Early the next morning, Tillings had me out for another thorough wash
and such a combing as a boy would have called “fierce.” He surely
had some reason for wishing me to look my best, and I was willing to
believe him when he said I looked like “velvet,” whatever that may be.
My breakfast of oats, timothy and clover, put still further new life
into me, and everything took on a fresh, bright look on that cool
October morning.
No sooner was I polished for the day than in came Mr. Van Vim and with
him a gentleman that I did not at first recognize. They came directly
to my stall.
“You see,” Mr. Van Vim began, “he is the same fine, shapely little
fellow he always was, very thin just now, but that is owing to having
been overworked and underfed. In a couple of months he’ll be the Dexter
of last spring, fleet of foot, sound of limb, as clipper a little pony
chap as ever stood.”
“Perley Bolt has given me no rest in his craze to know if the pony has
been found. He would be glad to pay more for him than in the first
place. But I’d rather not sell him back to young Bolt. He’s a heady
lad, and apt to forget that animals have feelings.”
By that time I knew the gentleman for Mr. Clifton Moore, who was to
marry pretty Gladys Fleming. Was he about to buy me? If so, what cheer!
For although I had the best of care at Mr. Van Vim’s, yet it was a
livery stable, and there was no knowing who might come along and hire
me, or become my master.
It was a pleasure to find that Tillings had the same habit as Archie of
talking to himself aloud or to an animal he might be grooming, for in
that way I found out a great deal that otherwise I would not have known.
In fact I have noticed that most men and boys are apt to address
an animal, giving considerable confidence, as if sure of not being
betrayed. They never are. And we really and truly understand much more
than human beings suppose us able to.
As days went by I found that a good deal of secrecy was being observed
concerning me. I felt it must be that Mr. Van Vim and Tillings were
taking great care to conceal the fact of my return, and I of course
remembered the charge that had been given Archie not to speak of me.
I was led several times around the stable yard early in the morning and
again after dark for exercise, but at other times was kept in my stall,
where no one from outside would be likely to see me. Orders to the
stable hands would doubtless be obeyed.
One morning on bringing me my oats and hay Tillings broke out:
“Ah, th’ jolly b’y you’re gettin’ to be, an’ not belonging to us anny
more aither! Whist, whilst I tells ye: Misther Moore was on th’ point
o’ buying Marco Boo, young Will Barrows’ spruce young pony, when Marco
ups and throws Misther Will, cracking one o’ his ribs.”
“Will, he confessed to bein’ at teasing Marco by ticklin’ first
one ear, then th’ other, but Misther Moore he wouldn’t thrust his
sweetheart ov a lady with anny beastie wotever that wud toss a rider
even wor it bein’ teased. It’s the patience ye hev to hev! An’ it’s th’
poor dumb crathers that must offn be found fault with, wen it’s th’
young oarner that’s to be blamed.”
So much I learned from Tillings: yet I was left in the dark as to
whether it was Mr. Moore who had bought me.
Another day while Tillings was grooming me, he began:
“Faix, and it’s the sly dogs are them gipsies! The boy as brought you
back told some secret officers, as Mr. Van Vim had him to, where the
rogues wor encamped, an’ right away th’ very nex’ day the police was
afther thim; but naither hide nor hair, trace nor trail cud they find.
Off in the night they’d sthrayed, an’ not a rag left on th’ way.”
“P’raps it’s jus’ as well. A brave bit av a lad is Archibald Train.
Good luck till him! An’ good luck will it be to anny animal as comes
under his hands, be it dog, horse or pony. ’Tis th’ gentil touch he hev
that coodles thim over to onct.”
Tillings left me unsatisfied. What about Archie—Archibald Train?
Tillings said just enough to make me curious, forgetting I did not know
his thought although hearing his words.
But one glowing day soon afterward it was all made plain. Into my stall
bounced Archie, bright-eyed, joy and gladness written all over his
boyish face. He began in the old, familiar way:
“Hulloo, hossy, my, but aren’t you getting the boss for looks! The cock
of your ears is grander than ever. Your neck arches like the pictures
of those swans, and the gloss you’ve got on you!”
“Have they told you the news, hossy dear? P’raps not, because it’s a
great secret, and a secret they are bound to keep it until the right
moment comes for things to be known.”
“Do you know to whom you belong? Well, just now your owner is Mr.
Clifton Moore, but the last of the month you will be the property of
_Mrs._ Clifton Moore.”
“You’re all bought, hossy, and have you heard of the fine new stable
that is going up?”
I gave a little stamp to show my interest.
“No? Well, there’s a fine new house going up not far from here, and at
the back of it, they’re building a very pretty stable. When Mr. Moore
gets married he is to take his lovely wife to the new house, and you
are to be one of his wedding presents to the beautiful Gladys, your
home to be in the brand new stable, and for a little while I am to care
for you.”
“Won’t you get combed and fed? And won’t your fine bay coat have a
shine on it that won’t come off? We’ll see, we’ll see! Another hossy
will keep you company there.”
“That high-blooded Arabian will have a wide box stall, and an older
groom is to look after us all. But Mistress Gladys is to know nothing
about your being on hand until she sees you in the stall, then, won’t
she dance?”
“Mr. Moore knows how much she was pleased with you and her desire
to have her father buy you. And very badly she felt on hearing that
you had been spirited away. Not that she had any great hopes of your
becoming her pony, for Perley Bolt has told up and down, high and low,
that some time he should get you back.”
“Perley Bolt knows nothing of your being in town. Wouldn’t he raise a
rumpus if he heard? Not that it would do any good if he did; but Mr.
Van Vim says quiet ways are always the best.”
“Nighty-night, hossy. Great days coming for you and me. Look sharp,
they’ll soon be here.”
* * * * *
So here I am, the luckiest pony in the world. Three box stalls are in
the well-built, convenient stable where I have my home. The mottled
Arabian occupies one, and the third is reserved as an “extra,” a good
thing to have, and likely to come in use at any time.
Dick, the older groom, knows so much about horses it is a pleasure to
watch him go about caring for us both. Does a joint swell? He knows
exactly the liniment or salve that will put it down at once. Does the
Araby beauty “strike” or “interfere”? Dick has a “boot” on in time to
prevent serious mischief. Is either of us threatened with colic? Dick
is the boy that forces something down our throats, stopping the pain in
a trice.
Tillings had me clear of threatened asthma, in less than a week after
my return from the camp, and he showed skill in bandaging my knee,
so that that too became rid of all bad symptoms, caused by too much
dancing and burden-bearing in the gypsy camp.
Was not Gladys indeed a gladsome creature when she saw me? After
hearing my story and knowing I had been rescued and returned to become
her own dear pony, her delight was like that of a happy, overjoyed
child.
I think her husband must have felt repaid for having so promptly
secured me, in seeing her great satisfaction. And won’t I bear her
carefully over the road, fly with her, nimble and sure-footed on the
merry fox hunt, speed evenly and without stumbling on the morning
gallop, or race for her without breaking should there be another test
of pony speed?
Archie said, in telling of the new home, that he was to care for me for
a little while.
Yes; I am his special care. But I have gleaned the fact that he is
to go to school as a boy of his age should. He has a home with the
“Widow Hebble,” a good motherly woman who looks after him with kindly
interest, receiving in turn a portion of his moderate wages with Mr.
Moore, and the many helpful turns the boy is able to give her.
Dick tells him that when he is through school there will be plenty
of skilled veterinary surgeons who will be glad of his assistance,
meantime teaching him how to care for and cure ailing and valuable
animals.
One day, Perley Bolt saw me in a paddock by the stable door.
“Handsomer than ever!” he muttered, eyeing me ruefully. “If ever I
own a fine pony like you again, I hope I’ll know enough to treat him
decently.”
So it may be Perley will grow sensible as he grows older.
I was glad to hear Dick telling Archie one day, that Marco Boo had been
sold to a boy of a kind and gentle disposition who had no trouble with
him at all. Marco is deserving of the best of treatment, and will be
steady and willing, I feel sure, with a young master of the right kind.
I must tell how amused I was at something Dick said the other day. He
had been chattering away half to himself and half to the Arabian when
he said briskly:
“I tell you that young mistress o’ yours needs watchin’! Apples and
lump sugar are all very well for hosses and ponies once in a while. But
apples and sugar given too frequent brings on colic and all sorts o’
jim jams.”
But my laughing young mistress calls on me very often, especially when
it is too stormy for her to go out. Whether Dick is “watchin’” or not
she usually gives me a great lump of loaf sugar, and merrily enough I
champ it down.
I don’t believe sugar hurts ponies. And how I do love a great
glistening chunk of white lump sugar!
But better than that, and far better than all else in the world, do I
love my fair young mistress, and dear Archie Train.
THE END.