POKEY AND A CIRCUS
As she had waited just one year before, gayly decked in blue ribbons in
honor of the occasion, Denise was now waiting again for Pokey to arrive.
This time Ned was not arrayed in ribbons, but in tiny American flags
stuck in every part of his harness that they could be stuck and
fastened all over the carriage, for it was the seventh of July, and the
glorious Fourth had been a gala-day, celebrated with roaring crackers
by day and splendid fireworks after dark. Ned had, as usual, been
prinked out for so great an occasion, his decorations being appropriate
to the day celebrated.
Usually Pokey arrived for her summer visit before the Fourth,
but a slight illness, the result of too much study and difficult
examinations, all too taxing for her young body and brain when the
thermometer stood at ninety, had caused a collapse, and for several
days poor Pokey lay upon her bed with her heart playing a wild
tattoo, and her brain working like a runaway engine. Had she not had
the prospect of her visit before her, it is probable that she would
have lain upon that bed several days longer, for the very thought of
exerting herself brought added weariness. But up the Hudson River there
waited a lovely little white bed, a pretty room to be shared with some
one she loved dearly, and, blessed thought, sunshine, green grass,
great spreading trees that whispered all manner of secrets to this
dreaming little body, and a welcome which left nothing to be desired.
So Pokey made haste to get better and start upon her two hours’
journey, but it was a pale, thin little Pokey that stepped from the
train into Denise’s outstretched arms.
She was somewhat taller, and that made her seem even more slender, but
it was the same Pokey, and Ned Toodles greeted her with a cordial neigh.
“And what do you think!” cried Denise, when they were spinning along
home, Ned occasionally joining in their conversation with a sociable
whinney, “a circus is here, and papa is going to take us all to see it.
It is going to parade through the town at eleven, and as soon as we
have seen mamma and grandma we’ll drive up to the village and see it.
It won’t, of course, come down this way. I left Ned all dressed up on
that account. Won’t it be great fun!”
“You don’t suppose Ned will try to do any of _his_ tricks when he sees
the other ponies, do you?” asked Pokey, for a year’s acquaintance with
Ned had not served to overcome her misgivings of that animal’s wild
pranks.
“Of course not! Why should he? Besides he couldn’t while in harness,”
replied Denise, blissfully ignorant even yet of that little scamp’s
resources or determination to carry his point once he set about doing
so. Ned was never ugly or vicious, but well Denise knew that a good
bit of firmness was required upon her part when she wished to get him
past the little store where chocolate creams were sold, and that it was
always far wiser to choose another road if time pressed. But she was
too loyal to her pet to betray his little weaknesses.
“Moddie! Moddie! grandma! Here we come, bag and baggage, only that is
coming along behind escorted by John!” she cried, as she rushed into
the hall with weary little Pokey following her as fast as she could.
“My dear little girl, how delighted we are to have you with us again!”
said Mrs. Lombard, as she gathered Pokey into her arms, and dear old
grandma stroked the tired head which nestled upon Mrs. Lombard’s
shoulder as though it had found a very peaceful haven.
“Take her right out to the dining-room, dearie, and have Mary fetch her
a glass of cool milk and some little biscuits,” cried grandma, filled
with solicitude for the little girl.
“Yes, indeed,” added Mrs. Lombard, “we must not lose a moment in
setting about finding some roses for these white cheeks.”
“There! Now you look quite refreshed, and when you have had a drive
with Ned, and seen this great parade that is filling all Denise’s
thoughts, I am sure you will be ready for, oh, _such_ a luncheon!”
On their way to the village they were overtaken by Hart mounted upon
Pinto. Knowing that Pokey was about to arrive, he had kept at a safe
distance till he could “size her up,” as he put it, for his intercourse
with girls had been decidedly limited, and he had no notion of plunging
into an intimacy with one whom he had never seen before. The hedge
was a safe covert for observing all that took place in Denise’s
grounds, and from that vantage-point he had “sized up” to his entire
satisfaction.
“Guess she ain’t much like Denise,” was his mental comment. “But if
Denise likes her so much she must be all right.”
As he drew up beside the phaeton he was greeted by Denise, who said:
“Pokey, this is my friend Hart Murray, and this is Elizabeth Delano,
Hart, only we don’t call her by her name once in a blue moon. She is
our very own Pokey, and _he’s_ Hinkey-Dinkey,” giving a laughing Nod
toward Hart.
“Yes, and _she’s_ Snipenfrizzle!” was the prompt retort.
“Well, I guess we all know each other now,” laughed Denise, and before
another word could be spoken the sound of a band playing in the
village, just beyond, caused all to exclaim, “Oh, they’ve started!
They’ve started!” and to hurry forward as though one brain urged them
all. But upon Ned the effect of that band was certainly odd. It was
playing “Marching through Georgia,” and one might have supposed it to
be his favorite air, for he began to prance and dance in perfect time
to it.
“Do look at him! Do look at him!” cried Denise; “I believe he knows
that march.”
“Oh, let’s get out,” begged timid Pokey. “He acts as though he were
crazy.”
“Nonsense; he won’t do anything but mark time,” answered Denise,
laughing. “I always said he knew just everything, but I never supposed
that he was a musician.”
They were now just at the entrance to the village, and at that moment
the circus parade turned in from a side street which led out to the
grounds where their tents were pitched. The streets were crowded
as though the entire town had turned out to see the show, which,
doubtless, it had, for Springdale in those days was a small place,
and circuses did not often tarry there. But this time it was to be
an exception, for “Backus’s Greatest Show on Earth” had deigned to
honor the town with a two days’ performance upon its way to the more
important town of Sing Sing further up the river. It would give a
performance this Saturday afternoon and evening, “rest up” on Sunday,
give another on Monday, and then “fold its tents like the Arabs” and
depart, leaving many an enthusiastic youngster behind who would live
for six months upon his memories of its delights, and for another
six upon his anticipations of its return. It was, indeed, a gorgeous
pageant which burst upon the children’s sight, for in a splendid golden
chariot blared and tooted a brass band, the musicians resplendent in
red uniforms, and blowing as though their very lives depended upon the
volume of sound they could make, and six handsome white horses pranced
and curveted before it. Then came a pale-blue and gold chariot drawn
by six of the dearest piebald ponies one ever saw, and with whom Ned
instantly claimed kinship with a regular rowdy “hullo-yourself” neigh.
But you have all doubtless seen circus parades, and know all about the
knights and fairies, beautiful horses with their gay riders, elephants,
camels, wild animals and tame ones which go to make up a show which
will be in vogue as long as children are, and when _they_ drop out of
this world’s economy, then the sooner we all scurry out of sight, too,
the better. But it is with one particular pony that we must deal, and
a summary dealing it is liable to prove before it ends. All the time
the parade was passing Ned kept up an incessant fidgeting, tugging at
the reins, pawing the ground, shaking his head up and down, and only
restrained from plunging headlong into the midst of it all by Denise’s
firm hand. Pinto stood behind the phaeton, but, save for a start or two
of surprise when an exceptionally loud toot was blown, he behaved like
a gentleman. The children were as close to the line of march as they
well could be without the ponies’ noses brushing the elephant’s sides,
when there came along a magnificent black horse, bearing upon his back
the grand high mogul of the show. This was the manager, so the posters
announced, mounted upon “his splendid Sinbad the Great, most wonderful
performing horse in the world.”
Just then the parade was obliged to halt for a moment or two, and the
handsome horse and his rider stopped directly in front of the children.
With a “Hullo, how-are-you-glad-to-make-your acquaintance” air, Ned
poked out his muzzle and greeted Sinbad the Great. As Sinbad was a
true gentleman, and not to be outdone in politeness, down came his
nose to meet little perky Ned’s, and they held a second’s whispered
conversation--a conversation fraught with fatal results for Ned, as
will be seen.
Now Sinbad’s rider had a pair of eyes which just nothing escaped, and
one sweeping glance took in every detail of pony, phaeton, and children.
Nodding pleasantly to them he addressed Denise with:
“Fine little horse you’ve got there. Had him long? He doesn’t look very
old.”
“Nearly two years. I just guess he _is_ fine! There isn’t another like
him in all the world. He is not nine years old yet.”
“Want to sell him?” asked the man.
“Well, I just guess NOT!” was the indignant reply.
“Live here?” was the next question, but Denise began to think that this
bravely decked individual was decidedly curious, and hesitated before
answering. Before she had made up her mind to do so, the parade moved
on, and a few moments later the last donkey had passed. Then Ned took
matters into his own hands, or rather his teeth, and did that which
he had never done before since Denise had owned him: He positively
refused to turn around and go home, and neither coaxing, threats, nor
a loudly-cracked whip had the least effect upon him. Shake his head,
back, paw, and act like a regular little scamp was all he would do, and
at last, growing tired of trying to make her understand what he did
want, he resolved to show her, and off he went, pelting ahead till he
had overtaken the vanishing circus, wheeling aside to avoid those at
the end, tearing along until he had overtaken the part of the parade
in which Sinbad was still delighting all beholders, and then, neck or
nothing, forcing his way, carriage, occupants, and all, right in behind
that wily beast whose whisper had surely been: “Come on behind me and
we’ll cut a dash, see if we don’t.”
Having achieved his object, Master Ned was triumphant, and no French
dancing-master ever pirouetted and “showed off” for the admiration of
all beholders as did this vain little scrap of a beast as he danced
along in perfect time to the band.
Pokey was very nearly reduced to a state of collapse, for Sinbad the
Great was making the path before them rather lively, while just behind
stalked a huge elephant who now and again by way of welcome to the
ranks gracefully flourished a wriggling trunk over the phaeton.
Denise’s face was a study. Never before had she met with open
rebellion upon Ned’s part, and this first exhibition of it was
certainly a triumph. Although thoroughly frightened, she sat holding
her reins for dear life, with no thought of deserting her post, while
Pokey begged her piteously to “please drive home.”
“Home! Don’t you suppose I want to go there every bit as much as you
do? But how _can_ I when this little villain is acting so like time? I
can’t get out and leave him, can I?” and just then Hart came tearing
alongside the line shouting:
“Hello, Snipenfrizzle, I’m off for home to tell your mother that you’ve
joined the circus and the next time she sees you you will be riding
bareback! Good-by,” and with a wild whoop he pelted off down the road,
Ned whinnying out after Pinto: “Oh, I’m having the time of my life!”
Then the funny side of the whole affair appealed to Denise and saved
her from tears, and she began to laugh. Never say that animals do not
know the different tones of the human voice! If others do not, Ned
_did_, and that familiar laugh was the one thing wanting to complete
his festive mood, and if he had cut shines before, he simply outdid
himself now, and not till he had followed that circus parade over the
entire town, and marched straight into the big tent behind Sinbad, did
he decide that he had had enough excitement, and consent to go home. At
half-past one he walked sedately up the driveway, and as John led him
off to his stable, roundly berating him for his prank, he heaved a sigh
which said as plainly as words could have done: “Well, I’ve kicked over
the traces for once in my life, anyway.”