A Little Florida Lady | Page 4

time, Beth. You must have patience," he answered as he led the way out to the piazza.
"Get your hats, and bring Beth's with you," he said to Mrs. Davenport and Marian who were listening to the music.
"What do you think of that man and the rig?" asked Mr. Davenport of Beth, indicating a middle-aged negro who stood holding a bay mare hitched to a surrey.
Beth noted that the man looked good-natured. There were funny little curves on his face suggestive of laughter even when in repose. Jolly wrinkles lurked around his eyes. Beth saw two rows of pearly teeth though his mouth was partly hidden by a mustache and beard. His nose was large and flat. It looked like a dirty piece of putty thrown at haphazard on a black background. Beth, however, did not mind his homeliness.
"He's nice, and the horse is beautiful," she said.
"Then let's go down and talk to the man."
As Mr. Davenport and Beth walked to the side of the darky, he lifted his stovepipe hat that had been brushed until the silk was wearing away. He revealed thereby a shock of iron-gray wool. He made a sweeping bow.
"Massa, am dis de little missy dat yo' wuz tellin' 'bout? I'se powerful glad to meet yo', missy."
He was so very polite that even irrepressible Beth was a little awed. She hid halfway behind her father.
"This is January, Beth."
"What a very queer name," she whispered.
"It is queer, but you are in a strange land. For awhile you'll think you are in fairy-land. Everything will be so different. Do you want to stay with January while I go in to bring your mother?"
She nodded that she did. Mr. Davenport re?ntered the hotel. Beth seated herself upon the curbstone, and looked at the bay horse behind which she was soon to have the bliss of driving. She thought it about as nice a horse as she had ever seen. Her curiosity overcame her momentary shyness. "Is it your horse, January?"
He smiled. "No, 'deed, missy, but I raised her from a colt, and she loves me like I wuz her massa. Why, she runs to me from de pasture when I jes' calls, while she's dat ornary wid odders, dey jes' can't cotch her. It takes old January to cotch dis horse, don't it, Dolly?"
The horse whinnied.
"Is Dolly her name?"
"Dat's what I calls her, honey. It ain't her real name. Her real name----"
"Oh, has she a nickname, too? She's like me then. My name isn't really Beth."
"'Deed?" he asked with polite interest.
"It's Elizabeth, but I'm called that only when I have tantrums."
"What am dem, missy?"
"Well," she blushingly stammered, "I sometimes forget to be good, and then I can't help having them--tantrums, you know. Just like the little girl with the curl who, when she was bad, was horrid. January, are you ever horrid?"
He looked self-conscious. "Law, missy, I nebber tinks I am, but Titus 'lows I am, but he don't know much nohow."
Dolly whinnied again, which recalled Beth's thoughts to the horse. "Who owns Dolly, January?"
"Law, missy, didn't I tole yo' dat she 'longs to yer paw now?"
Beth was so excited that she jumped to her feet, and began to clap her hands.
Her antics made her parents and Marian smile as they came from the hotel.
"Mamma, she's our horse. January said so. Dolly, do you like me?"
Dolly pricked up her ears as if she understood, and whinnied.
"She wants some sugar," declared Beth, believing that she understood horse language. She took a stale piece of candy out of her pocket, and gave it to Dolly. This attention sealed a never-ending friendship between the two.
"Dolly's the surprise, isn't she?" asked Beth, running up to her father. He smiled enigmatically, and that was all the answer she received.
Meantime, January, hat in hand, was bowing with Chesterfieldian politeness to Mrs. Davenport and Marian.
"All aboard," cried Mr. Davenport.
"Let me sit with January," begged Beth.
Marian, also, expressed a like wish. The two children, therefore, scrambled up in front beside the driver, while Mr. and Mrs. Davenport took the back seat.
January sat bolt upright. His dignity fitted the occasion. His driving, however, worried Beth.
She loved to go fast. She knew no fear of horses. She would have undertaken to drive the car of Phaeton, himself, had she been given the chance. She had little patience to poke along, and that was exactly what Dolly did when January drove.
"Can't she go faster?" she asked.
"She don't 'pear to go very fast, does she?" said January mildly. "Missy Beth, yo' jes' wait until her racing blood am up, and den she'll go so fast, yo'll wish she didn't go so fast."
Beth had her doubts of this, and even of Dolly's racing blood. Its truth, however, was to be proven by a later experience which will be told in due course.
"Has Dolly