Calves (several) to be camels, and to stand on tubs.
Daisy ought to have been captain because it was partly her idea, but she
let Oswald be, because she is of a retiring character. Oswald said:
"The first thing is to get all the creatures together; the paddock at
the side of the orchard is the very place, because the hedge is good all
round. When we've got the performers all there we'll make a programme,
and then dress for our parts. It's a pity there won't be any audience
but the turkeys."
We took the animals in their right order, according to Denny's list. The
bull was the first. He is black. He does not live in the cow-house with
the other horned people; he has a house all to himself two fields away.
Oswald and Alice went to fetch him. They took a halter to lead the bull
by, and a whip, not to hurt the bull with, but just to make him mind.
The others were to try to get one of the horses while we were gone.
Oswald, as usual, was full of bright ideas.
"I dare say," he said, "the bull will be shy at first, and he'll have to
be goaded into the arena."
"But goads hurt," Alice said.
"They don't hurt the bull," Oswald said; "his powerful hide is too
thick."
"Then why does he attend to it," Alice asked, "if it doesn't hurt?"
"Properly brought-up bulls attend because they know they ought," Oswald
said. "I think I shall ride the bull," the brave boy went on. "A
bull-fight, where an intrepid rider appears on the bull, sharing its
joys and sorrows. It would be something quite new."
"You can't ride bulls," Alice said; "at least, not if their backs are
sharp like cows."
But Oswald thought he could. The bull lives in a house made of wood and
prickly furze-bushes, and he has a yard to his house. You cannot climb
on the roof of his house at all comfortably.
When we got there he was half in his house and half out in his yard, and
he was swinging his tail because of the flies which bothered. It was a
very hot day.
"You'll see," Alice said, "he won't want a goad. He'll be so glad to get
out for a walk he'll drop his head in my hand like a tame fawn, and
follow me lovingly all the way."
Oswald called to him. He said, "Bull! Bull! Bull! Bull!" because we did
not know the animal's real name. The bull took no notice; then Oswald
picked up a stone and threw it at the bull, not angrily, but just to
make it pay attention. But the bull did not pay a farthing's worth of
it. So then Oswald leaned over the iron gate of the bull's yard and just
flicked the bull with the whip lash. And then the bull _did_ pay
attention. He started when the lash struck him, then suddenly he faced
round, uttering a roar like that of the wounded King of Beasts, and
putting his head down close to his feet he ran straight at the iron gate
where we were standing.
Alice and Oswald mechanically turned away; they did not wish to annoy
the bull any more, and they ran as fast as they could across the field
so as not to keep the others waiting.
As they ran across the field Oswald had a dream-like fancy that perhaps
the bull had rooted up the gate with one paralyzing blow, and was now
tearing across the field after him and Alice, with the broken gate
balanced on its horns. We climbed the stile quickly and looked back; the
bull was still on the right side of the gate.
Oswald said, "I think we'll do without the bull. He did not seem to want
to come. We must be kind to dumb animals."
Alice said, between laughing and crying:
"Oh, Oswald, how can you!" But we did do without the bull, and we did
not tell the others how we had hurried to get back. We just said, "The
bull didn't seem to care about coming."
The others had not been idle. They had got old Clover, the cart-horse,
but she would do nothing but graze, so we decided not to use her in the
bull-fight, but to let her be the Elephant. The Elephant's is a nice,
quiet part, and she was quite big enough for a young one. Then the black
pig could be Learned, and the other two could be something else. They
had also got the goat; he was tethered to a young tree.
The donkey was there. Denny was leading him in the halter.
The dogs were there, of course--they always are.
So now we only had to get the turkeys for the applause, and the calves
and pigs.
The calves were easy to get, because they were in their own house. There
were five. And the pigs were in their houses too. We got them out after
long and patient toil, and persuaded them that they wanted to go into
the paddock, where the circus was to be. This is done by pretending to
drive them the other way. A pig only knows two ways--the way you want
him to go and the other. But the turkeys knew thousands of different
ways, and tried them all. They made such an awful row we had to drop all
ideas of ever hearing applause from their lips, so we came away and left
them.
"Never mind," H. O. said, "they'll be sorry enough afterwards, nasty,
unobliging things, because now they won't see the circus. I hope the
other animals will tell them about it."
While the turkeys were engaged in baffling the rest of us, Dicky had
found three sheep who seemed to wish to join the glad throng, so we let
them.
Then we shut the gate of the paddock, and left the dumb circus
performers to make friends with each other while we dressed.
Oswald and H. O. were to be clowns. It is quite easy with Albert's
uncle's pyjamas, and flour on your hair and face, and the red they do
the brick-floors with.
Alice had very short pink and white skirts, and roses in her hair and
round her dress. Her dress was the pink calico and white muslin stuff
off the dressing-table in the girls' room fastened with pins and tied
round the waist with a small bath towel. She was to be the Dauntless
Equestrienne, and to give her enhancing act of bare-backed daring,
riding either a pig or a sheep, whichever we found was freshest and most
skittish. Dora was dressed for the _Haute Ecole_, which means a
riding-habit and a high hat. She took Dick's topper that he wears with
his Etons, and a skirt of Mrs. Pettigrew's. Daisy dressed the same as
Alice, taking the muslin from Mrs. Pettigrew's dressing-table without
saying anything beforehand. None of us would have advised this, and
indeed we were thinking of trying to put it back, when Denny and Noel,
who were wishing to look like highwaymen, with brown paper top-boots and
slouch hats and Turkish towel cloaks, suddenly stopped dressing and
gazed out of the window.
"Krikey!" said Dick; "come on, Oswald!" and he bounded like an antelope
from the room.
Oswald and the rest followed, casting a hasty glance through the window.
Noel had got brown paper boots too, and a Turkish towel cloak. H. O.
had been waiting for Dora to dress him up for the other clown. He had
only his shirt and knickerbockers and his braces on. He came down as he
was--as indeed we all did. And no wonder, for in the paddock, where the
circus was to be, a blood-thrilling thing had transpired. The dogs were
chasing the sheep. And we had now lived long enough in the country to
know the fell nature of our dogs' improper conduct.
We all rushed into the paddock, calling to Pincher, and Martha, and
Lady. Pincher came almost at once. He is a well-brought-up dog--Oswald
trained him. Martha did not seem to hear. She is awfully deaf, but she
did not matter so much, because the sheep could walk away from her
easily. She has no pace and no wind. But Lady is a deer-hound. She is
used to pursuing that fleet and antlered pride of the forest--the
stag--and she can go like billyo. She was now far away in a distant
region of the paddock, with a fat sheep just before her in full flight.
I am sure if ever anybody's eyes did start out of their heads with
horror, like in narratives of adventure, ours did then.
There was a moment's pause of speechless horror. We expected to see Lady
pull down her quarry, and we know what a lot of money a sheep costs, to
say nothing of its own personal feelings.
Then we started to run for all we were worth. It is hard to run swiftly
as the arrow from the bow when you happen to be wearing pyjamas
belonging to a grown-up person--as I was--but even so I beat Dicky. He
said afterwards it was because his brown paper boots came undone and
tripped him up. Alice came in third. She held on the dressing-table
muslin and ran jolly well. But ere we reached the fatal spot all was
very nearly up with the sheep. We heard a plop; Lady stopped and looked
round. She must have heard us bellowing to her as we ran. Then she came
towards us, prancing with happiness, but we said, "Down!" and "Bad dog!"
and ran sternly on.
When we came to the brook which forms the northern boundary of the
paddock we saw the sheep struggling in the water. It is not very deep,
and I believe the sheep could have stood up, and been well in its depth,
if it had liked, but it would not try.
It was a steepish bank. Alice and I got down and stuck our legs into the
water, and then Dicky came down, and the three of us hauled that sheep
up by its shoulders till it could rest on Alice and me as we sat on the
bank. It kicked all the time we were hauling. It gave one extra kick at
last, that raised it up, and I tell you that sopping wet, heavy,
panting, silly donkey of a sheep sat there on our laps like a pet dog;
and Dicky got his shoulder under it at the back and heaved constantly to
keep it from flumping off into the water again, while the others fetched
the shepherd.
When the shepherd came he called us every name you can think of, and
then he said:
"Good thing master didn't come along. He would ha' called you some tidy
names."
He got the sheep out, and took it and the others away. And the calves
too. He did not seem to care about the other performing animals.
Alice, Oswald, and Dick had had almost enough circus for just then, so
we sat in the sun and dried ourselves and wrote the programme of the
circus. This was it: