THE PEACOCK'S CRY
Half an hour or so later the children met again, and together made their
way downstairs to the dining-room, Ferdy carefully carrying his
presents, which had been increased by that of a nice big home-made cake
from cook, and a smart little riding-whip from two or three of the other
servants.
Papa and mamma had not yet made their appearance; it was barely
half-past eight.
Ferdy's eyes and Chrissie's too wandered inquiringly round the room.
Neither knew or had any sort of idea what _the_ present of the
day--their parents'--was to be. Many wonderings had there been about it,
for Mrs. Ross had smiled in a very mysterious way once or twice lately,
when something had been said about Ferdy's birthday, and the children
had half expected to see some veiled package on the sideboard or in a
corner of the room, ready for the right moment.
But everything looked much as usual, except that there was a lovely
bouquet of flowers--hot-house flowers, the gardener's best--beside
Ferdy's plate.
"Oh, I say!" he exclaimed, as he took it up and sniffed it approvingly,
"what a good humour Ferguson must be in to have given me these very best
flowers. Why, he doesn't even like mamma herself to cut these big
begonias. They _are_ splendiferous, aren't they, Chris? I shall take one
out for a button-hole, and wear it all day. But oh, Chrissie, I _do_
wonder what papa's and mamma's present is going to be--don't you?"
"I should just think I did," his sister replied. "I haven't the very
least inch of an idea this time, and generally, before, I have had
_some_. It isn't in this room, any way."
"No, I expect it's some little thing, something mamma has kept safe in a
drawer, a pair of gold sleeve-links, or, or--no, not a writing-case, for
she'd know about yours. P'r'aps a pocket microscope or some book."
"Would you like any of those?" asked Chrissie.
"I'd like anything, I think. At least I mean papa and mamma'd be sure
to give me something nice. Of course, _the_ present of presents would
be--"
"We fixed not to speak about it, don't you remember?" said his sister
quickly. "It's a bad habit to get into, that of fancying too much about
impossible things you'd like to have."
"But this wouldn't be quite an impossible thing," said Ferdy. "I may get
it some day, and one reason I want it so is that it would be just as
nice for you as for me, you see, Chris."
"I know," said Christine. "Well no, it's not a couldn't-possibly-ever-be
thing, like the magic carpet we planned so about once, or the table with
lovely things to eat on it, that there's the fairy story about, though I
always think that's rather a greedy sort of story--don't you?"
"Not if you were awfully hungry, and the boy in that story was, you
know," said Ferdy. "But I didn't mean quite impossible in a fairy magic
way. I mean that papa and mamma _might_ do it some day, and it's rather
been put into my head this morning by this," and he touched the
riding-whip. "It's far too good for Jerry, or for any donkey, isn't it?
I shall put it away till I have a--"
Chrissie placed her hand on his mouth.
"Don't say it," she said. "It's much better not, after we fixed we
wouldn't."
"Very well," said Ferdy resignedly. "I won't if you'd rather I didn't.
Now let us think over what it really _will_ be, most likely. A--"
But no other guess was to be put in words, for just then came the
well-known voices.
"Ferdy, my boy"--"Dear little man," as his father and mother came in.
"Many, many happy returns of your birthday," they both said together,
stooping to kiss him.
"And see what Chrissie has given me, and Flowers, and cook, and the
others!" exclaimed the boy, holding out his gifts for admiration.
Mr. and Mrs. Ross looked at each other and smiled. Neither of them had
anything in the shape of a parcel big or little. Ferdy and Christine
felt more and more puzzled.
"They are charming presents, dear," said Mrs. Ross, "and ours--papa's
and mine--is quite ready. How are you going to do about it, Walter?"
"We had better have prayers first," Ferdy's father replied. "And--yes,
breakfast too, I think, and then--"
In their own minds both Ferdy and Christine thought they would not be
able to eat much breakfast while on the tenter-hooks of curiosity. But
kind as their father was, he had a way of meaning what he said, and they
had learned not to make objections. And, after all, they did manage to
get through a very respectable meal, partly perhaps because the
breakfast was particularly tempting that morning, and mamma was
particularly anxious that the children should do justice to it.
Nice as it was, however, it came to an end in due time, and then, though
they said nothing, the children's faces showed what was in their minds,
Chrissie looking nearly as eager as her brother.
"Now," said Mr. Ross, taking out his watch, "I have just half an hour
before I must start. Leila,"--"Leila" was mamma's "girl name" as
Chrissie called it,--"Leila, you keep these two young people quietly in
here for five minutes by the clock. Then all three of you come round to
the porch, but Ferdy must shut his eyes--tight, do you hear, young man?
Mother and Chrissie will lead you, and I will meet you at the front
door."
Did ever five minutes pass so slowly? More than once the children
thought that the clock must really have stopped, or that something
extraordinary had happened to its hands, in spite of the ticking going
on all right. But at last--
"We may go now," said mamma. "Shut your eyes, my boy. Now, Chris, you
take one hand and I'll take the other. You won't open your eyes till
papa tells you, will you, Ferdy?"
"No, no, I promise," said Ferdy.
But his mother looked at him a little anxiously. His little face was
pale with excitement and his breath came fast. Yet he was not at all a
delicate child, and he had never been ill in his life.
"Dear Ferdy," she said gently, "don't work yourself up so."
Ferdy smiled.
"No, mamma," he replied, though his voice trembled a little. "It is
only--something we've tried not to think about, haven't we, Chrissie?
Oh," he went on, turning to his sister, and speaking almost in a
whisper, "_do_ you think it can be--you know what?"
Christine squeezed the hand she held; that was all she could reply.
Though her face had got pink instead of pale like Ferdy's, she was
almost as "worked up" as he was.
There was not long to wait, however. Another moment and they were all
three standing in the porch, and though Ferdy's eyes were still most
tightly and honourably shut, there scarcely needed papa's "Now," or the
"_Oh!_" which in spite of herself escaped his sister, to reveal the
delightful secret. For his ears had caught certain tell-tale sounds: a
sort of "champing," and a rustle or scraping of the gravel on the drive
which fitted in wonderfully with the idea which his brain was full of,
though he had honestly tried to follow his sister's advice and not
"think about it."
What was the "it"?
A pony--the most beautiful pony, or so he seemed to Ferdy and Christine
at any rate--that ever was seen. There he stood, his bright brown coat
gleaming in the May sunshine, his eager but kindly eyes looking as if
they took it all in as he rubbed his nose on Mr. Ross's coat-sleeve and
twisted about a little, as if impatient to be introduced to his new
master.
"Papa, mamma!" gasped Ferdy, with a sort of choke in his throat, and for
a moment--what with the delight, and the sudden opening of his eyes in
the strong clear sunshine--he felt half dazed. "Papa, mamma, a pony of
my very own! And Chrissie can ride him too. He is a pony a girl can ride
too, isn't he?" with a touch of anxiety.
"He is very gentle, and he has no vices at all," said his father. "I am
quite sure Chrissie will be able to ride him too. But you must get to
know him well in the first place."
Ferdy was out on the drive by this time, his face rosy with delight, as
he stood by his father patting and petting the pretty creature. The pony
was all saddled and bridled, ready for Ferdy to mount and ride "over the
hills and far away." The boy glanced up at Mr. Ross, an unspoken request
trembling on his lips.
"Yes," said his father, seeing it there and smiling. "Yes, you may mount
him and ride up and down a little. He'll be all right," he added,
turning to the coachman, who had been standing by and enjoying the
whole as much as any of them.
"Oh yes, sir. He's a bit eager, but as gentle as a lamb," the man
replied.
"And this afternoon," Ferdy's father continued, "if I can get home
between four and five, I'll take you a good long ride--round by Durnham
and past by Mellway Sight, where you have so often wanted to go."
"Oh, papa," was all Ferdy could get out.
Merton meanwhile had been examining the stirrup straps.
"They're about the right length for you, I think, sir," he said, and
then in a moment Ferdy was mounted.
Pony pranced about a little, just a very little,--he would not have
seemed a real live pony if he had not,--but nothing to mind. Indeed,
Ferdy, to tell the truth, would have enjoyed a little more. The coachman
led him a short way along the drive, but then let go, and Ferdy trotted
to the gates in grand style and back again.
"Isn't he _perfect_, Chris?" he exclaimed as he came up to the group in
front of the porch. "Mayn't I gallop him, papa, this afternoon when we
go out? Round by Mellway there's beautiful grass, you know."
"All right," Mr. Ross replied. "We shall see how you get on outside on
the road. I don't know that he has any tricks, but every pony has _some_
fad, so for a few days we must just be a little cautious. Now trot back
to the gates once more, and then I think you had better dismount for the
present. You may go round to the stable with him. It's always a good
thing for your horse to know you in the stable as well as outside."
[Illustration: OFF FERDY WENT AGAIN, A LITTLE BIT FASTER THIS TIME.]
Off Ferdy went again, a little bit faster this time, his spirits rising
higher and higher. Then he turned to come back to the house, and his
mother was just stepping indoors, her face still lighted up with
pleasure, when there came a sudden cry,--a curious hoarse cry,--but for
a moment she was not startled.
"It is the peacocks," she thought, for there were a couple of beautiful
peacocks at the Watch House. "I hope they won't frighten the pony."
For the peacocks were allowed to stalk all about the grounds, and they
were well-behaved on the whole; though, as is always the case with
these birds, their harsh cry was not pleasant, and even startling to
those not accustomed to it.
Was it the cry, or was it the sudden sight of them as they came all at
once into view on a side-path which met the drive just where Ferdy was
passing?
Nobody ever knew,--probably pony himself could not have told which it
was,--but as Mrs. Ross instinctively stopped a moment on her way into
the house, another sound seemed to mingle with the peacock's scream, or
rather to grow out from it--a sort of stifled shriek of terror and
rushing alarm. Then came voices, trampling feet, a kind of wail from
Chrissie, and in an instant--an instant that seemed a lifetime--Ferdy's
mother saw what it was. He had been thrown, and one foot had caught in
the stirrup, and the startled pony was dragging him along. A moment or
two of sickening horror, then a sort of silence. One of the men was
holding the pony, Mr. Ross and the coachman were stooping over something
that lay on the ground a little way up the drive--something--what was
it? It did not move. Was it only a heap of clothes that had dropped
there somehow? It couldn't, oh no, it _couldn't_ be Ferdy! _Ferdy_ was
alive and well. He had just been laughing and shouting in his exceeding
happiness. Where had he run to?
"Ferdy, Ferdy!" his mother exclaimed, scarcely knowing that she spoke;
"Ferdy dear, come quick, come, Ferdy."
But Chrissie caught her, and buried her own terror-stricken face in her
mother's skirts.
"Mamma, mamma," she moaned, "don't look like that. Mamma, don't you see?
Ferdy's _killed_. That's Ferdy where papa is. Don't go, oh don't go,
mamma! Mamma, I can't bear it. Hide me, hide my eyes."
And at this frantic appeal from the poor little half-maddened sister,
Mrs. Ross's strength and sense came back to her as if by magic. She
unclasped Chrissie's clutching hands gently but firmly.
"Run upstairs and call Flowers. Tell her to lay a mattress on the floor
of the oriel room at once; it is such a little way upstairs; and tell
Burt to bring some brandy at once--brandy and water. Tell Burt first."
Chrissie was gone in an instant. Ferdy couldn't be dead, she thought,
if mamma wanted brandy for him. But when the mother, nerved by love,
flew along the drive to the spot where her husband and the coachman were
still bending over what still was, or had been, her Ferdy, she could
scarcely keep back a scream of anguish. For a moment she was sure that
Chrissie's first words were true--he was killed.
"Walter, Walter, tell me quick," she gasped. "Is he--is he alive?"
Mr. Ross looked up, his own face so deadly pale, his lips so drawn and
quivering, that a rush of pity for _him_ came over her.
"I--I don't know. I can't tell. What do you--think, Merton?" he said, in
a strange dazed voice. "He has not moved, but we thought he was
breathing at first."
The coachman lifted his usually ruddy face; it seemed all streaked, red
and white in patches.
"I can feel his heart, sir; I feel fairly sure I can feel his heart. If
we could get a drop or two of brandy down his throat, and--yes, I think
I can slip my arm under his head. There's Burt coming with some water."
"And brandy," said Mrs. Ross. "Here, give it me--a spoon--yes, that's
right. And, Walter, have you sent for the doctor?"
Mr. Ross passed his hand over his forehead, as if trying to collect
himself.
"I will send Larkins now," he said, "on the pony--that will be the
quickest," though a sort of shudder passed over him as he spoke of the
innocent cause of this misery. "Larkins, go at once for Mr. Stern; you
know the shortest way," for there was no doctor within a mile or two of
Evercombe village, and Mr. Ross raised himself to give exact directions
to the young groom.
When he turned again they had succeeded in getting a spoonful of brandy
and water between Ferdy's closed lips--then another; then poor old
Merton looked up with a gleam of hope in his eyes.
"He's coming to, sir--ma'am--I do believe," he said.
He was right. A quiver ran through the little frame, then came the sound
of a deep sigh, and Ferdy's eyes opened slowly. They opened and--it was
like Ferdy--the first sign he gave of returning consciousness was a
smile--a very sweet smile.
"Papa, mamma," he whispered, "is it time to get up? Is it--my birthday?"
That was too much for his mother. The tears she had been keeping back
rushed to her eyes, but they were partly tears of joy. Her boy was
alive; at worst he was not killed, and perhaps, oh _perhaps_, he was not
badly hurt.
Ferdy caught sight of her tears, though she had turned her face away in
hopes of hiding them. A pained, puzzled look came over him. He tried to
raise his head, which was resting on Merton's arm, but it sank down
again weakly; then he glanced at his left arm and hand, which were
covered with blood from a cut on his forehead.
"What is the--mamma, why are you crying?" he said. "Have I hurt myself?
Oh dear, did I fall off my beautiful pony? I am so, _so_ sorry."
"My darling," said his mother, "it was an accident. I hope you will soon
be better. Have you any pain anywhere?"
"I don't think so," said he, "only I wish I was in bed, mamma. What is
it that is bleeding?"
"Nothing very bad, sir," said Merton cheerfully; "only a cut on your
forehead. But that'll soon heal. Your handkerchief, please, ma'am,
dipped in cold water."
"Yes," said Mr. Ross, "that is the best thing for the moment," and he
folded the handkerchief up into a little pad, which he soaked in the
fresh cold water, and laid it on the place. "I think we must move him,"
he went on. "Ferdy, my boy, will you let us try?"
Ferdy stretched out his right arm and put it round his father's neck.
But the movement hurt somehow and somewhere, for he grew terribly white
again.
"My back," he whispered.
A thrill of new anguish went through his parents at the words.
"Don't do anything yourself," said Mr. Ross; "lie quite still and trust
to me."
Ferdy closed his eyes without speaking, and skilfully, though with
infinite pains, his father raised him in his arms, Ferdy making no
sound--perhaps he half fainted again; there he lay quite helpless, like
a little baby, as with slow, careful tread Mr. Ross made his way to the
house, from which, not a quarter of an hour ago, the boy had flown out
in perfect health and joy.
At the door they met Chrissie. She started violently, then covered her
face with her hands.
"Oh, papa," she began, but her mother was close behind and caught her in
her arms.
"Hush, dear," she said. "No, no," in answer to the little girl's
unuttered question. "Ferdy has opened his eyes and spoken to us; he knew
us--papa and me."
Chrissie's terrors at once made place for hope. Her white face flushed
all over.
"He's spoken to you, mamma? What did he say? Oh, then he can't be so
_very_ badly hurt. Oh, _mamma_, how glad I am!"
"Be very, very quiet, dear. We can do nothing, and be sure of nothing,
till the doctor comes, but--oh yes, thank God, we may hope."
But by the time they had laid him on the mattress in the oriel room
Ferdy looked again so ghastly pale that the poor mother's heart went
down. There was little they could do; they scarcely dared to undress him
till the surgeon came. It was a terrible hour or two's waiting, for Mr.
Stern was out, and Larkins had to ride some considerable way before he
caught him up on his morning rounds.