The Other Girls | Page 4

have a daughter flitting about so

easily with a pony-carriage.
But there was something else to be accomplished this time that Sylvie
had not thought of, and that when it happened, she felt with some
dismay might not be quite offset and compensated for by the Ingraham
brown bread.
Rod Sherrett was out too, from Roxeter, Young-Americafying with his
tandem; trying, to-day, one of his father's horses with his own Red
Squirrel, to make out the team; for which, if he should come to any
grief, Rodgers, the coachman, would have to bear responsibility for
being persuaded to let Duke out in such manner.
Just as Sylvie Argenter drew up her pony at the baker's door, Rod
Sherrett came spinning round the corner in grand style. But Duke was
not used to tandem harness, and Red Squirrel, put ahead, took flying
side-leaps now and then on his own account; and Duke, between his
comrade's escapades and his driver's checks and admonitions, was to
that degree perplexed in his mind and excited off his well-bred balance,
that he was by this time becoming scarcely more reliable in the shafts.
Rod found he had his hands full. He found this out, however, only just
in time to realize it, as they were suddenly relieved and emptied of their
charge; for, before his call and the touch of his long whip could bring
back Red Squirrel into line at this turn, he had sprung so far to the left
as to bring Duke and the "trap" down upon the little phæton. There was
a lock and a crash; a wheel was off the phæton, the tandem was
overturned, Sylvie Argenter, in the act of alighting, was thrown forward
over the threshold of the open shop-door, Rod Sherrett was lying in the
road, a man had seized the pony, and Duke and Red Squirrel were
shattering away through the scared Corner Village, with the wreck at
their heels.
Sylvie's arm was bruised, and her dress torn; that was all. She felt a
little jarred and dizzy at first, when Mr. Ingraham lifted her up, and
Rodney Sherrett, picking himself out of the dust with a shake and a
stamp, found his own bones unbroken, and hurried over to ask
anxiously--for he was a kind-hearted fellow--how much harm he had
done, and to express his vehement regret at the "horrid spill."

Rod Sherrett and Sylvie Argenter had danced together at the Roxeter
Assemblies, and the little Dorbury "Germans;" they had boated, and
picknicked, and skated in company, but to be tumbled together into a
baker's shop, torn and frightened, and dusty,--each feeling, also, in a
great scrape,--this was an odd and startling partnership. Sylvie was pale;
Rod was sorry; both were very much demolished as to dress: Sylvie's
hat had got a queer crush, and a tip that was never intended over her
eyes; Rodney's was lying in the street, and his hair was rumpled and
curiously powdered. When they had stood and looked at each other an
instant after the first inquiry and reply, they both laughed. Then
Rodney shrugged his shoulders, and walked over and picked up his hat.
"It might have been worse," he said, coming back, as Mr. Ingraham and
the man who had held Sylvie's pony took the latter out of the shafts and
led him to a post to fasten him, and then proceeded together, as well as
they could, to lift the disabled phæton and roll it over to the
blacksmith's shop to be set right.
"You'll be all straight directly," he said, "and I'm only thankful you're
not much hurt. But I am in a mess. Whew! What the old gentleman will
say if Duke don't come out of it comfortable, is something I'd rather not
look ahead to. I must go on and see. I'll be back again, and if there's
anything--anything more," he added with a droll twinkle, "that I can do
for you, I shall be happy, and will try to do it a little better."
The feminine Ingrahams were all around Sylvie by this time: Mrs.
Ingraham, and Ray, and Dot. They bemoaned and exclaimed, and were
"thankful she'd come off as she had;" and "she'd better step right in and
come up-stairs." The village boys were crowding round,--all those who
had not been in time to run after the "smash,"--and Sylvie gladly
withdrew to the offered shelter. Rod Sherrett gave his hair a toss or two
with his hands, struck the dust off his wide-awake, put it on, and
walked off down the hill, through the staring and admiring crowd.
CHAPTER II.
UP-STAIRS.

The two Ingraham girls had been sitting in their own room over the
shop when the accident occurred, and it was there they now took Sylvie
Argenter, to have her dress tacked