THE MAN AND THE BOY
I examined the boy carefully. Now I thought of it, though he was
stylish, he was not handsomely dressed. His clothes were of good, but
not fine material, his shoes were well-worn, his blue belted coat had
odd buttons on it. He did not look to me like a rich man's child. He
seemed more like the son of some professional man only moderately well
off--what did he mean by the kidnapping story?
His green eyes were flashing. "I don't know the reason for it, Pony-Boy,
for my father never talks much to me, but he never lets me go out alone,
and I'm not allowed to speak to strangers. He's a criminal lawyer you
know, and perhaps some bad man he has sent to prison thinks he owes him
a grudge."
I was a bit uneasy about this boy. Before this I had had young creatures
tell me the story of their lives and it was always because they had no
sympathetic human ear turned toward them. So now I took on a thoughtful
air as this lad went on.
"Lend me your pony ears--I was born in the great big wonderful country
of the United States of America and I'd lay down my life for Old Glory."
He scrambled to his feet as he spoke, saluted an imaginary flag and
recited the pledge to it.
I, too, got up pretty quick, for I am an American pony and have played
many national games with children in which I always bow and scrape
whenever the flag is mentioned.
As I stepped gaily round and round doing a march step and whinnying with
feeling, the boy fell into an ecstasy.
"Do you mean to say you are a fellow-countryman," he cried, "an American
pony citizen in this strange forest land?" and in his emotion he forgot
his fear of me and throwing his arms round my neck gave me a good hug.
I was thunderstruck. In all my life before and with all my experience
with boys I had never felt the wet tears of any of them against my
smooth neck. Poor lad! What could be the matter with him?
He was crying in a queer way--quietly and as if he were afraid someone
might hear him. Then in a flash he flung up his head and dashed the
tears from his eyes.
"Excuse me, Pony-Boy. You'll find me an utter coward. Let's think of our
country. Hurrah for the Stars and Stripes. Let's sing a verse." Then he
opened his young mouth,
"My Country 'tis of thee
Sweet land of liberty
Of thee I sing."
In amazement, I stopped my processing round the rock. I never in my life
had heard such a sweet even flow of song from the mouth of any living
being, and I had once belonged to the son of a famous concert singer and
had in her home heard many beautiful voices--why! it was like the lovely
upward gush of a fountain--clear, pure and exquisite.
Even a catbird sitting near by in a maple put his head on one side to
listen and then turned to a young goldfinch who was about to fly in
terror from him and motioned him to remain. Cattie recognised the beauty
of the boy's voice, and having no bird of his own kind near wanted to
gossip with the goldfinch about it.
As I stood entranced, I noticed that the boy as he sang the whole of
this one of our national songs kept looking over his shoulder as if he
were afraid someone might interrupt him.
When he dropped on the rock again I went and stood over him.
"Pony-Boy," he said, "I'm not allowed to do that at home. I can only
whistle."
Not allowed to sing with a voice like that, and I was just turning this
over in my pony mind when my new friend sprang to his feet like a shot,
his eyes wild and terrified.
"Pony-Boy--what is that awful sound?"
I rubbed my head against his shoulder. Poor lad! what nerves.
"I know it must be some kind of a bird," he went on, "for the sound came
from the lake, but what a yell. You'd think a child was being murdered."
I knew loons, for I had seen and heard them on lakes in our own
country. Probably the boy had never been in very lonely places. How I
wished I could tell him that those were merely two old gossipy daddy
loons accompanying their mates to their respective home bays on the
lake. They were shrieking the news of the day to each other. Some fish
ducks had been trying to settle near them and they had been biting at
them and trying to drive them away. Then one Mrs. Loon had lost one of
her downy young loonies. She blamed Mr. Red Fox from Merry-Tongue
River--and what a blessing it was that there were so few campers about.
Their beloved lake was really quite quiet with the settlers only.
They liked solitude, they did, and they yelled till the boy was nearly
crazy and whipped his fingers in his ears.
How queer! The average boy likes noise and he had better get his ears
unstopped for the big man was coming up the hill.
I tried to warn the boy, but he did not understand me and had to fly
into another spasm of fright when the big man touched him on the
shoulder.
He was a strapping middle-aged man in corduroys and cowboy hat with
holes punched in it. His face was brown and kind and his eyes were black
and piercing.
These eyes were fixed on the boy in an extraordinary manner. That boy
meant something to him in a heart way. His eyes did not falter, but his
mouth trembled slightly. Suddenly he held out both hands, "Welcome to
Devering Farm, my lad."
My pale-eyed boy put both his slim white hands into the man's big brown
ones. "You're Mr. Devering, of course--my father's friend."
"And you are Dallas Duff--my boy, I have longed for this day."
"That's very kind in you, Sir," said young Dallas, but the man had
turned suddenly to me.
His eyes were quite misty now and I am sure he could not see me very
well, though he said feelingly, "And you, Pony, welcome too. I haven't
seen you since the day of the Cobourg Races."
Now I knew who he was--the kind man who had felt me all over and stroked
me so kindly. So he had remembered me and had had me sent to this lovely
cool summer place.
I nuzzled his coat buttons, then I followed his gaze, which was riveted
on the boy.
"Sir," our young lad was saying excitedly, "my father told me I could
tell you anything. That's the first time he ever said that to me about
any living person."
"I appreciate his confidence," said the big man, wrinkling his eyebrows
in an amused way.
"First of all, sir, please tell me why my father sent me here. I've
never been allowed to leave home before unless John or Margie went with
me."
"Suppose you ask him when he comes up here later."
The boy almost shouted. "Is my father coming here?"
"I hope so. He needs a rest. He sticks too closely to work."
"That's so, sir. He often falls asleep when I'm sitting in the library
with him evenings. He's a wonderful man."
"Indeed he is--I knew him before you did."
"Did you, sir--where?"
"In Toronto--when he went there as a young man to study Canadian law."
"So he's coming here," said the boy musingly. "Will John and Margie
come, too?"
"I dare say."
"I don't think he could get on without them. He likes Margie's cooking
and John looks after his clothes."
"Well, I hope you'll see them all before autumn---- Now tell me how you
used to amuse yourself in that big dreary town house of yours."
"Of course I had my studies, sir."
"Did you find them interesting?"
"Some of them. I had a fine young tutor all these years--a girl tutor."
"Did you never go to school?"
"No, sir."
"Then you don't know much about boys."
"Not much--I know some on our street to nod to. Then John sometimes
takes me to ball games, only when it is warm. When it's cold, he takes
me to the movies."
The big man frowned, then he asked, "Had you any pets?"
"I always had a dog."
"Why didn't you bring him?"
"My old Toby died last week."
The boy's voice broke and the man changed the subject quickly. "You'll
find it cooler here than in Boston."
"Oh, very much. I'm almost shivering in this suit. Margie thought it
would be warm enough. She's been like my mother, sir, since my own
died."
The man smiled. I thought this a strange thing when the boy spoke of
such a sad thing as losing his mother, but later on I had an
explanation.
"Margie watches me as a cat would a mouse," said the boy. "She doesn't
want that kidnapper to get me."
The boy spoke proudly, and Mr. Devering said almost irritably, "Oh!
forget that, my boy. There's nothing in it now."
The boy looked surprised. "And may I go out alone now and speak to
strangers?"
"Certainly, certainly," said Mr. Devering hurriedly.
"Then why," began Dallas, but Mr. Devering interrupted him. "All that is
over. Nobody wants to carry you off. Please put it out of your mind. You
are of no consequence to anyone except your family."
The boy's face fell, and I saw that he was a bit disappointed. He had
been making a little hero of himself. Now he had found out that he
wasn't worth carrying away.
I was sorry for him, and I saw that there was some mystery here to be
explained in the future. I have lived in many interesting families and I
love mysteries and histories. I had something now to turn over in my
pony mind. This place would be no longer dull to me, but I must listen
to Mr. Devering, who was speaking again. "You have had a peculiar life
up to this, but I think it will be more normal in future and I may say
that I have for a long time wished you to come here."
"Do you live here all the time?" asked the boy.
"Yes, this is our home, though we travel a good deal. How do you like
it?"
The boy seemed to find it hard to answer. At last he said, "Do you wish
me to speak politely or truthfully?"
"Truthfully, by all means."
"Well, sir--I find it ghostly and lonely."
Mr. Devering repeated the words, "Ghostly and lonely." Then he broke
into a hearty laugh. "And I'm lonely only when I'm in cities pushing my
way among crowds of weary people who don't care a rap whether I'm dead
or alive."
"Do you love the trees, sir?" asked Dallas, "these startling green
monsters?"
"I worship them, boy. They come next the animals with me. This one here
is Little Sister," and he threw his arm round a slender silver birch.
"And that maple," said Mr. Devering, pointing to the one where the
catbird was still sitting. "Doesn't it look like a slender young living
thing swaying there in the wind? See how it bends its pretty head and
waves its green arms toward us. Can't you throw it a pleasant glance,
boy?"
I was amused with the play of the boy's brown eyebrows. "I might love a
maple," he said, "but those big pines and stiff spruces----" and he
shivered.
"My soldier brothers," said Mr. Devering, "so straight and sturdy,
guarding my property and reaching up their heads to heaven. Do you know
what they are begging for, boy?"
"No, sir."
"Rain, rain and always more rain. Have you been told what happens in
countries like China where foolish people have been allowed to cut down
the trees?"
"Oh, yes, yes," said the boy. "I remember now. My teacher used to tell
me trees keep the soil moist and attract rainfalls. Oh! I don't mind a
few, sir, but these endless forests appal me."
"You'll get over that. I'll soon have you a regular backwoodsman. Come
up Deer Trail with me now and help me look for a missing lamb."
I had heard the boy say that he was lame from his long drive, but he did
not tell this to the man, and prepared to follow him quite bravely.
"May this little beastie go too, sir?" he asked, pointing to me.
"Certainly, the more beasts the merrier for me."