Simon lay on the grass, thinking. He flicked a fly that was tickling.
Although he was a most worthy horse, he was often troubled with very
grand notions about himself and very poor thoughts concerning his
neighbours.
Day had not yet begun at Tower Tighe Farm. The stars had faded away, and
the great warm sun was waking up the nestlings, waking them up to cry
for food, and disturb folk generally, for everything was very quiet and
still at Tower Tighe.
The owner, John Fairfax, was a spare man, very thin, with a grey
straggly beard, and bright blue eyes. He possessed fierce-looking brows,
and a very long nose. His wife was a fat little lady, who bustled about
a great deal, and went round the farm saying kind things to everybody,
and to Tony the fox-terrier in particular, for Tony was a thorough
little scamp. He told old Simon one day, that missis was a deary, and
behaved fine when she wasn’t walking. Then she was just like a lop-sided
hour glass, so fat all round—save at the waist, which was thin, and she
wobbled like a tee-totum.
[Illustration: SIMON.]
“If everything and everybody would only wake up,” moaned Simon, chafing
at the stillness about him.
“Wake up. Arn’t I here,” called Spangles, the Rooster, as he proclaimed
to the world “Cock-a-doodle-doo!”
“I’m glad to hear you say so,” snapped Simon.
“Top of the morning to you, sir,” said Spangles. “Don’t get crabby with
your neighbours. Hi! there,” he called out, as he saw Tony racing after
a rabbit.
“Never mind that nimble scratcher,” neighed Simon. “Come here and I will
tell you something. I am going to the Mill—are you ready to join me?”
As Simon mentioned “Mill,” Tony stopped.
“Rats live there,” he said to himself, “rats.”
“We can talk,” said Simon, seriously.
“Indeed,” said the sagacious dog.
And when they were on the high road bound for the Mill, Simon began:
“Tony, I’ve been considering.”
“Indeed!”
“You’re a decent little fellow.”
Tony blinked.
“I’ve been bothering about this a long time.”
“Never thought you bothered about anything. You’re such a quiet old
chap, Si. But hurry up! Do! There’s a shrew waltzing along the road, and
I’m getting impatient. Do be quick; I can’t go marching by your side in
this procession-like fashion for ever and a day, now can I?”
[Illustration]
“Well,” began Simon, which told of an ache at his heart, “Master Harry’s
coming home. He’s been away for years and years. He was one of the
liveliest lads you’d meet in a day’s march. But he had one big fault.
When he wasn’t romping he was learning lessons. And how those lessons
did spoil him, they took all the fun out of him. Master says they put
sense into his head, but what does anyone want with sense, answer me
that? and you know it isn’t proper for a lively lad to be thoughtful.
Well, as I was saying, he was a fine sturdy chap was Master Harry—that’s
years before you were born, nipper.”
“Humph!” said Tony.
“Well, now he is coming home, at least he has written a letter to say
so. He says that he has grown rich, and has been to foreign places, and
is bringing a horse and a dog—you hear that Tony, a horse and a dog.”
Simon said this so seriously that Tony looked up.
“I’m the only horse here, and you are the only dog here, and Tower Tighe
is but a small farm.”
“A regular scrap of a place.”
“Well, it appears to me that our whole life will be changed.”
“It will be jollier for both of us, if you mean that,” said Tony. “There
will be a friend for you and a companion for me, for if you just ask
yourself, Simon, we ain’t—er—quite companions, now are we?”
“You’re such a featherhead, how could you expect to be a what-d’ye-say
to me. You never could think of things in the right way.”
“Bah! you’re always repining, and I think life’s far too scrappy to
waste it in grumbling. When you take growing-up time off—teething,
distemper, and lots of things come to you whether you want ’em or you
don’t; then there’s meal times, sleeping, and sometimes you have to take
physic—O! my, life’s very short, when you take off all these things.
Just see what a glorious morning it is! Whoop, there! I see a rat?”
And off trotted Tony in full pursuit of a rodent which had made for his
hole, leaving the little dog to fume and fret and bark himself hoarse
all to no purpose.
“That’s Tony to a nicety. There never was such a scamp in this world.
But he’s a good-tempered little creature for all that. He’s so nice and
frisky. I try, but I suppose I’m growing old. Now, if I was to try to be
unselfish and funny, I wonder how I’d feel—Bah! but I will!”
Now as the cart was laden Farmer John sprang up, and the horse that
started pulling him was Simon certainly, but what a changed creature was
he. He fairly charged the hills instead of crawling up them, and then he
took the high road as if he had springs in his hoofs, and his dinner was
awaiting him at home.
[Illustration: _Tony racing after a Rabbit._]
“Why, Giles,” said the farmer on nearing home, “what’s all this fuss
about? Why is the garden gate open, and why is all this fuss going on
here?”
“Why, young Mr. Harry’s come home! Oh! master, master, an’ he’s growed a
man, and he’s that big an’ strong an’ grand, he’d make two of me,
master!”
“What!” said the farmer, springing from his seat. “Well, I’m blest—Hal?
Why, old Simon, you must have smelt him—for I’ve never seen you skip up
the road like that. Oh! Hal! Hal! my lad—why, you are a man indeed! My
bonny lad—” as a stalwart fellow came forward to greet him.
“Father!” cried his son, and the two men clasped hands.
Presently the old man spoke.
“Why, it’s thee, it’s thee, Harry!” and tears crept into the farmer’s
voice.
You see it was ten years since Harry Fairfax had left home, a stripling,
and now he had returned a sunburnt hearty man with a strong mellow
voice, and eyes that were bright and merry and kind.
“Hasn’t he grown big, father?” said Mrs. Fairfax, mopping her eyes with
a big roller towel she was busy folding when her son arrived. Then she
flicked a stray bit of down which had blown upon his coat sleeve,
flicked it away, and stroked the arm with a proud feeling of possession.
“Do come into the house, Harry dear, and get a rest while I see to a bit
of dinner. Father, I do believe this is the happiest day of my life.”
“Just wait till I bait Blackie, mother,” said her son, “I’ll be with you
in a minute, but I want to attend to my beauty first. Ah! she’s a grand
little lady, mother!”
“Just the same as you always were, Hal, somebody first and yourself
afterwards. What a famous little mount she is though! Wherever did you
pick her up?”
“In Texas.”
“Well, she is a dear little mare.”
“She is a thorough little Arab. I broke her in myself, and it’s one of
my best investments, father.”
Here Blackie thought fit to express her thanks to her master for his
kind remarks about her, and Farmer Fairfax stepped aside to allow her to
show off her capers.
“There’s a second stall in the stable, Harry,” said his father. “Bring
her along; my boy; Simon will be very pleased to have a bright little
friend like Blackie.”
[Illustration: _“I hope you feel at home now, Pat,” said the little
Terrier._]
As indeed he was.
At first he was shy, fearfully shy, for he was not used to being stared
at, and Blackie had such beautiful eyes which opened in wonder at the
ungainly specimen before her.
“Good-day, sir,” she began, “I suppose I am to share this place with
you!”
“Well, ye—s,” stammered Simon.
“Pleasant country this.”
“Very.”
“Been here a long time?”
“Always.”
“What a rusty old creature he is,” Blackie was thinking. “I believe he’s
blushing.”
“Where did she come from?” thought Simon. Presently he stammered:
“Do you like o—a—t—s?”
But before the answer was given Tony and Pat came tumbling in,
breathless with running.
“I hope you feel at home now, Pat?” said the little terrier.
“Stunnin’.”
“And you like your quarters? I say, Pat, you’re the best fellow I ever
saw in my life. Such a racer—such a catcher—” and for answer, Pat, who
was tired out, had laid down to rest, snored “stunnin’.”