The Bamberg herald. [volume] (Bamberg, S.C.) 1891-1972, 1907-08-15
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)9(071m(S BY Constance
i UlgluUlIo Darcy
Mackay.
copyrighted, 1907, By VI. N. Cunningham.


the 1st of November, and from the hill
which was crested by the old Lauder
dale mansion could be seen a sweep OF
country touched by varying colors-the
| russell and crimson of oak and maple
the green of undulating fields and hills
broken here and there by the gray OF
stone walls, the clear flashes Of brooks
or stretches of open road.
Cad! What air!' cried Grattan
Richards, tossing back his head and
taking long Whit.
"And what day for hunt" echoed
Rex Tellingford, looking past Richards
to where Emily Lauderdale was chat
tering to a group Of men in red coats,
checking in her horse as the hounds
struggled to be off, straining at their
leashes. with every one in such good
fettle it ought to be great old race
she laughed, tucking strand of blue
black hair beneath her riding hat.
The eyes Of Richards and Tellingford
met with an understanding CLEAN.
Each was cognizant Of the others
thoughts-that whoever brought back
the brush that day would win a prize
Of far greater value. Both men knew
that their future happiness depended
largely on the mornings run, for EN-
lily was a horsewoman from the tip of
her riding boot to the ends Of her firm
gauntleted fingers. She set immeas-
urable store by cross country rides,
daring leaps and hairbreadth escapes.
To say man could not keep his sad
die was equal to Emily's mind with
saying he could not keep his head.
Though l think there are virtues
equally as great as cross country rid
ing" smiled gentle Elizabeth Lauder
dale, whose love of outdoor excitement
was neither so deep rooted nor of such
long inheritance as Emily's.
Emily shook her head.
Dear Aunt Elsie" she answered,
you don't in the least understand, and
I'm sure I could never explain. It's
bred in my bone, that's all. If I had
lived in the olden days should have
had tournament-rushing Of horses,
clashing Of spears, splintering Of ar
NOR! That's what call a wooing!
No mere ambling up to demand your
heart and hand! And, as find it hard
to decide between Grattan Richards
and Rex Tellingford, why, fair field
and fair play, and let the best man
win"
Something Of this headstrong resolu-
ton stirred in the girl as she turned
suddenly in her saddle and glanced at
the two men. Assured triumph glowed
on the face of Richards. Stern deter
mination was written on Tellingfords.
She gave a little nod Of satisfaction.
They were we'll matched, these two.
The other members of the Lauder
dale house party were not unaware OF
the drama that was being played be-
fore their eyes, and it added to the zest
Of the morning as the signal was CIV
en-, the dogs unleashed and the caval-
cade swept gayly down the hill.
"Look at that girl!' gasped Mrs.
Royce Thompson novice who pound
ed in her saddle. "She's actually
But the rest Of the words were lost,
for Emily was already in the distance,
galloping at breakneck speed, while at
her heels followed Richards and Tel
lingford. The rest of the hunt stream
ed after them. Luck seemed to favor
Richards. His mares feet scarcely
touched the earth. She took fences
and furrows like winged creature.
Tellingford was not so fortunate. At
the brink Of a stream he was forced
to pause and fasten his saddle girth.
Partly from excitement and partly
from annoyance he fumbled with 1t
longer than he had intended, and when
he raised his head the others were al
ready far afeld, Emily Lauderdale and
Richards still in the lead. The hounds
had scented their quarry and were in
full cry.
Tellingford considered. There was a
crosscut that he had tried once before.
It lay through bitches and brambles
and was intersected by five bar fences.
Still anything at a pinch, and he would
back Fleetfoot against every mare in
the county. He congratulated himself
on this decision some moments later
as Fleetfoot went forward at pace
that justified her name. Her course
now lay across wide meadows filled
with lush grass and starred here and
there by purple asters and skirted by
low stone walls, in whose crumbling
chinks vines twisted and across whose
loose stones squirrels skipped and
cbattered.
"Bravo, old girlr' cried Tellingford,
his hand on Fleetfoot's glossy neck,
gently urging her forward. At that
moment there reached him sharply and
piercingly the bitter cry Of child.
Tellingford drew rein. By the wall,
circling a ditch that Fleetfoot was
about to take, lay small, chubby fig
ure, one hand full of flowers.
"Pricked himself with brambles,"
thought Tellingford. Aloud he said: