“Yes, it’s high time he went, for he is ready, and as soon as he is off, I shall turn soldier. I am needed.”
“I am glad of that!” exclaimed Meg. “I should think every young man would want to go, though it is hard for the mothers and sisters who stay at home,” she added sorrowfully.
“I have neither, and very few friends to care whether I live or die,” said Mr. Brooke rather bitterly as he absently put the dead rose in the hole he had made and covered it up, like a little grave.
“Laurie and his grandfather would care a great deal, and we should all be very sorry to have any harm happen to you,” said Meg heartily.
“Thank you, that sounds pleasant,” began Mr. Brooke, looking cheerful again, but before he could finish his speech, Ned, mounted on the old horse, came lumbering up to display his equestrian skill before the young ladies, and there was no more quiet that day.
“Don’t you love to ride?” asked Grace of Amy, as they stood resting after a race round the field with the others, led by Ned.
“I dote upon it. My sister, Meg, used to ride when Papa was rich, but we don’t keep any horses now, except Ellen Tree,” added Amy, laughing.
“Tell me about Ellen Tree. Is it a donkey?” asked Grace curiously.
“Why, you see, Jo is crazy about horses and so am I, but we’ve only got an old sidesaddle and no horse. Out in our garden is an apple tree that has a nice low branch, so Jo put the saddle on it, fixed some reins on the part that turns up, and we bounce away on Ellen Tree whenever we like.”
“How funny!” laughed Grace. “I have a pony at home, and ride nearly every day in the park with Fred and Kate. It’s very nice, for my friends go too, and the Row is full of ladies and gentlemen.”
“Dear, how charming! I hope I shall go abroad some day, but I’d rather go to Rome than the row,” said Amy, who had not the remotest idea what the Row was and wouldn’t have asked for the world.
Frank, sitting just behind the little girls, heard what they were saying, and pushed his crutch away from him with an impatient gesture as he watched the active lads going through all sorts of comical gymnastics. Beth, who was collecting the scattered Author cards, looked up and said, in her shy yet friendly way, “I’m afraid you are tired. Can I do anything for you?”
“Talk to me, please. It’s dull, sitting by myself,” answered Frank, who had evidently been used to being made much of at home.
If he asked her to deliver a Latin oration, it would not have seemed a more impossible task to bashful Beth, but there was no place to run to, no Jo to hide behind now, and the poor boy looked so wistfully at her that she bravely resolved to try.
“What do you like to talk about?” she asked, fumbling over the cards and dropping half as she tried to tie them up.
“Well, I like to hear about cricket and boating and hunting,” said Frank, who had not yet learned to suit his amusements to his strength.
My heart! What shall I do? I don’t know anything about them, thought Beth, and forgetting the boy’s misfortune in her flurry, she said, hoping to make him talk, “I never saw any hunting, but I suppose you know all about it.”
“I did once, but I can never hunt again, for I got hurt leaping a confounded five-barred gate, so there are no more horses and hounds for me,” said Frank with a sigh that made Beth hate herself for her innocent blunder.
“Your deer are much prettier than our ugly buffaloes,” she said, turning to the prairies for help and feeling glad that she had read one of the boys’ books in which Jo delighted.
Buffaloes proved soothing and satisfactory, and in her eagerness to amuse another, Beth forgot herself, and was quite unconscious of her sisters’ surprise and delight at the unusual spectacle of Beth talking away to one of the dreadful boys, against whom she had begged protection.