Left alone, Sam took a good look around, and Sally, who had seen them talking but could not hear what was said, was in terror lest he should spy her in the branches of the oak; but Sam, who looked in other directions, did not look up, and, finally, wagging his head in a knowing way, he moved off, greatly to Sally's relief.

The maid was in a kind of dream all the rest of the day, and, without exactly knowing it, she was very happy. Shortly before noon she returned to the house, and going directly to the mirror in the keeping-room she said, without vanity, but with considerable curiosity:

"I wonder if I am fair at all?" and as the mirror flashed back the image of a maiden surely very pleasant to look upon, she chuckled:

"I don't care, very glad I am that when I first touched the Fairy Prince and looked right into his eyes, I was in my best attire, and also dressed in flowers. I wonder did it mean anything?"

"What should it mean?" asked the faithful Fairy.

"Mistress Cory Ann might say it was a good sign," said Sally.

"Do not be a silly, taking note of signs and omens!" cried the Fairy.

"They bear no meaning except for simple souls that know no better than to make them up. Wise people and signs have naught to do with each other."

Still Sally felt happy. She was glad that in white array, with flowers and midst sunshine and songs of birds, she had first come face to face with her Fairy Prince.

"But he had been hurt," reminded the Fairy.

"Not badly," serenely smiled Maid Sally. "He soon came around with a little attention."

That evening Sally strolled around to her seat in the hedge, hoping and wishing that she might hear some of the reading that had always charmed her. But long she sat there before any one came to the arbor. The pale stars came out in the azure heavens, and indeed the maiden had a quiet nap before there came a sound to break the stillness of the pretty evening.

Then the family coach drew up before the gate, and a gay company alighted. Sally knew by this that there had been a supper party somewhere, and that the young people had been away.

Would they go directly to the house, she wondered, or would they stroll over to the arbor for awhile?

Ah, they were coming over. She wished she might peep at them in their fine attire, but no, it would not do to try, and besides, she could not see them very plainly now. Pretty soon she heard Lucretia say:

"I saw fair brows grow into a frown, when it was found you were too lame to dance to-night, my brother."

"Ah, but very lucky was I to be able to go out at all to-night, after the hard fall of this morning," cried Lionel. "Hotspur hath no gentle plunge once his blood is up."

"Has he ever thrown you before?" asked the Lady Rosamond.

"No, nor did he in truth throw me to-day," Lionel replied. "I had left the saddle of my own will, but by some strange bound Hotspur tossed me nearly up again, then banged me like a wisp against a tree. The heavy fall stunned me."

"And Sam thought you inclined to wander in speech after the men found you," remarked Rosamond.

"Which is entirely untrue!" exclaimed Lionel, with some warmth. Then he added, in a gentler tone:

"I would I might know who was the bonny maid that bent over me and gave me cooling drops of water and bathed my face and brow."

"Dost really think there was such a person, brother?" inquired Lucretia.

"It is quite as true as that I sit here this moment! Whether a wood Fairy or a forest nymph I cannot tell, but a heartsome creature, all in white except for flowers of brightest hue, dropped water into my mouth and laved my hot brow."

"The other servants thought you wandered slightly," again ventured Rosamond, "and as no one was in sight when they rode up, where could your nymph or Fairy have vanished so soon? Was not she with you but a moment before?"

"Only an instant before, my cousin. But never shall I yield to the idea that I wandered or that my eyes deceived me as to the vision upon which they rested. Some day I hope to see my dear Fairy again, and when I do, I shall know her."

Sally held her breath for very rapture. Ah, how strange, how sweetly strange! _He_, her Fairy Prince, had called her _his_ dear Fairy! Could it be? Yes, it was true, true!

"But, remember, he knows naught of you," came the sad voice that always kept her down.

"See to it," cried her cheerful Fairy, "that should he ever see and know you, there will be naught for which to be ashamed."

"I will try," said Maid Sally.

But if Sally had been careful not to have the Fairy Prince see her before, doubly unwilling was she now that he should catch a glimpse of her.

And not much danger of it was there except on Sundays, when he appeared at meeting. But Sally managed to stand behind the person in front of her, so that not a peep at her face did the young gentleman of Ingleside get, when during the last singing the congregation turned about and faced the choir.

But under her broad-rimmed hat it is doubtful if Sally's features would have reminded him of the nymph of the pine woods. And so cautious was Maid Sally that not another peep did her Fairy Prince get at her anywhere during the rest of his vacation.

And but seldom did the careful maid go over to the beloved perch between hedge and wall. From her window she more than once saw Lionel go flying by on Hotspur's back, for the Southern lad rode as if by nature the swift, n.o.ble horses always to be found in the stables.

Then companies of young people would go forth on picnics, driving in wagons through the woods; or riding parties would be formed, when Hotspur would be left at home, while Lord Rollin, Lady Grace, and other fine horses would bear young men and maidens to the make-believe hunt, or on the long, breezy ride.

And then again there came a fair September day, when Sally went to the quay, and away and away sailed the Fairy Prince, going back to his studies and the books that were to fit him for the life that lay ahead and the days that were to come.

And back went Maid Sally to Mistress Kent, with the chief part of her "History of America," and the founding of the Colonies safely lodged in the mind-cells under her red-gold hair.

And although Ingleside seemed deserted with the sailing away of its only son, the old charm yet lingered about his home.

One Sat.u.r.day night in late October, Sally wandered over to the well-known plantation. Bill was combing and rubbing down the horses, Hotspur, Lord Rollin, Springer, Lady Grace, and Crazy Jim.

Sally knew them all, could call half a dozen of them by their names. It sent a pang of regret to her little young heart, seeing the animals that would feel the hand of their young master on the bridles no more for nearly a year to come.

A little farther on Sam Spruce was picking at a banjo, and trolling in a sweet tenor an old plantation song.

Everything seemed pleasant yet tinged with sadness, for all reminded her of the absent Prince. Not many children have the depths of imagination that had Maid Sally. But she would be thirteen in the winter, hers was a very loving, longing young heart, and she was almost alone in the world, for such children as sometimes came around Slipside Row were not companions for her or such as she could like.

And on this lovely, dreamy night, she strolled on and on, until she came close to Mammy Leezer seated flat on the gra.s.s, talking away to herself as fast as her tongue could go. Her back was turned to Sally, and in the growing twilight she was not likely to see the lonely child.

Mammy's pipe was in her hand, and every minute or two she would stop and take a long breath at it, sending a spire of curling smoke above her head. Sally could hear plainly what she was saying, and as usual the sound of her sweet voice was comforting.

"No," she said, "I doan't like it one mite seein' my young Mars' Lion fly in' off to Inglan', and hearin' all sorts ob talk 'bout wars an'

rumors o' wars. What dat chile got to do with sech tings, I like to know? Lorr sakes, it ain't but yes'day I trot 'im on my ole knee first to Bosting, den to Lynn, den to Salum, and home, home agin! And Lorr a-ma.s.sy! how dat lil trollop screech and scream when I put him on my big shoe and sing dat trip song!"

Mammy stopped, held her pipe in a hand that rested on her knee, and softly wagging one foot, she began, in a slow, dreamy, singsong:

"Trip-a-trop-a-tronjes, De-vorkens-in-de-boonjes, De-koejes-in-de-klaver, De-Paarden-in-de-haver, De-eenjes-in-de-waterpla.s.s, So-pop!-my-lil-pick'ninny-goes!"

"Lorr, Lorr! I can hear dat poor lil monkey now, done choke a-larfin', when his ole Mammy toss him up inten her lap."

But Mammy's soliloquy was rudely broken in upon. Hotspur came tearing over the lawn, Bill in hot pursuit.

"Horrors unner hemlocks!" screamed Mammy, as the wild horse bolted by at a perfectly safe distance, then of his own accord pranced back to the stable yard.