GOD REMEMBERS SHOCKY.
At four o'clock the next morning, in the midst of a driving snow, Ralph
went timidly up the lane toward the homely castle of the Meanses. He
went timidly, for he was afraid of Bull. But he found Bud waiting for
him, with the roan colt bridled and saddled. The roan colt was really a
large three-year-old, full of the finest sort of animal life, and
having, as Bud declared, "a mighty sight of hoss sense fer his age." He
seemed to understand at once that there was something extraordinary on
hand when he was brought out of his comfortable quarters at four in the
morning in the midst of a snow-storm. Bud was sure that the roan colt
felt his responsibility.
In the days that followed, Ralph often had occasion to remember this
interview with Bud, who had risked much in bringing his fractured arm
out into the cold, damp air. Jonathan never clave to David more
earnestly than did Bud this December morning to Ralph.
"You see, Mr. Hartsook," said Bud, "I wish I was well myself. It's hard
to set still. But it's a-doing me a heap of good. I'm like a boy at
school. And I'm a-findin' out that doing one's best licks fer others
ain't all they is of it, though it's a good part. I feel like as if I
must git Him, you know, to do lots for me. They's always some sums too
hard fer a feller, and he has to ax the master to do 'em, you know. But
see, the roan's a-stomping round. He wants to be off. Do you know I
think that hoss knows something's up? I think he puts in his best licks
fer me a good deal better than I do fer Him."
Ralph pressed Bud's right hand. Bud rubbed his face against the colt's
nose and said: "Put in your best licks, old fellow." And the colt
whinnied. How a horse must want to speak! For Bud was right. Men are
gods to horses, and they serve their deities with a faithfulness that
shames us.
Then Ralph sprang into the saddle, and the roan, as if wishing to show
Bud his willingness, broke into a swinging gallop, and was soon lost to
the sight of his master in the darkness and the snow. When Bud could no
more hear the sound of the roan's footsteps he returned to the house, to
lie awake picturing to himself the journey of Ralph with Shocky and the
roan colt. It was a great comfort to Bud that the roan, which was almost
a part of himself, represented him in this ride. And he knew the roan
well enough to feel sure that he would do credit to his master. "He'll
put in his best licks," Bud whispered to himself many a time before
daybreak.
The ground was but little frozen, and the snow made the roads more
slippery than ever. But the rough-shod roan handled his feet dexterously
and with a playful and somewhat self-righteous air, as though he said:
"Didn't I do it handsomely that time?" Down slippery hills, through deep
mud-holes covered with a slender film of ice he trod with perfect
assurance. And then up over the rough stones of Rocky Hollow, where
there was no road at all, he picked his way through the darkness and
snow. Ralph could not tell where he was at last, but gave the reins to
the roan, who did his duty bravely, and not without a little flourish,
to show that he had yet plenty of spare power.
A feeble candle-ray, making the dense snow-fall visible, marked for
Ralph the site of the basket-maker's cabin. Miss Martha had been
admitted to the secret, and had joined in the conspiracy heartily,
without being able to recall anything of the kind having occurred at the
East, and not remembering having seen or heard of anything of the sort
the time she was to Bosting. She had Shocky all ready, having used some
of her own capes and shawls to make him warm.
Miss Martha came out to meet Ralph when she heard the feet of the roan
before the door.
"O Mr. Hartsook! is that you? What a storm. This is jest the way it
snows at the East. Shocky's all ready. He didn't know a thing about it
tell I waked him this morning. Ever since that he's been saying that God
hasn't forgot, after all. It's made me cry more'n once." And Shocky
kissed Mrs. Pearson, and told her that when he got away from Flat Creek
he'd tell God all about it, and God would bring Mr. Pearson back again.
And then Martha Hawkins lifted the frail little form, bundled in shawls,
in her arms, and brought him out into the storm; and before she handed
him up he embraced her, and said: "O Miss Hawkins! God ha'n't forgot me,
after all. Tell Hanner that He ha'n't forgot. I'm going to ask him to
git her away from Means's and mother out of the poor-house. I'll ask him
just as soon as I get to Lewisburg."
Ralph lifted the trembling form into his arms, and the little fellow
only looked up in the face of the master and said: "You see, Mr.
Hartsook, I thought God had forgot. But he ha'n't."
And the words of the little boy comforted the master also. God had not
forgotten him, either!
From the moment that Ralph took Shocky into his arms, the conduct of the
roan colt underwent an entire revolution. Before that he had gone over a
bad place with a rush, as though he were ambitious of distinguishing
himself by his brilliant execution. Now he trod none the less surely,
but he trod tenderly. The neck was no longer arched. He set himself to
his work as steadily as though he were twenty years old. For miles he
traveled on in a long, swinging walk, putting his feet down carefully
and firmly. And Ralph found the spirit of the colt entering into
himself. He cut the snow-storm with his face, and felt a sense of
triumph over all his difficulties. The bulldog's jaws had been his
teacher, and now the steady, strong, and conscientious legs of the roan
inspired him.
Shocky had not spoken. He lay listening to the pattering music of the
horse's feet, doubtless framing the footsteps of the roan colt into an
anthem of praise to the God who had not forgot. But as the dawn came on,
making the snow whiter, he raised himself and said half-aloud, as he
watched the flakes chasing one another in whirling eddies, that the snow
seemed to be having a good time of it. Then he leaned down again on the
master's bosom, full of a still joy, and only roused himself from his
happy reverie to ask what that big, ugly-looking house was.
"See, Mr. Hartsook, how big it is, and how little and ugly the windows
is! And the boards is peeling off all over it, and the hogs is right in
the front yard. It don't look just like a house. It looks dreadful. What
is it?"
Ralph had dreaded this question. He did not answer it, but asked Shocky
to change his position a little, and then he quickened the pace of the
horse. But Shocky was a poet, and a poet understands silence more
quickly than he does speech. The little fellow shivered as the truth
came to him.
"Is that the poor-house?" he said, catching his breath. "Is my mother in
that place? _Won't_ you take me in there, so as I can just kiss her
once? 'Cause she can't see much, you know. And one kiss from me will
make her feel so good. And I'll tell her that God ha'n't forgot." He had
raised up and caught hold of Ralph's coat.
Ralph had great difficulty in quieting him. He told him that if he went
in there Bill Jones might claim that he was a runaway and belonged
there. And poor Shocky only shivered and said he was cold. A minute
later, Ralph found that he was shaking with a chill, and a horrible
dread came over him. What if Shocky should die? It was only a minute's
work to get down, take the warm horse-blanket from under the saddle, and
wrap it about the boy, then to strip off his own overcoat and add that
to it. It was now daylight, and finding, after he had mounted, that
Shocky continued to shiver, he put the roan to his best speed for the
rest of the way, trotting up and down the slippery hills, and galloping
away on the level ground. How bravely the roan laid himself to his work,
making the fence-corners fly past in a long procession! But poor little
Shocky was too cold to notice them, and Ralph shuddered lest Shocky
should never be warm again, and spoke to the roan, and the roan
stretched out his head, and dropped one ear back to hear the first word
of command, and stretched the other forward to listen for danger, and
then flew with a splendid speed down the road, past the patches of
blackberry briars, past the elderberry bushes, past the familiar red-haw
tree in the fence-corner, over the bridge without regard to the threat
of a five-dollar fine, and at last up the long lane into the village,
where the smoke from the chimneys was caught and whirled round with the
snow.