PENELOPE RIDES TO THE RESCUE

Evening Post, Volume CXXV, Issue 36, 12 February 1938, Page 20

PENELOPE RIDES TO THE RESCUE

(Written for the Ring by "W

PENELOPE JORDAN climbed rapidly up the cherry tree, and seated herself in the flat seat provided by the meeting of two branches. She drew her legs up and ruefully surveyed the long ragged- rent in the skirt of her brown Puritan dress. Penelope sighed. Nannie would be so angry! The third time in a week that she had ripped a frock. "I can't help it," she muttered to herself. "I don't know why I wasn't a boy. Papa is so angry when I play pranks, or ride, or shout." Again she heaved a sigh, and then proceeded to drown her cares by sucking the juicy: out of the luscious cherries that grew in abundance on the tree. Penelope, with her unruly auburn hair and twinkling blue eyes, seldom had the "blues" for long. Apart from her dress and demure mob cap, not a soul would take Penelope: Jordan for the daughter of that iron Puritan, Dundas Jordan. Penelope's father, in the company of many other men with their wives and families, had sailed away from Merry England to a new land where they could worship as they pleased. Penelope's mother had died within a year of their arrival at the new home. She had pined for her old home. Penelope sucked a cherry, and thought sadly of the gay times of which young Captain Redwood had told her. In far off England his sister had wonderful times at masques and balls and had laughed when she had innocently asked what masques were. ' The girl looked thoughtfully at the pink cheeks of an over-ripe cherry. A small sigh escaped her. "I should like to be a Stuart," she whispered, and two large tears rolled slowly down her cheeks. But suddenly she sat up alertly. A pigeon calling! No that was not a pigeon, and Penelope, who knew all the calls of Nature, listened intently while the "coo" was repeated. "Someone is imitating a pigeon," she breathed. But when the call,was answered from a few yards off, she caught her breath sharply. A signal! Hardly daring to breathe, Penelope crawled cautiously along the branch, and lay flat, staring through the thick leaves on to the two men who were below, talking in low whispers. At the sight of the men, Penelope, in her astonishment and horror, nearly revealed her presence by crying out aloud. They were Black Fox, a half-breed, who was always in trouble with the people of the district, and a dark-skinned Indian in full war-paint. "We will talk by signs," murmured the half-breed. Rapidly a conversation began, and Penelope, who knew something of the Indian sign-language, followed the gist of the talk. Soon the men parted, and Penelope lay. white and panting with fright, on the bough. Her home was to be attacked at dawn—she was to be seized—a white-

Trite Lady," 15, Lyall Bay.)

squaw for Red Feather, chief of the Black Foot tribe. A sob escaped her as she realised the peril her home and its occupants were in. Worse still, Penelope realised that there was no one to defend the home. Her father was ill! Captain Redwood was out hunting, and would not return until daybreak, and all the men had been sent to help a neighbouring planter. With a little smile, Penelope slipped to the ground. She would ride to a neighbour twenty miles away and get help. She wouldn't tell her father ft he would disapprove. She would go without telling anyone. Yes! Even if she were thrashed, she would ride Spitfire, the half-broken thoroughbred, who fully earned his name. After a lot o£ opposition from Spitfire, Penelope was on her way. to find help. She had bruised her shin and had slightly sprained her right wrist, but nevertheless she rode on. It was now 4 o'clock, and in three or four hours night would fall and it would be impossible to get help through to her home. The way was long and rough, and Spitfire did not lessen the pain of the journey by his restlessness. Two and a half hours later the tired girl readied her destination, and blurted out her story. Preparations were immed-'ately made for the men to return to the rescue. Although persuaded, Penelope refused to stay at her friend's home, and returned weary and aching all over, to look after her father. , Once at Greenwoods, her home, the men wished her to rest. But no! She insisted on making strong hot coffee for them. This she took to them at intervals as they bamcaded windows and doors. Through the fight that waged at dawn she acted as "powder boy," and loaded and reloaded the guns. Captain Redwood had returned earlier than he had expected, and was able to take part in the defence of the home. Penelope, however, kept well out of his way, for she knew, if he saw her, he would send her to her room, and that didn't suit eighteen-year-old Penelope Jordan. At last, when victory was finally theirs, she staggered out into the garden, and sank down at the foot of a great oak. "Penny! Penny! Where are you?" Robin Redwood came hurrying out to her. "Oh you poor little darling," he murmured as he took her in his arms. Penelope laid her head on his large comfortable shoulder and sobbed and I sobbed, while Robin stroked her auburn curls. Long years after, when her curls were white and her husband's big frame was gaunt and stooped, Penelope would tell her grandchildren how she had saved her home, from the Redskins, in far away America. For now she lived in England, where Robin had brought her and shown her what masques really were.