The New Penelope, and Other Stories and PoemsVictor, Frances Fuller
General
The New Penelope, and Other Stories and Poems
Victor, Frances Fuller
Northwest Coast of North America -- Social life and customs; Pacific Coast (U.S.) -- Social life and customs
Though decidedly startled, and averse to trusting his team to such a
pair of hands, Sam was compelled, by the psychic force of the little
woman, to yield up the reins. It was with fear and trembling that he
watched her handling of them for the first mile; but, as she really
seemed to know what she was about, his confidence increased, and he
watched her with admiration. Her veil was now up, her eyes were
sparkling, and cheeks glowing. She did not speak often, but, when she
did, it was always something piquant and graceful that she uttered. At
last, just as the station was in sight, she yielded up the lines, with a
deep-drawn sigh of satisfaction, apologizing for it by saying that her
hands, not being used to it, were tired. "I'm not sure," she added, "but
I shall take to the box, at last, as a steady thing."
"If you do," responded Sam, gallantly, "I hope you will drive on my
line."
"Thanks. I shall ask you for a reference, when I apply for the
situation."
There was then a halt, a supply of fresh horses, and a prompt, lively
start. But the afternoon was intensely hot, and the team soon sobered
down. Mrs. Page did not offer again to take the lines. She was overwarm
and weary, perhaps, quiet and a little sad, at any rate. Mr. Rice was
quiet, too, and thoughtful. The passengers inside were asleep. The coach
rattled along at a steady pace, with the dust so deep under the wheels
as to still their rumble. At intervals, a freight-wagon was passed,
drawn to one side, at a "turn-out," or a rabbit skipped across the road,
or a solitary horseman suggested alternately a "road-agent," or one of
James's heroes. Grand views presented themselves of wooded cliffs and
wild ravines. Tall pines threw lengthening shadows across the open
spaces on the mountain-sides. And so the afternoon wore away; and, when
the sun was setting, the passengers alighted for their supper at the
principal hotel of Lucky-dog--a mining-camp, pretty well up in the
Sierras.
"We both stop here," said Sam, as he helped the lady down from her high
position; letting her know by this remark that her destination was known
to him.
"I'm rather glad of that," she answered, frankly, with a little smile;
and, considering all that had transpired on that long drive, Sam was
certainly pardonable if he felt almost sure that her reason for being
glad was identical with his own.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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