It happened one winter there was a long spell of snow. The circus
company was camping in a lonely barn. During real hard weather they
usually preferred accessible places, near farms and villages; but this
snowstorm had caught them unexpectedly. Indeed, the little caravan
itself was fast in a snowdrift under a hedge. The tilt-cart had been
dragged up to the barn, and the baggage had been carried inside. The
building was dry, and fairly comfortable; but unfortunately, the great
double doors could not be opened; so poor Pony Billy had to remain
outside. The others, including Paddy Pig, contrived to squeeze between
the upright wooden bars of an unglazed low window. There was dry
bracken bedding in the barn; but no hay.
Pony Billy ate rough grass that grew through the snow upon the banks;
he even did some digging with his forefeet, like the sheep. But when
the snow continued day after day, it became necessary for him and
Sandy to go foraging. They borrowed a sledge belonging to the charcoal
burners, and they fetched a load of provisions; but they could only
carry a very little hay as well. Pony Billy made no complaint about
sleeping out. His shaggy coat was inches long; he was warm, even if
he woke up half buried with snow in the morning. But he did feel as
if he wanted a good feed. So one afternoon in the early darkening he
announced that he intended to sup, and possibly stay a night or two,
with the gypsy’s donkey, Cuddy Simpson.
Sandy was not pleased. He did not mind Pony Billy going; but
he—Sandy—would have liked to go, too, and spend a merry evening with
Eddy Tin Cur and the gypsy lurchers.
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Pony William considered the donkey a harmless, respectable animal,
certainly very hardworking; but the tinker dogs were another matter.
They were suspected of all manner of crimes, including sheep stealing
and poaching. Therefore, he said, firmly, that it was Sandy’s duty to
stop with the caravan.
Iky Shepster, the starling, joined in the argument. He said people who
were not sharp enough to look after their own property deserved to lose
it. He ran up and down on Pony Billy’s back, and twitched his mane, and
chittered. Pony Billy set off at dusk, walking up the lane that led
to the main road. There was deep drifted snow against the walls and
hedges. The lane was blocked for carts; only in the middle there was a
beaten trod. The Big Folk from a farm further south had been using it;
and the postman had followed it as a short cut.
Pony Billy got out onto the main road with a scramble and a jump over a
frozen bank of snow, which the snow plough had cast up across the mouth
of the lane. Where the plough had travelled, the road was scraped and
smoother and slippery. Pony Billy walked fast without trying to trot.
He picked up his neat little feet; the snow was too dry to ball in his
hoofs. The night was dark, but there was a ground light from the snow.
He walked forwards up the hill.
Voices came towards him on the road. Pony Billy was not concerned. The
Big Folk could not see him. He had complete confidence in the fern seed
which he carried. He was accustomed to walk and trot invisible. But he
had not reckoned with the mischief-making of Iky Shepster. He thought
that his precious packet was safely plaited into his mane; instead of
which it had been stolen, and hidden by the starling in a mouse hole in
the barn.
Two tall figures approached out of the darkness to meet him. Pony Billy
came on, as bold as bold. He knew that his shoes would not clink in
the snow. He believed himself to be invisible; and there was plenty of
room to pass. Even when he recognized that the patrollers were two very
large policemen—Pony Billy still advanced.
The large policemen halted. “What’s this, Constable Crabtree?” Then
at length Pony Billy stopped, too. He stood motionless; puzzled. “It
looks to me to be a large hairy black pig, Sergeant.” Pony Billy
was considerably startled; but still he stood his ground. Constable
Crabtree flashed a bull’s-eye lantern upon him. “It’s a pony. No bigger
than a big dog,” said the Sergeant. Without warning, the constable
sprang at the amazed Pony William, and seized him by the forelock.
Pony Billy boxed desperately; but he was overpowered by the two large
policemen. And alas! the sergeant in his overcoat pocket carried a
piece of strong cord, which they twisted into a rough halter.
Pony Billy threw himself down; he rolled; he kicked; he tried to bite.
But all in vain! They forced him along; and the more he jibbed—the
more those large policemen laughed. “Whoa, pony! Whoa there! He is a
spirited little nag! Do you recognize him, Constable Crabtree?” “I do
not, Sergeant Nutbush. There is a galloway at Hill Top Farm; but it’s
taller. Matter-of-fact, it’s a little mare, that one; they call it
Mabel.” “Is he the pony from Swiss Cottage?” “He is not, Sergeant. That
one is a fell pony. It has nicked ears, same like a herdwick sheep;
under key-bit near and cropped far.” “Well, well, well! Put him in
the Pound! Give him a bite of hay. We can advertize him in next week’s
Gazette.”
Pony Billy felt that things were getting extremely serious. It was so
unfortunately dark; there were no other animals out upon the roads;
nobody to carry news of his predicament to Sandy. It was serious.
The Pound, or Pinfold, was a round enclosure, with a high circular
wall, built of cobblestones. After thoughtfully providing an armful of
hay, Constable Crabtree locked up Pony Billy, and left him. The oak
door was ancient, but strong. It was padlocked. The key hung upon a
nail at the police station. Pony Billy had a satisfying meal at last.
Next day he tramped many, many miles, round and round inside the
pinfold wall. The constable looked in, with another supply of hay, and
remarked that it was funny that nobody claimed him. Pony Billy ate as
much hay as he could manage to tuck in. Then he resumed his tramping
round and round upon the dirty snow in the Pinfold. He neighed loudly
and repeatedly. Nobody answered. The walls were very high; not the
tallest Clydesdale horse could have looked over the top of those
cobblestones. No living thing did he see till the second afternoon,
when a small flock of starlings flew over. They wheeled round in the
air, after the manner of starlings; and one bird flew back and alighted
on the wall. It was Iky Shepster. He ran along the top of the wall, and
sputtered and chittered with laughter. Pony Billy ate hay and pretended
not to see him. Then, just as Iky Shepster spread his wings to rejoin
the flight of starlings, Pony William remarked that he wished to see
Sandy on particular business. “Is that so?” said Iky Shepster. Pony
Billy was left in uncomfortable doubt whether the message would be
delivered or not.
In the meantime, Sandy had no suspicion but that Pony Billy was safe
with the gypsy’s donkey, who spent the worst of winter eating mouldy
hay and taed-pipes in an open-fronted shed on the marshes. It was a
most unpleasant surprise when Iky Shepster flew in with the news that
Billy was fast in the Pound. “Whose doing is that, I wonder?” said
Jenny Ferret. “He must have lost his fern seed. I shall have to get
him out somehow,” said Sandy. “Lost, stolen, or strayed,” said Jenny
Ferret. Paddy Pig suggested trying to borrow the key of the padlock
from the Sergeant’s black Manx cat: but it was a doubtful expedient;
and it would involve calling at the police station. “It would be
simpler to pick the lock. If Mettle will only come with me we will soon
have him out.”
Sandy waited till moonrise; then he scampered off to the smithy in the
village. The Big Folk had all gone to bed, in the clear of the moon;
but the forge was still working.
Mettle, the blacksmith’s yellow terrier was doing a job on his own;
opening the links in a dog chain. Another dog was blowing the bellows.
They greeted Sandy, “Come along and warm yourself at the hearth,
Sandy!” “I’m in a hurry, I cannot wait. And you must come with me,
Mettle. Poor old Billy is fast in the Pound.” “Whew-w!” whistled
Mettle. He damped down the fire, gathered up some tools, and they
hurried off together.
Pony Billy was dozing in the Pinfold. He was awakened by the sound of
sniffing and scratching under the door; something was being done to
the padlock. Within a few minutes he was free; trotting back towards
the village with the dogs racing at his heels. When the constable came
next morning, the mysterious pony had vanished. The Pinfold was empty.
“So you see, Tuppenny,” said Xarifa, “it is most important to carry
fern seed when we go upon the roads, and pass near the Big Folks; and
you must always take great care that it is not lost.”
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