Brenda's Ward Part 45

"Portsmouth is full of stories," responded Clare; "I wish, Cousin Mary, we could stay here three or four days. Martine would enjoy everything--old stories as well as old houses--"

"We have plenty of both, my dear," said Cousin Mary, laying her hand on Martine's arm.

"I have been wondering about the houses, there are so many more of what you might call 'stately mansions,' than there are in Plymouth," and Martine looked enquiringly at Cousin Mary.

"Oh, that is easily explained," replied the older woman, understanding Martine's unexpressed question. "Portsmouth was a Royal Province, and its merchants were prosperous and fond of the good things of life. They vied with one another in the eighteenth century in building handsome dwellings. There were also many government officials here, who felt that fine surroundings were their rightful due. When the Revolution came, Portsmouth was full of Tories, as you may have read in some of the recent historical novels. They were far from pleased with the change in government."

"Martine and I certainly must come over again," cried Clare, looking at her watch, "there are two or three special stories that I hope you will tell her, though they are too long for to-day. I am afraid we have barely time for the church, if we mean to get back to York to-night."

"This church," explained Cousin Mary, as they drew near old St. John's, "is interesting because it succeeds the old Queen's Chapel. It may surprise you to learn that in Portsmouth the first church observed the forms of the Church of England. But after the earliest years, for a long time there was no Episcopal church until the Queen's Chapel was built in the early eighteenth century."

"They couldn't have a Queen's Chapel after the Revolution!" exclaimed Martine.

"Well, it was Queen's Chapel for a few years. This was its name when Washington attended service here. But in 1791, when the parish was re-organized, the new church was known as 'St. John's.'"

The girls made the most of the short time they had to spend at the old church. There were a number of things to see, but nothing, not even the famous Queen Caroline chairs interested Martine more than the old bell in the tower. For Cousin Mary told her that it had been brought from an old church at Louisburg by Sir William Pepperell's victorious men.

"I must come down some Sunday," she said, "just to hear it. In Nova Scotia they tell some weird stories about these old French bells," and as she spoke, Martine recalled her afternoon with Balfour and Amy near the site of the Acadian church.

"You certainly must spend a day or two with me soon," said Cousin Mary, and when the girls bade her good-bye, the day was set for a longer visit from Clare and Martine.

A slight fog overtook them as they rode home, and this, perhaps, lowered Martine's spirits. Had Clare known Martine longer, she would have been even more surprised than she was at her friend's despondent tone, for those who knew her best had seldom seen her out of spirits.

It was Clare herself, however, who had turned the conversation in a direction not exactly enlivening.

"I suppose we shall see Herbert to-morrow," she said. "He won't be exactly pleased when he hears about Carlotta's luncheon."

"You mean my being left out? Oh, he won't care. Boys never take up those things. Besides, I hope no one will tell him. Besides, I shouldn't have cared if it hadn't been for Mrs. Dundonald, though I shall probably have a chance to meet her again, somewhere."

"Of course," responded Clare, "she is likely to be in Boston, and you know so many people. I think you have been very amiable about the whole thing. For certainly it was hard to bear."

Now sympathy is often the last straw to break one down, and as she replied to Clare, Martine did not control a little quaver in her voice.

"Naturally no one likes to be slighted, but then nothing has gone exactly right this summer. I have hardly done a thing I wanted to, and I have been left out of things I might have gone to."

"But, my dear, I have heard you say over and over again that you wouldn't have any gayety on account of your father and--"

"Yes, that is true," replied Martine, undisturbed by her own inconsistency, "but all the same it isn't pleasant to be left out, and I really don't like being economical, although I have to pretend I don't mind. I suppose that's why some people slight me. I never believed before that money made any difference, but now I know."

"Martine," said Clare, "you are ridiculous. I believe you have been working too hard, and so are a little run down."

"I haven't slept well lately," Martine admitted, "I have been thinking so much about my father and Lucian."

"Isn't your father improving?"

"The last letter was more cheerful. But we haven't heard for three weeks, and I am wondering what we shall do next year if he has lost _all_ his money. It will be so hard for Lucian to give up college."

Clare was at a loss for a reply. Mrs. Stratford and Martine were new friends and she really knew little about their affairs. She had to content herself with rather vague attempts to cheer Martine, and she was gratified before they reached their stopping place to see the smiles return to Martine's face.

It was almost dusk as the car sped down a long hill near the Country Club.

"Why, that was Carlotta driving," exclaimed Clare, as they pa.s.sed a restive horse that was driven by a girl in a high cart.

"She has poor control of her horse," rejoined Martine.

"It's curious," added Clare, "that Carlotta, who is so good at other sports, knows so little about a horse. She seldom drives alone. I wonder how it happens that no one is with her now."

"She may swim better than I," rejoined Martine, "but I believe I could give her points about managing a horse."

Soon the two friends had reached their corner and were about to part when they heard the clatter of hoofs and wheels.

"Keep to the side, Clare," cried Martine. "It's Carlotta, the horse is running away."

Hardly had she uttered these words when the horse and carriage were upon them. The reins had fallen, and Carlotta, helpless, was clinging to the side of the carriage. Martine did not hesitate. Instantly she plunged forward, and unheeding Clare's warning scream, flung herself before the horse. Yet, in spite of her impetuosity, she knew what she was doing.

The creature's speed was less than it seemed to the frightened Clare.

Martine with a sure aim reached the bridle. Although she was dragged a few steps, the horse slackened his pace, and stopped. Carlotta, too much shaken to resume control, jumped to the ground on the opposite side from Martine.

"Look!" cried Clare, running up to her as she came to the horse's head.

"Is she hurt?" asked Carlotta, anxiously, as Clare stooped down toward Martine, who had fallen to the ground.

"She must be," replied Clare. "What shall we do?"

"I cannot very well leave my horse," responded Carlotta, still with her hand on the bridle; "if only somebody--"

At that moment "somebody" did appear, in the shape of Mr. Gamut.

"Bless my soul!" he exclaimed, "What is this? An accident?"

Martine lay white and still. Clare, stooping down, could not rouse her.

"Let us take her to the house, and then I will go for Mrs. Stratford,"

cried Clare; "she has been spending the day with my mother."

"I was on my way to Red Knoll," said Mr. Gamut. "I came on the afternoon train, and I felt anxious to talk over the good news; but now, this looks serious," he continued, as together he and Clare lifted Martine from the ground.

"May I take my horse to your stable, Clare?" asked Carlotta. "He is quiet enough, but I would rather not drive now, and then I will hurry to the village for a doctor. I am so sorry for all this," she concluded.

"There are certainly no bones broken," said the practical Clare; "she has simply fainted."

Clare and Mr. Gamut slowly carried Martine to the side of the road, and now Clare was supporting her friend's head on her knee, while Mr. Gamut had gone to Red Knoll for water.

As Carlotta disappeared down the lane leading to the Ethridge house, Martine stirred slightly, and opened her eyes.

"Where am I?" she asked, faintly. "Oh--yes--I remember," and though she closed her eyes again, she no longer lay a dead weight against Clare's arm.