A Romance of Billy-Goat Hill | Page 3

turned his irate face up to her
own.
"He comes to see me!" she announced, emphasizing each word with a
nod. "He likes horses and dogs and me, and I like horses and dogs and
him. But I like you, too, Daddy."
The Colonel refused to be beguiled by such blandishments.
"I'll speak to him when he comes. He needn't think just because he is a
city fellow, he can take a daughter of mine racing all over the country
on Sunday afternoon!"
"Why, Dad, that's absurd! Don't you take me yourself almost every
Sunday? And don't I go with Noah, and the Brooks boys whenever I
like?"
"Well, you can't go to-day."

"But this is Donald's last day. He goes back to town to-night, and he
may go abroad next week to stay ever and ever so long."
The Colonel brought his fist down on his knees: "I don't care a hang
where he goes. It's you we are talking about. You've got to promise me
not to go with him this afternoon."
"But why?"
"Because," the Colonel argued feebly, "because it's Sunday."
Miss Lady sat for a moment looking straight before her and there was a
contraction of her lips that might have passed for a comic imitation of
her father's had it not softened into a smile.
"Suppose I won't promise?" she said.
The Colonel's free hand gripped the arm of the chair, and he looked as
if he had every intention in the world of being firm.
"You see, if it is wrong for me to go riding on Sunday," went on Miss
Lady, "it's wrong for you to go fishing. Suppose we both reform and
stay at home?"
The Colonel's eyes involuntarily flew to his cherished tackle, lying
ready for action on the top step, then they came back with a snap to the
top of a locust tree.
Miss Lady squeezed his arm and laughed: "Of course you don't want to
stay at home this glorious afternoon, neither do I! Now, that's settled.
Here comes Noah; I'll go and fix your lunch."
It was not by any means the first time the daughter of the house of
Carsey had scored in a contest with her father. His subjection had
begun on that morning now nearly twenty years ago, when she had
been placed in his arms, a motherless bundle of helplessness without
even a personal name to begin life with.
That question of a name had baffled him. He had consulted all the

neighbors, considered all the possibilities in the back of the dictionary,
and even had recourse to the tombstones in the old cemetery, but the
haunting fear that in days to come she might not like his choice, held
him back from a final decision. In the meanwhile she was "The Little
Lady," then "Lady," and finally through the negroes it got to be "Miss
Lady." So the Colonel weakly compromised in the matter by deciding
to wait until she was old enough to name herself. When that time
arrived she stubbornly refused to exchange her nickname for a real one.
A halfhearted effort was made to harness her up to "Elizabeth," but she
flatly declined to answer to the appellation.
She and Noah Wicker, the son of a neighboring farmer, had run wild on
the big place, and it was Miss Lady who invariably got to the top of the
peach tree first, or dared to wade the farthest into the stream. All
through the summer days her little bare legs raced beside Noah's
sturdier brown ones. She could handle a fishing rod as well as her
father, could ride and drive and shoot, and was on terms of easy
friendship with every neighbor who passed over the brow of Billy-goat
Hill.
The matter of education had been the first serious break in this idyllic
existence. After romping through the country school, she had had
several young and pretty governesses, all of whom had succumbed to
the charms of neighboring country swains, and abandoned their young
charge, to start establishments of their own. Then came wise counsel
from without and after many tears she was sent to a boarding school in
the city.
The older teachers at Miss Gibbs' Select School for Young Ladies still
recall their trials during the one year Miss Lady was enrolled. She was
pretty, yes, and clever, and lovable, oh, yes! And at this point usually
followed a number of stories of her generosity and impulsive kindness;
"but," the conclusion always ran, "such a strange, wild little creature, so
intolerant of convention, in dress, in education, in religion. Quite
impossible in a young ladies' seminary."
After one term of imprisonment Miss Lady escaped to the outdoor
world again, and implored her devoted "Dad" to let her grow up