Poor, Dear Margaret KirbyNorris, Kathleen Thompson
General
Poor, Dear Margaret Kirby
Norris, Kathleen Thompson
American fiction -- 20th century; Short stories
Mary, almost oppressed by the sense of her own blessedness on this day
of good wishes and affectionate demonstration, would have gently
detached her husband's arm from her waist as they went to the door,
that Shandon might not be reminded of her own loss and aloneness.
But the doctor, glancing back, knew that in Shandon's thoughts to-day
there was no room for sorrow. Her whole body was curved about the child
as he lay in her lap, and her adoring look was intent upon him. Danny
was smiling up at his mother in a blissful interval, his soft little
hand lying upon her contented heart.
GAYLEY THE TROUBADOUR
Through the tremulous beauty of the California woods, in the silent
April afternoon, came Sammy Peneyre, riding Clown. The horse chose his
own way on the corduroy road, for the rider was lost in dreams. Clown
was a lean old dapple gray so far advanced in years and ailments that
when Doctor Peneyre had bought him, the year before, the dealer had
felt constrained to remark:
"He's better'n he looks, Doc'. You'll get your seven dollars' worth out
of him yet!"
To which the doctor had amiably responded:
"Your saying so makes me wonder if I WILL, Joe. However, I'll have my
boy groom him and feed him, and we'll see!"
But, as Clown had stubbornly refused to respond to grooming and
feeding, he was, like other despised and discarded articles, voted by
the Peneyre family quite good enough for Sammy, and Sammy accepted him
gratefully.
The spirit of spring was affecting them both to-day--a brilliant day
after long weeks of rain. Sammy whistled softly. Clown coquetted with
the bit, danced under the touch of the whip, and finally took the steep
mountain road with such convulsive springs as jolted his rider
violently from dreams.
"Why, you fool, are you trying to run away?" said Sammy, suddenly alive
to the situation. The road here was a mere shelf on the slope of the
mountain, constantly used by descending lumber teams, and dangerous at
all times. A runaway might easily be fatal. Sammy pulled at the bit;
but, at the first hard tug, the old bridle gave way, and Clown,
maddened by a stinging blow from the loose flying end of the strap,
bolted blindly ahead.
Terrified now, Sammy clung to the pommel and shouted. The trees flew
by; great clods of mud were flung up by the horse's feet. From far up
the road could be heard the creaking of a lumber team and the crack of
the lumberman's long whip.
"My Lord!" said Sammy, aloud, in a curious calm, "we'll never pass
THAT!"
And then, like a flash, it was all over. Clown, suddenly freed from his
rider, galloped violently for a moment, stopped, snorted suspiciously,
galloped another twenty feet, and stood still, his broken bridle
dangling rakishly over one eye. Sammy, dragged from the saddle at the
crucial instant to the safety of Anthony Gayley's arms, as he brought
his own horse up beside her, wriggled to the ground.
"That was surely going some!" said Anthony, breathing hard. "Hurt?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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