaning against Madeline, who felt of her anxiously and asked again and again if it didn't hurt.

"Hasn't she broken her collar-bone?" asked Bob, who was holding the horses. "People generally do when they have a bad spill. Are her arms all right?"

"I suppose I didn't know how to fall in the proper way," explained Betty, wearily. "I can't remember how it happened, only all at once I found myself down on those ferns with my face scratched and smarting. If Mr. Ware went by ahead of you I suppose I must have been stunned, for I didn't see him."