THE PONY
Toby's interest in the crippled boy whom he had taken under his charge
was considerably greater than in the contemplated circus; and both Bob
and Ben felt angry and injured when, in the midst of some brilliant plan
for startling those of the good people of Guilford who should come to
their circus, Toby would stop to say something to Abner, who was
hobbling along as fast as possible in order that he might not oblige the
party to wait for him.
For a number of years Toby had known that there was a crippled orphan at
the poor-farm; but it so happened that he had not met him very often,
and even then he had no idea of the lonely life the boy was obliged to
lead.
On the way to the village he had formed several plans by which he might
aid Abner; but none of them could be put into operation until after he
had consulted Uncle Daniel and Aunt Olive.
It was nearly noon, and the understanding was that each one should get
his dinner and go to the pasture again, when it would be known whether
they were to be able to number Chandler Merrill's pony among the
attractions of their show, or be wholly dependent upon the disabled
horses that as yet made up their collection.
"You're comin' to get dinner with me, Abner," said Toby, as he stopped
in front of Uncle Daniel's gate, while the little fellow was continuing
on his way to the only place he could call home, there to get his dinner
with the other paupers.
"I'm afraid your aunt won't want me," he said, shyly, while it was plain
to be seen that he would be more than well pleased to accept the
invitation.
"Aunt Olive won't care a bit, an' she'll be glad to have you, I know,
'cause she says it always does her good to see hungry people eat, though
if that's so I must have done her an awful sight of good lots of times,
for it don't seem to me I ever set down to the table in my life but what
I was awful hungry. Come on now, so's we'll have time to get our hands
an' faces washed before the dinner-bell rings."
Abner followed Toby in a hesitating way, much as if he expected each
moment to be ordered back; and when they arrived at the door he stood on
the threshold, not daring to enter until permission had been given.
"This is Abner Bolton, Uncle Dan'l," said Toby, as he saw that his newly
made friend would not come in without an invitation from some one
besides himself. "He lives out to the poor-farm, an' he don't have any
such nice home as I've got, so I thought you wouldn't care if I brought
him in to dinner."
"You've got a good heart, Toby, boy, and the Lord will reward you for
it," said Uncle Daniel, as he stroked the boy's refractory hair; and
then he said to Abner, "Come in, my lad, and share Toby's dinner, nor
need you ever hesitate about accepting any such invitation when it leads
you here."
Then Aunt Olive greeted Abner so kindly that the poor boy hardly knew
whether it was reality or a dream, so strange was it all to him.
During the dinner Toby told of the difficulty he had had in getting his
partners to consent to Abner's being one of the company, and Aunt Olive,
who had shown considerable interest in the circus scheme, said:
"Why don't you let him keep a stand, and then he can make some money for
himself. I will bake him a lot of doughnuts and ginger-snaps, and your
Uncle Dan'l will lend him money enough to buy lemons an' sugar. It will
be a deal better than to have Nahum Baker there with his pies that are
as heavy as lead, an' doughnuts that have soaked up all the fat in the
pan."
Toby was delighted with the plan, and Abner's eyes glistened at the mere
idea that it might be possible for him to do, once in his life at least,
as did other and more fortunate boys.
It certainly seemed, when they arrived at the pasture again, as if
everything was conspiring in favor of their circus, for Chandler Merrill
had willingly consented to let them use his pony; but he had done so
with the kindly prophecy that the little animal would "kick their brains
out" if they were not careful with him.
In order to make sure that the consent would not be withdrawn, and at
the same time to prove that he told the truth, Bob had brought the pony
with him, and, judging from his general appearance as he stood gazing
suspiciously at the Douglass horse, he deserved all that was said of him
regarding his vicious qualities. He was about half the size of an
ordinary horse, and his coat was ragged-looking, owing to its having
been rubbed off in spots, thus giving him the air of just such a pony as
one would suppose willing to join a party of boys in starting a circus.
"Now, there's a hoss that hain't either lame or blind," said Bob,
proudly, as he led the pony once around the ring to show his partners
how he stepped. If he was intending to say anything more, he concluded
to defer it while he made some very rapid movements in order to escape
the blow the "hoss" aimed at him with his hind-feet.
"Kicks, don't he?" said Toby, in a tone which plainly told he did not
think him very well suited to their purpose.
"Well, he did then," and Bob fastened the halter more securely by
putting one end of the rope through the pony's mouth; "but you see
that's 'cause he hain't been used much, an' he's tickled 'cause he's
goin' to belong to a circus."
"How long before he'll get over bein' tickled?" asked Joe. "I'm willin'
to train Jack Douglass's hoss; but I don't know 'bout this one till he
gets sorry enough not to kick."
"Oh, he'll be all right jest as soon as Toby rides him 'round the ring a
little while."
"Do you think I'm goin' to ride him?" asked Toby, beginning to believe
his partners expected more of him than ever Mr. Castle did.
"Of course; a feller what's been with a circus ought to know how to ride
any hoss that ever lived," replied Bob, with considerable emphasis,
owing to the fact that the pony kicked and plunged so that his words
were jerked out of him, rather than spoken.
"I s'pose some fellers can; but I wasn't with the circus long enough to
find out how to ride such hosses as them," and Toby retired to the shade
of the alder bushes, where Abner was sitting to wait until Bob and the
pony had come to terms.
It was quite as much as Bob could do to hold his prize, without trying
to make any arrangements for having him ridden, and he called Reddy to
help him.
Now, as the ring-master of the contemplated circus, Reddy ought to have
known all about horses, and he thought he did until the pony made one
plunge, just as he came up smiling with whip in hand. Then he said, as
he ran towards Toby:
"I don't believe I want to be ring-master if we're goin' to have that
hoss."
"Here, Joe, you help me," cried Bob, in desperation, growing each moment
more afraid of the steed. "I want to get him up by the fence, where we
can hitch him, till we find out what to do with him."
Joe was perfectly willing to assist the unfortunate clown in his
troubles; but, as he started towards him, the pony wheeled and flung his
heels out with a force that showed he would do some damage if he could,
and Joe also joined the party among the bushes.
Bob was thus left alone with his prize, and a most uncomfortable time he
appeared to be having of it, standing there in the hot sun clinging
desperately to the halter, and jumping from one side to the other when
the pony attempted to bite, or strike him with his fore-feet.
"Let him go; he hain't any good," shouted Reddy from his secure retreat.
"If I let go the halter, he'll jump right at me," and there was a
certain ring in Bob's voice that told he was afraid.
"Hitch him to the fence, an' then climb over," suggested Joe.
"But I can't get him over there, for he won't go a step," and Bob
continued to hold fast to the halter, afraid to do so, but still more
afraid to let go.
He had borrowed the pony; but it certainly seemed as if the animal had
borrowed him, for his fear caused him to cling desperately to the halter
as the only possible means of saving his life.
The boys under the alder bushes were fully alive to the fact that
something should be done although they were undecided as to what that
something should be.
Joe proposed that they all rush out and scare the pony away, but Bob
insisted that he would be the sufferer by such a course. Reddy thought
if Bob should show more spirit, and let the vicious little animal see
that he was not afraid of him, everything would be all right; but when
it was proposed that he try the plan himself, he concluded, perhaps,
there might be serious objections to such a course.
Ben thought if all of them got hold of the halter, they could pull the
pony to the fence, and this plan was looked upon with such favor that it
was adopted at once.
Every one, except Abner, took hold of the halter, after some little
delay in getting there, owing to the readiness of the pony to use his
heels at the slightest provocation; and, just when they were about to
put forth all their strength in pulling, the pony jumped towards them
suddenly, rendering their efforts useless, and starting all, save Bob,
back to the alder bushes in ignominious flight.
Bob still remained at his post, or, more correctly speaking, the halter,
and it was very much against his will that he did so.
"I wish Chandler Merrill would come up here an' get his old hoss, for I
don't want him any longer," he said, angrily. "He ought to be prosecuted
for lettin' us have such a old tiger."
Bob did not seem to remember that, if he had refused the loan of the
pony, he would have considered Chandler Merrill very selfish; in fact,
he hardly remembered anything save his own desire to get rid of the
animal, and as quickly as possible.
"What shall I do?" he cried, in desperation. "I can't stand here all
day, an' the hoss don't mean to let me get away."
"We've got to help Bob," said Toby, decidedly, as he arose to his feet
again, and went towards the unfortunate clown. "If you fellers will try
to hold him, I'll get on his back, an' then Bob can get away."
"But he'll throw you off, an' hurt you," objected Abner, trying to
prevent his newly made friend from going.
"I can stop him from doing that, an' it's the only way I know of to help
Bob."
"You get on, Toby, an' then I'll scoot jest as soon as you get hold of
the halter," said Bob, happy at this prospect of being relieved. "Then,
when you get a chance, you jump off, an' we'll let somebody else take
him home."
It was a hard task, and they all ran considerable risk of getting
kicked; but at last it was accomplished, so far as mounting was
concerned. Toby was on the pony's back with a firm grasp of the rope
that was made to serve as bridle.
"Now, be all ready to run," he said; and there was no disposition to
linger shown by any of his friends.
"Let go!" he shouted, and at the sound of his voice the boys went one
way and the pony another at full speed.
It was not until the would-be circus managers were within the shelter of
the clump of bushes that they stopped to look for their partner, and
then they saw him at the further end of the pasture, the pony running
and leaping as if doing his best to dislodge his rider.
Even the Douglass horse seemed to be excited by the display of spirit,
for he capered around in a manner very unbecoming one as old and blind
as he.
Only for a few moments could they watch the contest, and then the
distant trees hid Toby Tyler and Chandler Merrill's pony from view.