Over little Paulina Pry's face fell a shadow, and for a moment the big eyes grew suspiciously bright. Then wounded pride caused them to flash as their owner whispered to herself, "She _might_ have told me the truth."

Then the kitchen door was shut, locked from the outside, and Mammy departed.

Jean got down from her perch and stood for a few moments in the middle of the pantry floor in deep meditation. Then raising her head with a determined little nod she said under her breath, "_I'll_ show 'em."

To hurry out to the hall closet where her everyday hat, coat and gloves were kept, took but a moment. In another she had put them on, and was on her way to the stable. To harness Baltie was somewhat of an undertaking, but by the aid of a box which raised her to the necessary height this was done, the old horse nickering softly and rubbing his head against her as she proceeded.

"Yes Baltie, dear. _You_ and _I_ have a secret now and _don't_ you _tell_ it. If _they_ think they are so smart, _we'll_ show them that _we_ can do something too."

At length the harnessing was done, and slipping back to the house Jean went into the pantry, lifted up the box so plainly labeled "Ladies'

Suits" and sped away to the stable where she placed it carefully upon the bottom of the phaeton, tucking the carriage rug around and about it in such a manner that even the liveliest suspicion would have nothing to feed upon.

Then opening the double doors she led Baltie through them, and out of the driveway to the side street on which it opened, and which could not be seen from the front of the house where the young lady knew her mother and sister to be at this critical moment. Only a second more was needed to run back and close the stable doors and the gates, and all tracks were covered.

In that immediate vicinity the queer turnout was well-known by this time, so no curiosity was aroused by its appearance.

As usual, Jean had not paused to mature her plans. Their inception was enough for the time being; details could follow later.

Plod, plod, fell Baltie's hoofs upon the macadamized street as Jean guided him slowly along. The day was cold, but clear and crisp, with just a hint of wind or snow from the mare's tails overhead in the blue.

Jean had no very clear idea of what her next step would be, and was rather trusting to fate to show her. Perhaps Baltie had a better one than his driver, or perhaps it was sense of direction and force of habit which was heading him toward South Riveredge; Baltie's intelligence did not appear to wane with his years. At all events, he was going his usual route when Jean spied Mammy far ahead and in a trice fate had stepped in to give things a twist. To pull Baltie around and guide him into a street which led to East instead of South Riveredge was the work of a second. Jean thought she could go back by another street which led diagonally into South Riveredge but when she reached it she found it closed for repairs. Turning around involved more or less danger and she had a thought for that which lay at her feet. So on she went, hoping to get into South Riveredge sooner or later.

Like many suburban towns, Riveredge had certain sections which were given over to the poorer element, and in such sections could always be found enough idle, mischievous youngsters to make things interesting for other people, particularly on Sat.u.r.days when they were released from the restraint of school.

Jean had proceeded well along upon her way when she was spied by two or three urchins upon whose hands time was hanging rather heavily, and to whom the novel sight of a handsome, neatly-clad child, perched in a phaeton which might have been designed for Noah, and driving a blind horse, was a vision of joy.

"Hi, Billy, get on ter de swell rig," bawled one worthy son of McKim's Hollow.

"Gee! Aint he a stunner! Say, where did yer git him?" yelled Billy, prompt to take up the ball, and give it a toss.

"Mebbe he's de ghost av yer granfather's trotter," was the next salute.

"Hi, what's his best time. Forty hours fer de mile?" asked a larger lad, hanging on to the back of the phaeton and winding his heels into the springs.

"Get down! Go away!" commanded Jean.

"Couldn't," politely replied her pa.s.senger.

"Say yer oughter have a white hawse wid all dat red hair," yelled a new addition to the number already swarming after her.

"Git a move on," was the next cry, as a youth armed with a long stick joined the crowd. Things were growing decidedly uncomfortable for Jean whose cheeks were blazing, and whose eyes were flashing ominously.

Just then one urchin made a grab for the whip but she was too quick for him, and once having it in her hand was tempted to lay about vigorously. As though divining her thoughts, the smaller boys drew off but he of the stick scorned such an adversary, although discretion warned him not to lay it upon her. The old horse, however, was not so guarded by law and the stick descended upon his flanks with all the strength of the young rowdy's arms. He would better have struck Jean!

Never since coming to live in his present home had Baltie felt a blow, but during all those four months had been petted, loved and cared for in a manner to make him forget former trials, and in spite of his age, renew his strength and spirits. True, he was never urged to do more than jog, jog, jog along, but under the spur of this indignity some of his old fire sprung up and with a wild snort of resentment he plunged forward. As he did so, down came the whip across his a.s.sailant's head, for Jean had forgotten all else in her wrath; she began to lay about her with vigor, and the battle was on in earnest.

Perhaps John Gilpin cut a wilder dash yet it is doubtful.

CHAPTER XIII

The Battle of Town and Gown

Jean had come about a mile from Riveredge before encountering her unwelcome escort, and a mile for old Baltie was considered a good distance by Mammy who always blanketed him carefully and gave him a long rest after such exertion. The sight of the old woman's care for her horse had won her more than one feminine customer in South Riveredge and not infrequently they entered into conversation with her regarding him. Mammy needed no greater encouragement to talk, and Baltie's history became known to many of her customers.

Could Mammy have witnessed Baltie's wild careerings as he pounded along to escape his tormentors, while Jean strove desperately to beat them off, she would probably have expired upon the spot.

But Baltie's strength was not equal to any long-sustained effort and his breath soon became labored. The shouting cavalcade had gone about half a mile at its wild pace and Jean had done her valiant best, but the numbers against her had been steadily augmented as she proceeded, and the situation was becoming really dangerous. She stood up in the phaeton, hat hanging by its elastic band, hair flying and eyes flashing as she strove to beat off her pursuers. Most of them, it must be admitted, were good-natured, and were simply following up their prank from a spirit of mischief. But two or three had received stinging lashes from the whip and the sting had aroused their ire.

Jean's strength as well as old Baltie's was giving out when from the opposite side of a high arbor-vitae hedge arose a cry of:

"Gown to the rescue! Gown to the rescue!" and the next second the road seemed filled with lads who had apparently sprung from it, and a lively scrimmage was afoot. The boys who had so lately been making things interesting for Jean and Baltie, turned to flee precipitately, but were pretty badly hustled about before they could escape; he of the stick being captured red-handed as he launched a blow that came very near proving a serious one for Jean since it struck the whip from her hands and landed it in the road. The poor child collapsed upon the seat, and strove hard to suppress a sob, for she would have died sooner than cry before the boys of the "Irving Preparatory School."

Baltie needed no second hint to make him understand that the time had come to let his friends take up the battle, and bracing his trembling old legs he stood panting in the middle of the road.

"I say, what did this fellow do to you, little girl?" demanded a tall, fine-looking lad, whose dark gray eyes were flashing with indignation, and whose firm mouth gave his captive reason to know that he meant whatever he said. At any other time Jean would have resented the "little girl," but during the past fifteen minutes she had felt a very small girl indeed.

"He's a coward! A great, hulking coward!" she blazed at the hapless youth whom her champion held so firmly by his collar as he stood by the phaeton. The other lads who had now completely routed Jean's tormentors were gathering about her, some with looks of concern for her welfare, some with barely restrained smiles at her plight and her turnout.

"What'll I do to him? Punch his head?" demanded knight errant.

"No, shake it most off!" commanded Jean. "He nearly made mine shake off," she concluded, as she pushed her hair from her eyes and jerked her hat back into place. "My goodness just look at the state I'm in and look at Baltie; I don't know what Mammy will say. Aren't you ashamed of yourself, you great big bully, to torment a girl and a poor old blind horse. Oh, I _wish_ I were a boy! If I wouldn't give you bally-whacks."

A smile broke over knight errant's face, but his victim trembled in his boots.

"All right then, here goes, since you won't let me punch it," and Jean's injunctions to shake her tormentor's head "most off" seemed in a fair way to be obeyed, for the next second its owner was being shaken very much as a rat is shaken by a terrier and the head was jerked about in a most startling manner.

"Now get out! Skiddoo! And if we catch you and your gang out this way again you'll have a pretty lively time of it, and don't you forget it either," said knight errant with a final shake, and Long Stick was hustled upon his way toward his friends who had not paused to learn his fate.

This boy who acted as spokesman, and who appeared to be a leader among his companions, then said:

"I say, your old horse is pretty well knocked up, isn't she? How far have you come? Better drive into the school grounds and rest up a bit before you go back. Come on!" and going to Baltie's head the lad took hold of the rein to lead him through the gateway.

Baltie never forgot his manners, however great the stress under which he was laboring, so turning his sightless eyes toward his new friend, he nickered softly, and rubbed his muzzle against him. The lad laughed and raising his hand stroked the warm neck as he said:

"Found a friend at last, old boy? Well, come on then, for you needed one badly."

"Guess he _did_!" said Jean. "My gracious, I don't know what we would have done if you boys hadn't come out to help us. How did you happen to hear us?"

"We were out on the field with the ball. I guess it's lucky for you we were, too, for there's a tough gang up there near Riveredge. We're always on the lookout for some new outbreak, and we make it lively if they come up this way, you'd better believe. They don't try it very often, but you were too big a chance for 'em this time, and they sailed right in. But they sailed at the wrong time for we are never happier to exchange civilities with them than when we have on our togs," ended the lad, as he glanced at the foot-ball suits which he and a number of his chums were wearing.

"Oh, are you playing foot-ball? I wish I could see you," cried Jean eagerly, all thoughts of her late plans flying straight out of her head.

"Better come over to the field then," laughed her escort.

"I'd love to but I guess I can't to-day. I'm on important business.

I'm going to South Riveredge," she said, suddenly recalling her errand.