The Golden Road | Page 8

to hear the rumble of the
carriage out of the gate as her uncle and aunt departed.
"'Oh, what's to be done?' she sobbed. 'Kenneth will be furious. He will
think I have failed him and he will go away hot with anger against me.
If I could only send a word of explanation I know he would not leave
me. But there seems to be no way at all--though I have heard that
there's always a way when there's a will. Oh, I shall go mad! If the
window were not so high I would jump out of it. But to break my legs
or my neck would not mend the matter.'
"The afternoon passed on. At sunset Ursula heard hoof-beats and ran to
the window. Andrew Kinnear of The Springs was tying his horse at the
door. He was a dashing young fellow, and a political crony of old Hugh.
No doubt he would be at the dance that night. Oh, if she could get

speech for but a moment with him!
"When he had gone into the house, Ursula, turning impatiently from the
window, tripped and almost fell over the big ball of homespun yarn her
father had flung on the floor. For a moment she gazed at it
resentfully--then, with a gay little laugh, she pounced on it. The next
moment she was at her table, writing a brief note to Kenneth MacNair.
When it was written, Ursula unwound the gray ball to a considerable
depth, pinned the note on it, and rewound the yarn over it. A gray ball,
the color of the twilight, might escape observation, where a white
missive fluttering down from an upper window would surely be seen
by someone. Then she softly opened her window and waited.
"It was dusk when Andrew went away. Fortunately old Hugh did not
come to the door with him. As Andrew untied his horse Ursula threw
the ball with such good aim that it struck him, as she had meant it to do,
squarely on the head. Andrew looked up at her window. She leaned out,
put her finger warningly on her lips, pointed to the ball, and nodded.
Andrew, looking somewhat puzzled, picked up the ball, sprang to his
saddle, and galloped off.
"So far, well, thought Ursula. But would Andrew understand? Would
he have wit enough to think of exploring the big, knobby ball for its
delicate secret? And would he be at the dance after all?
"The evening dragged by. Time had never seemed so long to Ursula.
She could not rest or sleep. It was midnight before she heard the patter
of a handful of gravel on her window-panes. In a trice she was leaning
out. Below in the darkness stood Kenneth MacNair.
"'Oh, Kenneth, did you get my letter? And is it safe for you to be here?'
"'Safe enough. Your father is in bed. I've waited two hours down the
road for his light to go out, and an extra half-hour to put him to sleep.
The horses are there. Slip down and out, Ursula. We'll make
Charlottetown by dawn yet.'
"'That's easier said than done, lad. I'm locked in. But do you go out

behind the new barn and bring the ladder you will find there.'
"Five minutes later, Miss Ursula, hooded and cloaked, scrambled
soundlessly down the ladder, and in five more minutes she and Kenneth
were riding along the road.
"'There's a stiff gallop before us, Ursula,' said Kenneth.
"'I would ride to the world's end with you, Kenneth MacNair,' said
Ursula. Oh, of course she shouldn't have said anything of the sort,
Felicity. But you see people had no etiquette departments in those days.
And when the red sunlight of a fair October dawn was shining over the
gray sea The Fair Lady sailed out of Charlottetown harbour. On her
deck stood Kenneth and Ursula MacNair, and in her hand, as a most
precious treasure, the bride carried a ball of gray homespun yarn."
"Well," said Dan, yawning, "I like that kind of a story. Nobody goes
and dies in it, that's one good thing."
"Did old Hugh forgive Ursula?" I asked.
"The story stopped there in the brown book," said the Story Girl, "but
the Awkward Man says he did, after awhile."
"It must be rather romantic to be run away with," remarked Cecily,
wistfully.
"Don't you get such silly notions in your head, Cecily King," said
Felicity, severely.

CHAPTER III
THE CHRISTMAS HARP
Great was the excitement in the houses of King as Christmas drew nigh.
The air was simply charged with secrets. Everybody was very
penurious for weeks beforehand and hoards were counted

scrutinizingly every day. Mysterious pieces of handiwork were
smuggled in and out of sight, and whispered consultations were held,
about which