KING ROYAL DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF
Although Hart had been with Denise and her pets daily for the past
three weeks, up to this time he had never undertaken to mount Ned. He
had ridden in the carriage by the hour, and often driven him, but for
some reason had never thought of getting upon his back. Denise had
never revealed Ned’s peculiarities regarding boys, excepting to say
that he did not like _some_ boys, feeling, perhaps, that she might
arouse distrust of her pet in her friend. But here was a crisis, and
well enough she knew that there would be, as she mentally termed it, “a
high old time” when Hart tried to get on Ned’s back, as she felt sure
he meant to do when “Mr. Casey” sent in the order for a saddle-horse.
However, Ned was not vicious, and the worst outcome of the venture
would be a spill, which neither Hart nor she minded in the least. Now
Ned’s usual procedure, when submitted to the indignity of a boyish
burden, was to stand perfectly still until he had his victim safe
upon his back, looking, meanwhile, the very picture of innocence and
meekness, a sort of “what a good boy am I” expression. So when Hart
gathered up the reins in the most scientific manner, for he had ridden
all his life, and was a skillful little horseman, Ned wagged one ear
wisely and “prepared for action.”
Hart placed his foot in the stirrups, adjusting the makeshift one to
his satisfaction. “Now, old fellow, let’s show our paces!” he said,
and Ned took him at his word. First a sedate walk, smooth and easy
as a rocking-chair, but gradually growing more rapid. Charming! The
walk is changed into a trot. Quite the Park gait. Now a gentle lope.
_Could_ anything be more perfect than that gait? His rider becomes
more than ever assured that the animal he is bestriding is the most
perfectly broken one he has ever ridden. All this time one wise eye
is cocked knowingly backward to watch the boy upon his back, and note
with great satisfaction that his confidence in his mount is momentarily
increasing. Then! Off like a mad thing, tail up in the air, head down,
and Tam o’Shanter’s imps in hot pursuit till about three blocks are
told off. HALT! Down goes the head, up go the hind legs, and it is a
skilled rider, indeed, who sticks on at the point of the game.
But this time Master Ned had reckoned without his host, for his host
“didn’t spill worth a cent,” as that host himself asserted. Then came
a tussle, and up and down the road tore that crazy little beast, bent
upon dislodging Hart or dying in the attempt. Meanwhile “Mr. Andrews”
had returned from giving the “Misses Murray” their outing, and was
standing at the gate screaming with laughter. Hart’s hat had long
since sailed into a neighboring field, and most of his attire looked as
though he had dressed himself in the dark. But he was still on Ned’s
back, and, so far as that bad little scamp’s efforts were concerned,
liable to stay there for some time.
“Ned Toodles, how _can_ you be so bad!” cried Denise, forgetful for
the time being, that it was the royal antics of a royal king she was
witnessing. Ned stopped short at that sound, and took time to consider
the situation. Fatal moment! Fatal, at least, for Hart, for into that
wise little horse noddle flashed an idea, and without a second’s
hesitation was acted upon. With a wild, triumphant neigh, he wheeled
short around, made a rush for an open gate at the end of the grounds,
pelted through it like a monstrous cannon-ball, and a second later
was in Buttercup’s cow-yard. Now Buttercup was the dearest cow in the
world, and her eyes were beautiful to behold, and her coat like satin.
But her barnyard--well, they are very nice places for--_cows_. Into
this yard came Ned like a tornado, scaring poor Buttercup out of her
wits, for, although upon the friendliest of terms, she had never before
received a visit from him.
“So you _won’t_ get off my back!” said Ned’s face and attitude, as
plainly as words could have said it. “We’ll see!” and down he went flat
upon his side. What happened next would better be left untold. Alas,
for the pretty castor saddle! When Denise arrived upon the scene Ned
was still resting from his labors, Hart stood staring at the peacefully
reposing animal with a decidedly crestfallen air, and John had arrived
upon the scene to “drop a casual word” regarding affairs in general.
Ned had never been whipped, but he came pretty near being that time,
and did not forget his sound scolding, for after that an armistice was
declared, and Hart was permitted to ride all he wished, Ned evidently
feeling that he had earned a right to do so.
Not long after this Hart’s pony was given to him, and, although
somewhat larger than Ned Toodles, as warm a friendship was formed by
the two little horses as existed between their master and mistress.
“Pinto,” as Hart’s pony was named on account of his peculiar marking,
was a dear little beastie, although he never attained to the degree
of intelligence that Ned displayed as the years went on. But that, no
doubt, was due to the fact that he had not been so closely associated
with a human being as Ned had been ever since he became Denise’s and
as Mr. Lombard suspected he had been during much of his former life,
although nothing for a long time was known of it, and it was not until
this eventful summer that they learned his history.
Hart and Denise, mounted upon Ned and Pinto, ranged the country far
and wide, and it was a far corner indeed that they did not find their
way into sooner or later. Those spring months, with all their bud and
bloom, were halcyon days for the children, for Hart literally lived at
Mrs. Lombard’s house till Mrs. Murray said to her: “Emilie Lombard,
when do you intend to send in my son’s board-bill? This is simply
dreadful. He is hardly out of bed in the morning before he is making
some excuse to come over here.”
“Let him come all he wants to. It is good for Denise to have such a
sturdy playmate, for she has never had any real crony but Pokey, and
she is such a gentle little soul that I’m afraid Denise will think more
of her own way than some one else’s.”
“Well, you have no idea what it means to me to have that boy so happily
associated,” exclaimed Mrs. Murray. “He has been abroad at school so
long that I hardly know him myself, and isn’t in the least like our
true, every-day American boys. And Denise is just the jolly little chum
for him to have.”
“It all seems too delightful to be true,” said Mrs. Lombard, “and to
have you for my neighbor after all these years of separation makes me
feel like a young girl again.”
“You have never been anything else,” replied Mrs. Murray, “for you have
stayed young with Denise, and that is the secret of your beautiful
attitude toward each other.”
“Perhaps so,” replied Mrs. Lombard, a happy smile creeping about her
lips as thoughts of the sunny little daughter and their mutual love
put into her eyes the lovely “mother” light that never comes till that
precious name becomes ours.
“Well, you must not let him remain to dinner every night, at all
events,” added Mrs. Murray. “Send him home in time to dine with his
father, or I do not know what will happen.”
“Very well, home he goes at the stroke of five, to remove all traces of
the afternoon’s siege before Mr. Murray’s arrival at six.”
“Yes, do; it will be a real kindness, for my time is so occupied with
the other children that I fear I have let Hart paddle his own canoe
more than I should have done. But they are all so small that they need
me more. Good-bye, and run in when you can. I am always disengaged
between five and six.”
“And I am always engaged at that hour,” answered Mrs. Lombard with an
odd smile, which made Mrs. Murray ask: “Afternoon tea, and a quiet
little gossip with your best friends?”
“The gossip with my best friend, but not the tea,” answered Mrs.
Lombard. “That is Denise’s hour with me, and I try never to let
anything interfere with it.”
“What? Do you give up all that time to the child never mind what is
going on? I should think it would be impossible at times!”
“There, of course, arise circumstances which make it impossible once
in a while, but they are rare, and she is always ready to accept my
explanations and apology,” answered Mrs. Lombard, with the gentlest
expression.
“Explanations and apologies to one’s child!” cried Mrs. Murray in
dismay. “You don’t mean to say that you carry things to that extent
with her! I should think that she would be so conceited that you would
never in the world be able to do a thing with her.”
A slight flush overspread Mrs. Lombard’s sweet face as she answered,
“Could I hope to have her wholly courteous to me or to others if she
found me wanting in courtesy to her?”