THE DRIVE TO THE GAME WARDEN'S
Mr. Devering kept Dallas quiet for several days. He saw that the boy had
been under a great nervous strain in coming here and he had him lounge
about the veranda while I was detained in my stall. It is not good for
ponies and horses to be too much in cold water and I had had a chill.
I dozed and slept and had a fine petting from Cassowary, who was the one
detailed to look after me. A friendship sprang up between us that will
never die and often she would perch on my manger and talk to me at
length about her beloved Indian pony Apache Girl.
This young girl was not much of a talker except in streaks. I saw she
was not just like the other children, and later on I found out the
reason.
One lovely warm day when the afternoon was half over I stood looking out
the big window before me and to my joy saw Mr. Devering and Dallas
coming up to the stable.
They walked in, and Dallas after petting me affectionately said shyly to
his uncle, "Seeing Prince Fetlar again reminds me that you have not yet
spoken to me about the other morning. I know you wish to do so."
I too was nervous. Ponies that are well brought up always worry when
their young masters worry.
The man had an opportunity for a good lecture, but instead of beginning
to scold he put us both at our ease by bursting into one of his ringing
laughs.
It echoed all through the big empty stable where the western sun was
streaming in on the pony stalls.
His laugh was the kind that makes one feel like joining in and soon
young Dallas was giggling feebly. Then he too burst into a jolly peal.
Tears ran down his cheeks. "Oh! Uncle," he said, getting out his
handkerchief which was white and clean like a girl's, "I don't know what
I'm laughing at."
"Neither do I," said his uncle, and then they both laughed harder than
ever until at last I felt my own lips curling.
"You're such a funny lad," said the man after a time, wiping his eyes
and then laying a hand kindly on the boy's head. "You take me back to
the days of my youth when I used to play with your dear mother. There
were just the two of us. Oh! you are like her, so much like her. Boy,
she used to lie too in her young days, but never to me, only to persons
she was afraid of."
"I don't lie to you," said Dallas seriously, "I don't want to."
"Are you afraid of my children that you tell stories to them?"
"N-no, not exactly. I want to please them."
"Oh!" said Mr. Devering, "that fatal wish to please. It has slain its
millions."
"I love to see boys and girls comfortable in their minds," said Dallas
wistfully.
"And if they expect you to know how to do a thing you lie to gratify
them--but when they find you out--then they're not happy."
Dallas said nothing and his uncle went on, "When I was a boy there was a
weak-minded lad living near us. The children all picked at him. The
grown-ups were always after us for it. Do you catch my meaning?"
Dallas hung his head. "Yes, my Uncle. The weak go to the wall. I've read
that in history."
"Now my children know you have weak points. They'll play on them. We
must stop them. You want to be a decent man, don't you?"
"Oh! yes, I do indeed."
"Well! what are you going to do about it?"
"I've got to get a grip on myself," said Dallas. "If you knew how queer
it seems to me to be here with all these kids----"
"I can guess. You see, boy, the trouble is that the first five years of
a child's life are the ones in which he gets his mould. You had
seclusion and shyness stamped on you. We've got to get a new
imprint--and don't be too humble. You're just as bright as my children.
You're too meek when you think you must tell stories to over-awe them.
Plain truth will save you, lad, and you can do some things that my
children can't do. Just wait till they find out how well you can sing.
Now let me hear you promise to stop this fairy story business."
Dallas put up a slight hand, and said solemnly, "I promise to speak the
truth and the truth only from this on."
Mr. Devering clapped him on the shoulder. Then he slipped his hand under
my blanket, felt me to see whether I was warm, and folding the blanket
backward drew it off in the proper way so as to leave my hair smooth.
Then he said, "Bonnie Prince Fetlar, I didn't understand your
manoeuvres the other morning. I ask your pardon."
Fancy a man asking a pony's pardon! I just loved him for it and tucked
my muzzle in the pocket of his corduroy jacket as we went out of the
stable.
"Stop your tickling, Prince," he said; "here's a bit of sugar for you.
Now keep your soft old nose to yourself--let's go get the deer-hound.
He'd enjoy an afternoon out."
We all went up to the kennel by the cow stable where Drunkard welcomed
us frantically.
Mr. Devering unchained him and led him toward the house.
When we got near the veranda and I saw the joyful group on it my heart
died within me. Preparations for a picnic were going on. Probably they
would go by water and I should be left at home. However I could have a
little fun before they went, in watching them.
They were well-drilled children. A list was hung on a veranda post, and
each child kept consulting it while packing baskets. So many knives,
forks, spoons, napkins, cups and saucers and plates must go in, also a
huge frying-pan, a big pot for coffee which they were allowed on
picnics. Bingi brought bacon, cold potatoes, an egg salad, jelly,
chicken sandwiches, a chocolate cake, ginger snaps, two cream pies and
lots of spread bread and butter. Oh! it was going to be a picnic that
would warm a pony's heart--and I do so enjoy a picnic with nice boys and
girls.
I stepped mournfully back under the lilacs and watched the closing of
the baskets and the forming of the procession to the lake.
Everybody was smiling; even Big Chief who was a boy that was always
cheered by the sight of food.
I paced slowly after the joyful children, my head drooping, my eyes on
my young master who walked beside me, his gaze fixed apprehensively on
the lake.
Suddenly that clever woman Mrs. Devering gave us an understanding glance
over her shoulder.
"Daddy," she called in her clear voice to Mr. Devering, who was leading
with the biggest baskets, "is this little pony broken to harness?"
"Oh! yes, he was for some years in Ohio, where one sees ponies hauling
two or four persons in carts and small surreys."
"Good!" she exclaimed. "I'd like to drive to the warden's. It will be
all right for me to put Pony in the small cart?"
"Certainly," he said. "Who will go with you?"
Childlike every boy and girl but Dallas cried out.
"Dallas goes," she said. "He is the only one who was politely silent. My
darlings--you must not run after invitations. Let them run after you."
And so speaking she was just about to drop out of the procession when
Cassowary said pleadingly, "Mother, let me drive Dallas. You'd have to
handle the harness and you know you cut your hand this morning."
"Thank you, girlie," said her mother, "I believe I will resign in your
favor. Show your cousin how to help you."
Cassowary, who was ahead with Drunkard, passed his lead to Champ and my
young master and I joyfully followed her to the carriage-house, where
she wheeled out a two-seated cart.
"I suppose you know nothing about harnessing," she said to Dallas.
"Oh! yes," he began, then he checked himself and said over again, "Oh!
yes, you are right. I know nothing about attaching an animal to a
carriage."
"Come to the harness room," she said, and there she gave young Dallas
quite a nice talk about four and two-wheelers for passengers and also
about the even more important waggons for carrying loads. Then she
explained the difference between work harness and light harness.
Dallas had a good memory and when she gave him a brief examination she
found he had forgotten nothing, but he stood staring at me.
"All very fine," he remarked. "I understand about the bridle, collar,
traces, breeching, hip-strap and so on, but how do you get harness and
cart together?"
Cassowary did not smile. She was as sober as a judge.
"Back up, Pony," she said, and she showed Dallas how to lift the shafts
and buckle straps until I and my smart tan harness were firmly attached
to the cart.
"Now, jump in," she said, "box seat. Take the reins or as you, I
suppose, would call them, the lines. Not that way. Here change your
fingers--reins held in left hand, right free for take-back or whip."
"And would you whip this beautiful little creature?" asked Dallas in a
shocked voice.
"Not I--I'm merely teaching you form--near rein over your forefinger,
off rein between middle and ring fingers. Grip reins by edges, not by
flat sides."
"Am I really driving?" asked Dallas in an astonished voice as I turned
them smoothly out to the road.
"Looks like it," she said.
Happy in having no blinds I could cast a glance back toward the proud
and delighted boy.
"Don't look so nervous," said Cassowary. "That pony could go it alone.
Tighten your reins though. If he were a stumbler down he would go. It's
hard lines you couldn't have had this fun sooner. If I were Queen I'd
give every boy and girl a pony and a dog."
"I feel as if I were in heaven," said Dallas in an awed voice.
"Wait till you ride," said Cassowary, "then you'll be in the seventh
heaven."
"Cousin," said Dallas, "it's mighty good in you to take so much trouble
with an awkward boy like me."
"Dad told me," she said sheepishly. "Then I know everyone has to learn.
Hello! there's Happy Harry--want to go to a picnic, Harry?"
The lame young man was going slowly on his crutches along the road under
the poplars. "No, thank you," he said with a brilliant smile. "I'm going
to walk over to Neighbour Detover's with Mother."
"Nice boy," she said as we spun along. "My! I'm glad I haven't lost my
feet--look out, you're heading the Prince for those cows. Give them a
bit of the road. Cows have rights."
The cows politely stepped into the bushes as we went by. Soon I could
tell by the movement of the hand on the lines that my young master was
getting calmer. By the time we reached the head of the lake Cassowary
began to praise him.
"I'm glad you haven't too many impulses," she said.
"I don't know what that means," said Dallas.
"How are you telling Prince Fetlar the way to go?"
"By these lines, I suppose."
"Which lead to the bit in Pony's soft mouth. Your feelings run along
the lines to the bit. Pony feels them and his mind and yours keep
working together. This fellow is bright enough to do things himself. If
you don't approve you will check him by flashing a counter order along
the lines. You must always keep your animal in hand."
"I wouldn't like to hurt his nice mouth," said Dallas.
"You'll never hurt him. You'll be too gentle probably."
"I'm glad we're meeting no one," said Dallas.
"We'll just pretend we are," she said promptly. "Now I'll show you how
to turn out on a narrow road."
"Why do automobiles not come up here on this fine road?" asked Dallas.
"They do, but they can't come just now because the government is
repairing the new road. It's a beauty, and where the big flat rocks are
too dreadful overhead bridges are made. You came the old bad road."
"It was certainly bad," said Dallas feelingly.
"Dad is tremendously keen on road-making," said the girl. "He's never so
happy as when he's laying out a new one. Roads spell progress he says."
"Ah! here we are at the top of the lake," said Dallas, "and entering
quite thick deep woods. How lovely the air is. I can smell the nice damp
earth and the breath of the pines--and there is a meadow in the
distance," he went on.
"That is Beaver Meadow," said Cassowary, "and that lazy little river
poking through it as if looking for the shortest way to the lake is Fawn
River."
"What pretty little islands those are at the river mouth," said Dallas.
"That's the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe--you've heard of her?"
"Oh! yes, quite often."
"Well! there she is on that biggest island which is shaped like a green
shoe. See her head sticking up from behind that high rock."
"Do you mean the silver birch broken off short?" asked Dallas; "that one
with the queer bunch on its head?"
"Yes, that's her bonnet," said Cassowary. "One day we paddled over and
nailed a big coalscuttle bonnet on her. See those birds on that tiniest
island of all. What are they?"
"You're a born school-teacher," said Dallas admiringly. Then he added,
"They are gulls--herring gulls, I think."
"Yes, don't they look wise? They sit there and ponder, ponder, then they
fly away and come back and ponder some more. They're not a bit afraid of
us. Hear me call them," and she gave a very good gull yell, "Cack, cack,
ker-ack, ker-ack, ker-ack."
"Cack, cack, hah, hah, hah!" came back from one of the gulls who raised
himself on his brownish black wings and circled over our heads.
"If it isn't my dear old friend Buffy!" cried Cassowary, rising up in
her seat in her excitement. "Where have you been, my angel gull?"
"Kay-auk, kay-ow," squawked the gull, then he gave a kind of groan.
"Been having adventures, my darling?" she shrieked up at him. "Come and
tell your old girl all about them. Did you go to Cuba or Lower
California last winter?"
"Cow-ow," he responded with a long deep harsh sob.
"This boy won't hurt you, my pet," she shrilled up in the air. "Quick,
Dallas, tell him you wouldn't shoot a gull to save your life."
My young master not knowing what to do with one creature on earth and
another in the air, tightened the reins until he nearly sawed my tender
mouth in two, while he threw up his young head and cried in his sweet
voice, "I wouldn't shoot a gull, for I'm frightened to death of a gun!"
The gull brayed like a donkey, "Ha, ha ha!"
"He doesn't trust you," said Cassowary; "hunters must have been shooting
at him. Good-bye, my angel. Come play with me when I'm bathing in the
morning. Bah! my neck aches," and she dropped down on the seat of the
cart. "Drive on, boy! For mercy sake!--the Prince is most on his hind
legs. Do you want to choke him?"
"Tell me about that gull, will you?" asked Dallas as he gave me more
liberty. "He's following us."
"He'd be down on my lap if it weren't for you. When he was a baby gull
a strange bad boy out in a boat on this lake shot at him and wounded his
wing. I was out in my canoe Bluebird, and didn't I pick up that poor
gull baby pretty quick as he lay flopping in the water, then I
overhauled the boat, trounced the boy who was quite astonished to find
that a girl had fists, swam to my canoe, paddled home, mothered Gullie
who made his home with the hens, and revelled in bread and milk. When he
grew old, he flew away to Old Woman's Islands but whenever I went in the
water he came and played with me. He wouldn't go near the boys. He
thinks you're all bad."
"How would he play with you?" asked Dallas.
"Oh! he flaps round me in the water--strikes me with his wings. He's
very rough but I give him as good as he gives me--slap for slap. He
knows I like him. Hurry up, Prince, and don't try to listen to every
word we say. The others will get there before us, although they have to
go down the lake for fish."
"Does someone there get fish for them?" asked Dallas.
"Yes--the fire warden. He lives by the dam and catches fine big bass.
Hush! Now, maybe well see Mr. Beaver."
"Who is he?" asked Dallas.
"Such a naughty little man. He and Mrs. Beaver are making a dam across
the river and soon they'll have to be checked for they would stop up the
water and make it so deep that the cows would drown when crossing from
one meadow to another. Mr. Beaver is Dad's pet, though they don't have
anything much to do with each other now. They just love each other
apart."
"Then how does your Dad pet him?"
"It was in the past. He got him in Toronto. You know we have two rivers
down there, one each side of the city, the Humber and the dear dirty
little Don which is not clear till you get out into the country. Well,
on the banks of the Don is our Zoo. We youngsters never go to it now for
we either get mad or cry when we see beloved wild animals cooped up in
small quarters. I always used to pray hard for them all to drop dead.
One night a couple of years ago Dad was walking through the park by the
Zoo when he came to a huge bank of earth with a hole in it. One of the
park men was staring at it and Dad asked what had happened. He said a
water main had burst and had carried away a part of the bank and some
animal cages. They had got every creature back but one beaver and
goodness only knew where he was.
"Dad said he hoped Mr. Beaver had gone to his animal heaven, then he
went on down the hill to the river. Just as he was going to cross one of
the bridges he saw a poor forlorn little animal sitting looking at the
muddy Don. Dad said it was queer to see a wild thing sitting there in
the electric light of a city of half a million people.
"Dad went softly up to him and the poor little creature whose head had
been hurt let him take him up.
"'The river is too dirty to plunge into, eh!' said Dad. 'Well! I know a
river where clean waters flow, and the cardinal flowers grow. Come,
weary little man, and we'll put you in it."
"Then Dad took him to Aunt Laura Secord Hume's house in Rosedale and put
him in his bath-room. Then he went to sleep.
"In the morning Aunt Laura came tapping along the hall with her cane and
opened the bath-room door to peep through and see if Dad was still
sleeping. Then she saw the beaver and didn't she give a scream. The
beaver skedaddled under Dad's bed, and he woke up very sorry to have
Aunt Laura frightened but glad to see Mr. Beaver had recovered his
faculties.
"He felt sober though when he saw the brushes in his bath-room and the
wood work all bitten and gnawed. However Aunt Laura said, 'Never
mind--he felt grateful and was trying to make a dam for you. The room
has to be done over anyway.'
"Then Dad put Mr. Beaver in a box and brought him here and he chose him
a mate and they're going to live happy ever after."
"Splendid for the beaver," said Dallas, "but what about the park
people?"
"Oh! they didn't care--his mate had been killed. Dad paid them for him
anyway."
"When your father goes to heaven," said Dallas, "I believe he'll have
all his pet animals sitting round him."
Cassowary smiled in her sober way. "You're like mother. She says as
soon as Saint Peter lets dear Dad through the pearly gates, a little
junco will fly up and say, 'I've been waiting for you. Here are my young
ones with me that you saved from the bad squirrels. I love you and am
going to keep near you,' and a squirrel will say, 'You gave me nuts and
kept me from eating the little birds,' and a fox will say, 'You caught
me in a merciful trap that did not wound my tender paw but it killed me
at once and sent me to a place where I learned how to be a better fox.'
Then a deer will say, 'You found me in the woods alone where a cruel
sportsman had taken my mother, and you brought me up and petted me,' and
a nice black bear with a brown muzzle will say, 'Give us a paw, old man,
you shot me through the brain, you didn't let me stagger away to die by
inches.'"
Dallas was delighted with this talk, and drew me up so that I stood
quite still.
"Oh! get on, get on, you funny boy," said Cassowary; "but whist! Here we
are at the dam. See Daddy Beaver beyond that point sticking out in the
river? That's his dam. Hasn't he arranged the saplings and brushwood
nicely? There he comes downstream trailing a baby tree. Can you see him?
Mrs. Beaver is just selecting a billet of wood from that heap for
afternoon tea, or is she going to take it down below to her water
pantry?"
My young master was overjoyed. I don't think he had ever seen beavers
before. He stood up, and with shining eyes fixed on the river listened
breathlessly to Cassowary.
The beavers did not hear us. The road here was grassy and the cart had
slipped along so noiselessly that it was some minutes before the
beaver's roving eye caught sight of the alarming spectacle of a pony and
a cart and two young persons. Then didn't he give the river a thwack
with his broad tail as a signal to his wife, and down they both went.
"Mr. Beaver! Mr. Beaver!" called Cassowary, "it's the Good Man's
daughter. I wouldn't hurt you for a million dollars. I wouldn't wear a
beaver skin coat. Come back and get your sapling. It's a dandy one, your
favorite poplar, and it's floating down stream."
"He can't hear you," said Dallas.
She wagged her black head. "The fishes will tell him. You know fishes
weren't always fishes."
"Now what new thing is that?" asked my young master.
"It's something some people believe in another Dominion of our Empire."
"What Dominion?"
"Australia--the blacks there say that one day when fishes lived on land
they were all gathered together around a fire near a river. A dreadful
wind arose and blew them and the fire into the water. The fire was a
nice fire and went on burning and the fishes gathered round it and it
never goes out. That's why you are always warmer under water on a cold
day than you are on land."
"I believe it, I believe it," said my young master. "I believe anything
about animals. I never think fish are stupid."
"And speaking of winds," said Cassowary, "old Mrs. Petpeswick at the
head of the lake had her flock of twenty-three geese blown off the land
by a wild gale, and they came ashore on our beach, and we took them back
to her, and she said, 'Praise the Lord. I just wanted to see some of you
to borrow a little money. I was too ill to get down to you.' Now,
cousin, let me take the reins, we are coming to a wild wild road that
leads to a wild wild house."
It was a wild side road that led from this main one up to a slight hill
above the river, and the tree branches brushed the cart as we went along
it.
"The warden goes everywhere by canoe," said Cassowary, "or by skates and
snowshoes in winter for everything here freezes over. That's his house
on the crown of this hill. He calls it the Last House, because there
isn't another one till you get 'way up the river past three sets of
falls and into Algonquin Park. Now, Pony lamb, we'll not leave you here
alone," and to my joy, she sprang out of the cart and began to take off
all my harness.
"Don't throw it on the ground, Dallas," she said. "Put it in the cart,
and hand me that halter under the seat. Now excelsior!"
We climbed the hill after her to the green cottage. "Not a soul about,"
she said. "Let's go in," and she dropped the halter shank and left me
outside.
As I had not been forbidden, I ventured to go carefully after them.
"What a jolly big fireplace," said Dallas, when we entered a small
living-room with a fire all laid.
"The warden is as neat as a woman," said Cassowary. "Poor fellow! his
wife is dead. He's here all alone in winter, and he reads a lot. See the
books in those cases, and his nice reading lamp on the table. He's as
snug as a wood-louse, he says."
Young Dallas touched admiringly a rack with guns and fishing rods.
"Come through to the kitchen," said Cassowary.
"Will he mind?" asked Dallas, tiptoeing after her.
"Oh! you green city boy," she said. "In the backwoods we're neighbours.
We know who lives next door to us. Let's see what he's got in his
cupboard. High bush cranberry jam! That's delicious! Let's have some on
bread, and wouldn't a cup of tea be nice? We're on holiday. Here are
lemons for it. He doesn't keep a cow."
"Some tea would be great," cried Dallas. "I'll help you make a fire in
this nice clean kitchen stove," and he seized a big stick of wood from
the box.
"Go get the water, you duffer," she said, handing him a pail. "Paper
goes first, then kindling, in making a fire. I'll do it--spring is first
turn to the left."
I followed my master to a lovely little spring gushing from a rock bed,
and falling down so conveniently that all the boy had to do was to hold
the pail under it.
When we came back, Cassowary said, "Pony, you just step out-of-doors.
Your hoofs are muddy. Dallas, go up and see the nice bed-rooms in the
attic while I'm making the tea."
The lad ran up the flight of steps leading from the living room. Then he
called to her to come and tell him what kind of a bird's nest that was
under the eaves.
Hearing their fresh young voices exclaiming, I ventured to go up the
stairway too.
There were several swallows' nests under the eaves with young ones in
them, and Cassowary was calmly ruffling up the feathers of the
fledglings.
"Parasites in their dear little ears," she said. "Here, hold this
birdie, while I pick them out."
"Do wild birds have lice on them?" asked Dallas.
"Wild birds and wild animals, and tame birds and tame animals. You ought
to see Grammie rubbing the fur of her pet raccoon the wrong way.
Everything that lives gets dirty. You have to keep cleaning, cleaning.
No use in making a fuss about it. There's nothing dirty about cleaning
up---- Bless my heart and soul! look at that little beast of yours."
She had seen my head appearing at the top of the stairway.
"No flies on him," she went on. "I believe that animal would walk a
tight rope if you stretched it out before him. Back, back, my
beauty--there's death on your track."
Death wasn't on my track if I practised safety first, and feeling
cautiously with my hoofs and minding my step I went down quite nicely.
When the children followed me, Cassowary found some white bread as well
baked as if a woman had done it, and she and Dallas had quite a nice
afternoon tea on the white scoured kitchen table. Then they washed the
dishes and Cassowary handed me through the window all the bread and
butter that was left. Finally she said, "Come down to the river--that is
where the warden has his out-door sitting-room. Oh! isn't the air
delicious!" and she sniffed energetically. "There are many spruces and
balsam firs about here. I just feel 'intossicated', as Dovey says when
she goes in the woods."
Stepping lightly along the narrow path, she went down to the road and
across it, till we could see the pretty river shining through the tree
branches ahead of us.
Suddenly she stopped and said, "There he is--Bolshy the Russian."