THE RIGHT THAT PONY HAD TO RUN OFF,
FROM THE WAY HIS FATHER ACTED
Pony had a right to run off from some of the things that his father had
done, but it seemed to him that they were mostly things that his mother
had put his father up to, and that his father would not have been half as
bad if he had been let alone. In the Boy's Town the fellows celebrated
Christmas just as they did Fourth of July, by firing off pistols and
shooting crackers, and one Christmas one of the fellows' pistols burst and
blew the ball of his thumb open, and when a crowd of the fellows helped
him past Pony's house, crying and limping (the pain seemed to go down his
leg, and lame him), Pony's mother made his father take Pony's pistol right
away from him, and not let him have it till after New Year's; and what
made it worse was that Pony had faithfully kept his promise to her that he
would not fire anything out of his pistol but paper wads, while all the
other fellows were firing shot, and tacks, and little marbles, out of
theirs; and some of them tried to shame him into breaking his word, and he
had to stand their calling him cry-baby, and everything.
Then, she would not let his father get him a gun to go hunting with,
because he would have to fire something besides wads out of that, and
would be sure to kill himself. Pony told her that he would not kill
himself, and tried to laugh her out of the notion, but it was no use, and
he never had a gun till he was twelve years old; he was nine at the time I
mean. One of the fellows who was only eight was going to have a gun as
soon as his brother got done with his.
She would hardly let his father get him a dog, and I suppose it was
something but Pony's disappointment about the gun that made her agree to
the dog at last; even then she would not agree to his having it before it
had its eyes open, when the great thing about a puppy was its not having
its eyes open, and it was fully two weeks old before he was allowed to
bring it home, though he was taken to choose it before it could walk very
well, and he went every day afterwards to see how it was getting along,
and to watch out that it did not get changed with the other little dogs.
The first night after he got it to his own house, the dog whined so with
homesickness that it kept everybody awake till Pony went to the woodshed,
where it was in the clothes-basket, and took it into his own bed; then it
went to sleep, and did not whine a bit. His father let him keep it there
that one night, but the next he made him put it out again, because he said
it would get the house full of fleas; and he said if it made much more
trouble he would make Pony take it back.
He was not a very good father about money, because when Pony went to ask
him for a five-cent piece he always wanted to know what it was for, and
even when it was for a good thing a fellow did not always like to tell.
If his father did not think it was a good thing he would not let Pony have
it, and then Pony would be ashamed to go back to the boys, for they would
say his father was stingy, though perhaps none of them had tried to get
money from their own fathers.
Every now and then the fellows tried to learn to smoke, and that was a
thing that Pony's father would not let him do. He would let him smoke the
drift-wood twigs, which the boys picked up along the river shore and
called smoke-wood, or he would let him smoke grapevine or the pods of the
catalpa, which were just like cigars, but he was mean about real tobacco.
Once, when he found a cigar in Pony's pocket, he threw it into the fire,
and said that if he ever knew him to have another he would have a talk
with him.
He was pretty bad about wanting Pony to weed his mother's flower-beds and
about going regularly to school, and always getting up in time for school.
To be sure, if a show or a circus came along, he nearly always took Pony
in, but then he was apt to take the girls, too, and he did not like to
have Pony go off with a crowd of boys, which was the only way to go into
a show; for if the fellows saw you with your family, all dressed up, and
maybe with your shoes on, they would make fun of you the next time they
caught you out.
He made Pony come in every night before nine o'clock, and even Christmas
Eve, or the night before Fourth of July, he would not let him stay up the
whole night. When he went to the city, as the boys called the large town
twenty miles away from the Boy's Town, he might get Pony a present or he
might not, but he would not promise, because once when he promised, he
forgot it, and then Pony's mother scolded him.
There were some boys' fathers in the Boy's Town who were good fathers, and
let their children do whatever they pleased, and Pony could not help
feeling rather ashamed before these boys. If one of that sort of fellows'
fathers passed a crowd of boys, they would not take any notice of their
boys; but if Pony's father came along, he would very likely say, "Well,
Pony!" or something like that, and then all the fellows would hollo,
"Well, Pony! Well, Pony!" and make fun of his father, when he got past,
and walk like him, or something, so that Pony would be so mad he would
hardly know what to do. He hated to ask his father not to speak to him, or
look at him, when he was with the fellows, but it seemed to him as if his
father ought to know better without asking.
There were a great many things like that which no good father would have
done, but the thing that made Pony lose all patience, and begin getting
ready to run off right away, was the way his father behaved when Pony got
mad at the teacher one day, and brought his books home, and said he was
not going back to that school any more. The reason was because the teacher
had put Pony back from third reader to the second and made him go into a
class of little fellows not more than seven years old. It happened one
morning, after a day when Pony had read very badly in the afternoon, and
though he had explained that he had read badly because the weather was
so hot, the teacher said he might try it in the second reader till the
weather changed, at any rate; and the whole school laughed. The worst of
it was that Pony was really a very good reader, and could speak almost the
best of any of the boys; but that afternoon he was lazy, and would not pay
attention.
At recess, after the teacher had put him back, all the fellows came round
and asked him what he was going to do now; and he just shut his teeth and
told them they would see; and at noon they did see. As soon as school was
dismissed, or even before, Pony put all his books together, and his slate,
and tied them with his slate-pencil string, and twitched his hat down off
the peg, and strutted proudly out of the room, so that not only the boys
but the teacher, too, could see that he was leaving school. The teacher
looked on and pretended to smile, but Pony did not smile; he kept his
teeth shut, and walked stiffly through the door, and straight home,
without speaking to any one. That was the way to do when you left school
in the Boy's Town, for then the boys would know you were in earnest; and
none of them would try to speak to you, either; they would respect you
too much.
Pony's mother knew that he had left school as soon as she saw him bringing
home his books, but she only looked sorry and did not say anything. She
must have told his father about it when he came to dinner, though, for
as soon as they sat down at the table his father began to ask what the
trouble was. Pony answered very haughtily, and said that old Archer had
put him back into the second reader, and he was not going to stand it, and
he had left school.
"Then," said his father, "you expect to stay in the second reader the rest
of your life?"
This was something that Pony had never thought of before; but he said he
did not care, and he was not going to have old Archer put him back,
anyway, and he began to cry.
It was then that his mother showed herself a good mother, if ever she was
one, and said she thought it was a shame to put Pony back and mortify him
before the other boys, and she knew that it must just have happened that
he did not read very well that afternoon because he was sick, or
something, for usually he read perfectly.
His father said, "My dear girl, my dear girl!" and his mother hushed up
and did not say anything more; but Pony could see what she thought, and he
accused old Archer of always putting on him and always trying to mortify
him.
"That's all very well," said his father, "but I think we ought to give him
one more trial; and I advise you to take your books back again this
afternoon, and read so well that he will put you into the fourth reader
to-morrow morning."
Pony understood that his father was just making fun about the fourth
reader, but was in earnest about his going back to school; and he left the
table and threw himself on the lounge, with his face down, and cried. He
said he was sick, and his head ached, and he could not go to school; his
father said that he hoped his headache would wear off in the course of
the afternoon, but if he was worse they would have the doctor when he came
home from school.
Then he took his hat and went out of the front door to go up town, and
Pony screamed out, "Well, I'll run off; that's what I'll do!"
His father did not take any notice of him, and his mother only said,
"Pony, Pony!" while his sisters all stood round frightened at the way Pony
howled and thrashed the lounge with his legs.
But before one o'clock Pony washed his face and brushed his hair, and took
his books and started for school. His mother tried to kiss him, but he
pushed her off, for it seemed to him that she might have made his father
let him stay out of school, if she had tried, and he was not going to have
any of her pretending. He made his face very cold and hard as he marched
out of the house, for he never meant to come back to that house any more.
He meant to go to school that afternoon, but as soon as school was out he
was going to run off.
When the fellows saw him coming back with his books they knew how it was,
but they did not mock him, for he had done everything that he could, and
all that was expected of anybody in such a case. A boy always came back
when he had left school in that way, and nobody supposed but what he
would; the thing was to leave school; after that you were not to blame,
whatever happened.
Before recess it began to be known among them that Pony was going to run
off, because his father had made him come back, and then they did think he
was somebody; and as soon as they got out at recess they all crowded round
him and began to praise him up, and everything, and to tell him that they
would run off, too, if their fathers sent them back; and so he began to be
glad that he was going to do it. They asked him when he was going to run
off, and he told them they would see; and pretty soon it was understood
that he was going to run off the same night.
When school was out a whole crowd of them started with him, and some of
the biggest fellows walked alongside of him, and talked down over their
shoulders to him, and told him what he must do. They said he must not
start till after dark, and he must watch out for the constable till he got
over the corporation line and then nobody could touch him. They said that
they would be waiting round the corner for him as soon as they had their
suppers, and one of them would walk along with him to the end of the first
street and then another would be waiting there to go with him to the end
of the next, and so on till they reached the corporation line. Very likely
his father would have the constable waiting there to stop him, but Pony
ought to start to run across the line and then the fellows would rush out
and trip up the constable and hold him down till Pony got safe across. He
ought to hollo, when he was across, and that would let them know that he
was safe and they would be ready to let the constable up, and begin to run
before he could grab them.
Everybody thought that was a splendid plan except Archy Hawkins, that all
the fellows called Old Hawkins; his father kept one of the hotels, and Old
Hawkins used to catch frogs for the table; he was the one that the frogs
used to know by sight, and when they saw him they would croak out: "Here
comes Hawkins! Here comes Hawkins! Look out!" and jump off the bank into
the water and then come up among the green slime, where nobody but Old
Hawkins could see them. He was always joking and getting into scrapes, but
still the boys liked him and thought he was pretty smart, and now they did
not mind it when he elbowed the big boys away that were talking to Pony
and told them to shut up.
"You just listen to your uncle, Pony!" he said. "These fellows don't know
anything about running off. I'll tell you how to do it; you mind your
uncle! It's no use trying to get away from the constable, if he's there,
for he'll catch you as quick as lightning, and he won't mind these fellows
any more than fleas. You oughtn't try to start till along about midnight,
for the constable will be in bed by that time, and you won't have any
trouble. You must have somebody to wake you up, and some of the fellows
ought to be outside, to do it. You listen to your grandfather! You ought
to tie a string around your big toe, and let the string hang out of the
window, the way you do Fourth of July eve; and then just as soon as it
strikes twelve, the fellows ought to tug away at the string till you come
hopping to the window, and tell 'em to stop. But you got to whisper, and
the fellows mustn't make any noise, either, or your father will be out on
them in a minute. He'll be watching out, to-night, anyway, I reckon,
because--"
Old Hawkins was walking backward in front of Pony, talking to him, and
showing him how he must hop to the window, and all at once he struck his
heel against a root in the sidewalk, and the first thing he knew he sat
down so hard that it about knocked the breath out of him.
All the fellows laughed, and anybody else would have been mad, but Old
Hawkins was too good-natured; and he got up and brushed himself, and said:
"Say! let's go down to the river and go in, before supper, anyway."
Nearly all the fellows agreed, and Old Hawkins said: "Come along, Pony!
You got to come, too!"
But Pony stiffly refused, partly because it seemed to him pretty mean to
forget all about his running away, like that, and partly because he had to
ask his mother before he went in swimming. A few of the little fellows
kept with him all the way home, but most of the big boys went along with
Old Hawkins.
One of them stayed with Pony and the little boys, and comforted him for
the way the rest had left him. He was a fellow who was always telling
about Indians, and he said that if Pony could get to the Indians,
anywhere, and they took a fancy to him, they would adopt him into their
tribe, if it was just after some old chief had lost a son in battle. Maybe
they would offer to kill him first, and they would have to hold a
council, but if they did adopt him, it would be the best thing, because
then he would soon turn into an Indian himself, and forget how to speak
English; and if ever the Indians had to give up their prisoners, and he
was brought back, and his father and mother came to pick him out, they
might know him by some mark or other, but he would not know them, and they
would have to let him go back to the Indians again. He said that was the
very best way, and the only way, but the trouble would be to get to the
Indians in the first place. He said he knew of one reservation in the
north part of the State, and he promised to find out if there were any
other Indians living nearer; the reservation was about a hundred miles
off, and it would take Pony a good while to go to them.
The name of this boy was Jim Leonard. But now, before I go the least bit
further with the story of Pony Baker's running away, I have got to tell
about Jim Leonard, and what kind of boy he was, and the scrape that he
once got Pony and the other boys into, and a hair-breadth escape he had
himself, when he came pretty near being drowned in a freshet; and I will
begin with the hair-breadth escape, because it happened before the
scrape.