1. Startling leap from the lofty precipice by the performing sheep. Real
water, and real precipice. The gallant rescue. O., A., and D. Bastable.
(We thought we might as well put that in, though it was over and had
happened accidentally.)
2. Graceful bare-backed equestrienne act on the trained pig, Eliza. A.
Bastable.
3. Amusing clown interlude, introducing trained dog, Pincher, and the
other white pig. H. O. and O. Bastable.
4. The See-saw. Trained donkeys. (H. O. said we had only one donkey, so
Dicky said H. O. could be the other. When peace was restored we went on
to 5.)
5. Elegant equestrian act by D. Bastable. _Haute Ecole_, on Clover, the
incomparative trained elephant from the plains of Venezuela.
6. Alpine feat of daring. The climbing of the Andes, by Billy, the
well-known acrobatic goat. (We thought we could make the Andes out of
hurdles and things, and so we could have but for what always happens.
(This is the unexpected. (This is a saying father told me--but I see I
am three deep in brackets, so I will close them before I get into any
more.).).).
7. The Black but Learned Pig. ("I dare say he knows something," Alice
said, "if we can only find out what." We _did_ find out all too soon.)
We could not think of anything else, and our things were nearly dry--all
except Dick's brown paper top-boots, which were mingled with the
gurgling waters of the brook.
We went back to the seat of action--which was the iron trough where the
sheep have their salt put--and began to dress up the creatures. We had
just tied the Union Jack we made out of Daisy's flannel petticoat and
cetera, when we gave the soldiers the baccy, round the waist of the
Black and Learned Pig, when we heard screams from the back part of the
house; and suddenly we saw that Billy, the acrobatic goat, had got loose
from the tree we had tied him to. (He had eaten all the parts of its
bark that he could get at, but we did not notice it until next day, when
led to the spot by a grown-up.)
The gate of the paddock was open. The gate leading to the bridge that
goes over the moat to the back door was open too. We hastily proceeded
in the direction of the screams, and, guided by the sound, threaded our
way into the kitchen. As we went, Noel, ever fertile in melancholy
ideas, said he wondered whether Mrs. Pettigrew was being robbed, or
only murdered.
In the kitchen we saw that Noel was wrong as usual. It was neither. Mrs.
Pettigrew, screaming like a steam-siren and waving a broom, occupied the
foreground. In the distance the maid was shrieking in a hoarse and
monotonous way, and trying to shut herself up inside a clothes-horse on
which washing was being aired. On the dresser--which he had ascended by
a chair--was Billy, the acrobatic goat, doing his Alpine daring act. He
had found out his Andes for himself, and even as we gazed he turned and
tossed his head in a way that showed us some mysterious purpose was
hidden beneath his calm exterior. The next moment he put his off-horn
neatly behind the end plate of the next to the bottom row, and ran it
along against the wall. The plates fell crashing on to the soup tureen
and vegetable dishes which adorned the lower range of the Andes.
Mrs. Pettigrew's screams were almost drowned in the discording crash and
crackle of the falling avalanche of crockery.
Oswald, though stricken with horror and polite regret, preserved the
most dauntless coolness.
Disregarding the mop which Mrs. Pettigrew kept on poking at the goat in
a timid yet cross way, he sprang forward, crying out to his trusty
followers, "Stand by to catch him!"
But Dick had thought of the same thing, and ere Oswald could carry out
his long-cherished and general-like design, Dicky had caught the goat's
legs and tripped it up. The goat fell against another row of plates,
righted itself hastily in the gloomy ruins of the soup tureen and the
sauce-boats, and then fell again, this time towards Dicky. The two fell
heavily on the ground together. The trusty followers had been so struck
by the daring of Dicky and his lion-hearted brother that they had not
stood by to catch anything. The goat was not hurt, but Dicky had a
sprained thumb and a lump on his head like a black marble door-knob. He
had to go to bed.
I will draw a veil and asterisks over what Mrs. Pettigrew said. Also
Albert's uncle, who was brought to the scene of ruin by her screams. Few
words escaped our lips. There are times when it is not wise to argue;
however, little what has occurred is really our fault.
When they had said what they deemed enough, and we were let go, we all
went out. Then Alice said distractedly, in a voice which she vainly
strove to render firm:
"Let's give up the circus. Let's put the toys back in the boxes--no, I
don't mean that--the creatures in their places--and drop the whole
thing. I want to go and read to Dicky."
Oswald has a spirit that no reverses can depreciate. He hates to be
beaten. But he gave in to Alice, as the others said so too, and we went
out to collect the performing troop and sort it out into its proper
places.
Alas! we came too late. In the interest we had felt about whether Mrs.
Pettigrew was the abject victim of burglars or not we had left both
gates open again. The old horse--I mean the trained elephant from
Venezuela--was there all right enough. The dogs we had beaten and tied
up after the first act, when the intrepid sheep bounded, as it says in
the programme. The two white pigs were there, but the donkey was gone.
We heard his hoofs down the road, growing fainter and fainter, in the
direction of the "Rose and Crown." And just round the gate-post we saw a
flash of red and white and blue and black that told us, with dumb
signification, that the pig was off in exactly the opposite direction.
Why couldn't they have gone the same way? But no, one was a pig and the
other was a donkey, as Denny said afterwards.
Daisy and H. O. started after the donkey; the rest of us, with one
accord, pursued the pig--I don't know why. It trotted quietly down the
road; it looked very black against the white road, and the ends on the
top, where the Union Jack was tied, bobbed brightly as it trotted. At
first we thought it would be easy to catch up to it. This was an error.
When we ran faster it ran faster; when we stopped it stopped and looked
round at us, and nodded. (I dare say you won't swallow this, but you may
safely. It's as true as true, and so's all that about the goat. I give
you my sacred word of honor.) I tell you the pig nodded as much as to
say:
[Illustration: "HE SAT DOWN IN THE HEDGE TO LAUGH PROPERLY"]
"Oh yes. You think you will, but you won't!" and then as soon as we
moved again off it went. That pig led us on and on, o'er miles and miles
of strange country. One thing, it did keep to the roads. When we met
people, which wasn't often, we called out to them to help us, but they
only waved their arms and roared with laughter. One chap on a bicycle
almost tumbled off his machine, and then he got off it and propped it
against a gate and sat down in the hedge to laugh properly. You remember
Alice was still dressed up as the gay equestrienne in the dressing-table
pink and white, with rosy garlands, now very droopy, and she had no
stockings on, only white sand-shoes, because she thought they would be
easier than boots for balancing on the pig in the graceful bare-backed
act.
Oswald was attired in red paint and flour and pyjamas, for a clown. It
is really _impossible_ to run speedfully in another man's pyjamas, so
Oswald had taken them off, and wore his own brown knickerbockers
belonging to his Norfolks. He had tied the pyjamas round his neck to
carry them easily. He was afraid to leave them in a ditch, as Alice
suggested, because he did not know the roads, and for aught he recked
they might have been infested with footpads. If it had been his own
pyjamas, it would have been different. (I'm going to ask for pyjamas
next winter, they are so useful in many ways.)
Noel was a highwayman in brown paper gaiters and bath towels and a
cocked hat of newspaper. I don't know how he kept it on. And the pig
was encircled by the dauntless banner of our country. All the same, I
think if I had seen a band of youthful travellers in bitter distress
about a pig I should have tried to lend a helping hand and not sat
roaring in the hedge, no matter how the travellers and the pig might
have been dressed.
It was hotter than any one would believe who has never had occasion to
hunt the pig when dressed for quite another part. The flour got out of
Oswald's hair into his eyes and his mouth. His brow was wet with what
the village blacksmith's was wet with, and not his fair brow alone. It
ran down his face and washed the red off in streaks, and when he rubbed
his eyes he only made it worse. Alice had to run holding the
equestrienne skirts on with both hands, and I think the brown paper
boots bothered Noel from the first. Dora had her skirt over her arm and
carried the topper in her hand. It was no use to tell ourselves it was a
wild boar hunt--we were long past that.
At last we met a man who took pity on us. He was a kind-hearted man. I
think, perhaps, he had a pig of his own--or, perhaps, children. Honor to
his name!
He stood in the middle of the road and waved his arms. The pig
right-wheeled through a gate into a private garden and cantered up the
drive. We followed. What else were we to do I should like to know?
The Learned Black Pig seemed to know its way. It turned first to the
right and then to the left, and emerged on a lawn.
"Now, all together!" cried Oswald, mustering his failing voice to give
the word of command. "Surround him!--cut off his retreat!"
We almost surrounded him. He edged off towards the house.
"Now we've got him!" cried the crafty Oswald, as the pig got onto a bed
of yellow pansies close against the red house wall.
All would even then have been well, but Denny, at the last, shrank from
meeting the pig face to face in a manly way. He let the pig pass him,
and the next moment, with a squeak that said "There now!" as plain as
words, the pig bolted into a French window. The pursuers halted not.
This was no time for trivial ceremony. In another moment the pig was a
captive. Alice and Oswald had their arms round him under the ruins of a
table that had had teacups on it, and around the hunters and their prey
stood the startled members of a parish society for making clothes for
the poor heathen, that that pig had led us into the very midst of. They
were reading a missionary report or something when we ran our quarry to
earth under their table. Even as he crossed the threshold I heard
something about "black brothers being already white to the harvest." All
the ladies had been sewing flannel things for the poor blacks while the
curate read aloud to them. You think they screamed when they saw the Pig
and Us? You are right.
On the whole, I cannot say that the missionary people behaved badly.
Oswald explained that it was entirely the pig's doing, and asked pardon
quite properly for any alarm the ladies had felt; and Alice said how
sorry we were, but really it was _not_ our fault this time. The curate
looked a bit nasty, but the presence of ladies made him keep his hot
blood to himself.