THE GREY DONKEY
THE summer holidays came at last and Miss Vale said good-bye to her
pupils for six weeks.
Charlie Evans had been away with his mother for a month at the seaside.
Now he returned looking as brown as a berry and much stronger in every
way. He came round to the Cottage the first evening after his return
home, and the little girls took him into the orchard, where they had
been trying to erect a kind of tent with an old piece of sacking and
four stout sticks, which wobbled about in the ground at the least
touch. Charlie did not think much of their attempt.
"Why don't you get a man to put the poles in?" he said. "I know a chap
who would do it. The blacksmith's son. He comes once a week to do up
our garden."
"But he would want to be paid," said Charity, anxiously.
"No, he wouldn't. He's very fond of me. I'll ask him as a favour.
What's the tent going to be? A wigwam or a hunting box or a gipsy
encampment?"
"Which do you think would be nicest?" asked Hope.
Charlie cocked his head on one side and considered.
"A hunting box—at least, a tent pitched near an African jungle. If you
get it made tight and taut, I'll come round to-morrow morning with some
of my hunting trophies, and I'll still be Captain, and my wife must
make the tent comfortable and do the cooking, and Bolt and Ben must
come out hunting with me. Will your aunt let me spend the day here, if
I bring some food? You can't hunt unless you have the whole day out."
"Oh, we'll ask her," said Charity excitedly; "but you must get the tent
fixed properly."
"All right," said Charlie, "I'll go and get the man, and you go in and
tell your aunt about it."
He marched off up the village, and Granny and Aunt Alice were besought
by the little girls for leave to spend a whole day out in the orchard
without any interruption.
"And if you could give me something real to cook," said Charity,
following her aunt into the kitchen, "something that I could put into a
pot, and boil over a real fire."
Aunt Alice not only gave them leave to have Charlie for the whole day,
but said she would give them what they wanted for dinner and tea.
"Only mind this," she said, "you must not be running backwards and
forwards to the house all day long. Get what you want in the morning,
and stay out all day, as if you were having a picnic miles off from
home. I shall not expect you in till tea-time, and you must get your
wood for the fire yourselves, not take any of mine from the wood-shed.
And be sure to have your fire out of reach of the apple trees, or you
will be burning them."
The children were delighted.
"It is nice to have Charlie back," said Hope; "he always thinks of such
jolly things."
Charlie was as good as his word. John Lucas, the blacksmith's son,
came along, and soon made the tent firm for the children. He brought a
couple of extra poles and made a splendid framework for a tent. Charity
got hold of some more old sacks, and the little girls worked hard all
that day making their tent as comfortable as they could.
The next morning they could hardly eat any breakfast from excitement.
Aunt Alice gave them a little kettle and an old saucepan, and a few
cracked cups and saucers. Then she made up a basket of food, and
delivered it into Charity's hands.
When they went out into the orchard at nine o'clock, they found Charlie
had already arrived. He had trundled a small wheelbarrow down from his
home, with a lot of his pet possessions. They spent nearly an hour in
adorning their tent. He had an old leopard skin, which was placed on
the ground. Some curious assegais and old bows and arrows he fastened
up inside, and then he showed the little girls about a dozen skins of
different small animals, which he had cured and mounted himself. There
was a badger's skin, a stoat's, a grey rat's, and four or five mole
skins. These he pinned up round the tent with great pride. Then over
the entrance, he fastened up with string a dreadful-looking skull. It
really belonged to an old sheep, but he said:
"This keeps away Indians and bushrangers. It shows I kill my enemies
with the greatest ease."
Then underneath the skull, he put up a big printed paper. The letters
were all painted in red ink.
"Here lives Captain Charles, the Great Hunter and Lion Killer.
Trespassers will be shot without warning."
"What will you shoot them with?" asked Charity.
Charlie produced his fire-arms promptly. He had an air gun, a bow and
arrow, and a toy pistol. The little girls were quite awed.
Then began a very delightful day. Charity was perfectly happy peeling
and boiling some potatoes and onions, and putting a bit of bacon in her
saucepan over a wood fire, just outside the hut. Charlie went across
the fields with Hope and Faith, tracking all kinds of wild animals. The
only thing that spoiled Faith's enjoyment was that he actually shot
a rat with his air gun; and when he pursued it into a corner behind
a haystack, he finished it with a stout stick. Faith fled from him
shuddering, when he held it up to her by its tail.
"You little stupid! It's a—a skunk—an awful smelling animal which needs
to be buried at once, but it is a very good kind of creature to kill."
"Oh, bury it quick!" cried Faith, "Don't let me see the poor thing—it's
cruel to kill anything."
"But I'm a hunter," said Charlie. "Oh, what a shame it is I have only
girls to play with!"
"I'm not like Faith," asserted Hope. "Don't mind her, she's always
fussing over dead things. Aunt Alice lets Spicer catch the mice, and
this is a rat. There's no difference."
Faith tried to hide her horror. She liked the stalking after game, but
she was always glad when the rabbit fled away, and the bird flew off
out of reach of Charlie's gun.
At seven o'clock that evening, Aunt Alice went out to call the little
girls in. She found them all sitting on the ground inside the tent
listening to one of Charlie's stories. The fire was blazing away
merrily outside. They were very loth to leave their play. Aunt Alice
made them put out the fire, and Charlie took a reluctant departure. He
left all his skins with them.
"I'm going to drive with Dad to-morrow, but perhaps I can come round
the next day," he said. And then he went off.
"Oh, Aunt Alice, we have enjoyed ourselves," Charity said. "And our
dinner was delicious. And in the afternoon I joined the hunters and we
went through the woods for miles, and we saw a squirrel and a weasel.
Charlie knows such a lot about the woods, and he knows every bird by
name."
"Well, he can come over another day. As long as you do not get into any
mischief, I don't mind him being with you."
So this was the beginning of many delightful days, and the holidays
slipped by so fast that the little girls were quite sorry to think that
lessons would soon begin again.
One afternoon, Faith was making a frock for one of her dolls. It had
been raining. She was in the schoolroom alone. Charity and Hope were
helping their aunt to make jam in the kitchen. Suddenly the schoolroom
door opened and Hope dashed in.
"Faith, quick, come! There's a boy at the gate wants to see you, and he
has such a beautiful big grey donkey."
Faith ran out of the house down to the gate. Then her face lighted up
in pleased recognition.
"Why, it's Dan," she cried, "the gipsy boy who spilled his milk! How is
your mother, Dan?"
"Dead," he said, meeting Faith's gaze very bravely.
Faith was quite shocked.
"Folks never left us alone," the boy said sadly. "They hustled mother
into Infirmary, and then us heard father were shot dead, and we sold
the van, and mother she said to me:"
"'I'd like that little girl to have Topsy. Take her to her, and tell
her I'm dyin' happy—and don't forget what she telled me.'"
"We sold our horse—but I've tramped close on twenty-five mile with
Topsy—she'll only want a field to feed in. Father used her for a small
cart, but us got rid of that when he went to war, and mother's just
kept Topsy on; her couldn't bear parting with her. She follers like a
dog."
"Oh, Dan, it's a wonderful present!" cried Faith, with shining eyes.
"But I feel I ought to pay for Topsy, and we can't do that because
we're so poor."
"Mother left her to you. She didn't want her sold. She wanted her to
have a good home."
"Oh, wait a minute! I must tell Aunt Alice. It would be too glorious if
she lets me have her."
Faith dashed back to the house, and Aunt Alice came out, and had a long
talk with the boy. He was going to join his uncle, who kept another
van, but who did not want the donkey. And after a long talk Aunt Alice
said that Faith might keep Topsy.
She was taken into the orchard, where she began to munch the grass very
contentedly, and Dan was invited into the cottage. Aunt Alice gave him
a cup of cocoa and some bread and cheese in the kitchen, and thanked
him very much for bringing the donkey to Faith.
As for the little girls, they could hardly contain their joy. They hung
round Topsy watching her every movement, but when Dan took his leave,
Faith walked to the gate with him and wished him good-bye very gravely.
"We'll take the greatest care of Topsy, and if you ever pass this way
again, you'll come and see her, won't you? Are you always going to live
in a gipsy van? How lovely!"
"I just can't live in a stuffy 'ouse," Dan said.
And then he marched away, and Faith ran back to the orchard, thinking
herself the happiest little girl in the whole world.
There was great discussion that evening as to how they should use Topsy.
"I suppose a saddle is very, very expensive?" Faith asked her aunt. "Of
course, we could ride on a sack, couldn't we?"
"Yes, I'm afraid we can't afford a saddle at present," said Aunt Alice
cheerfully. "I don't know that a cheap little cart wouldn't be better
for you all. Then Granny could drive in it."
"Oh, that would be like Charity's story coming true," said Faith, with
great delight.
"Let us all save up our money," suggested Charity.
But Hope and Faith said dolefully, "It would take years and years
before we could get enough."
They had to be content with riding Topsy bare-backed. Hope thought
nothing of jumping on her back and having a gallop. Faith and Charity
went more gently with her—and then one day something wonderful happened.
It was Granny's birthday. The little girls had for some weeks been
busily making their presents for her. Granny told them she always
valued anything that they made her much more than what they bought for
her.
So Charity had been making a big box pincushion out of an old soapbox.
Hope had knitted her a warm pair of cuffs, and Faith had made her a
bag to keep her knitting in, and had worked in big letters across it
"Granny." These were put on the breakfast table in the morning, and
Aunt Alice, who had bought a book, put her present with them.
Granny was always a delightful receiver of gifts. She looked so
astonished, and delighted, and was so full of praise and thanks, that
her grandchildren had the feeling that their presents were really
wonderful, and "just the things Granny was wanting!"
They were all talking and kissing and laughing, when there came a
sharp knock at the door. Aunt Alice went to open it, and found there
the groom from the Hall with a note from Sir George. Whilst Granny was
reading it, the little girls happened to look-out of the window, and
there they saw outside the gate a delightful little basket carriage
with brown cushions and brown wheels. In their excitement, they flew
out of the cottage to inspect it, and in a minute, Granny came down to
the gate with tears in her eyes.
"It's too much!" she murmured. "Too good altogether!"
And then the children were told that it was a birthday present for
Granny from Sir George and Lady Melville. And in the little carriage
was packed a complete set of brown harness. Granny let the children see
her birthday letter:
"MY DEAR OLD FRIEND,
"My wife and I join in giving you loving and heartfelt wishes for
your birthday. I have not forgotten the date, and as I have heard of
the addition of a donkey to your household, I venture to hope that
this little basket tub may be useful to you all. If I see you driving
about our lanes, it will remind me of old times, and I know that your
unselfish heart will rejoice that your birthday gift can be shared by
your little family. May you be spared to us for many years. Mary sends
her best love.
"One of your old boys,
"GEORGE MELVILLE."
The excitement was intense now. Aunt Alice felt glad that they had a
stable in which they could house the little carriage. Of course that
same afternoon Topsy was harnessed, and the children and Granny had a
triumphal drive through the village, Aunt Alice walking after them.
Topsy did not go very fast—but nobody wished her to do so at present.
It was quite enough joy to the children to sit in state and watch
Granny drive.
Faith was perhaps the most happy of all, for was it not her donkey that
was the cause of Granny's wonderful birthday present?
Before many days had passed, all the little girls had learnt to drive,
and Topsy was so reliable and steady that they could be trusted to
drive about the lanes alone. Charity came in after her first time as
driver in a great state of excitement:
"I really must write to Mrs. Cox," she said. "I have been meaning to
do it for ever so long. I must tell her what a splendid time we are
having. She always insisted we should be miserable in the country and
be wishing ourselves back in London."
So she got out her little desk, and wrote the following letter—Hope and
Faith both helped her with it. They had a great desire to impress Mrs.
Cox with their prosperity—
"MY DEAR MRS. COX,
"I told you I would write and tell you how we got on in the country.
We find it a very perfect place. We have a house, and a stable, and
a field, all to ourselves. There is no next door on either side. We
have apples all over our field, and grass as long as we like to let
it grow. We have made a great many new friends who ask us to tea, and
play games with us. One of Faith's friends gave her a beautiful present
of a donkey. She is grey, and she loves bits of bread. We all ride
her when we want to. One of Granny's friends gave her a carriage on
her birthday, so we drive for miles whenever we have time. We have a
governess and lessons, but it is holidays now.
"We have a tent in our field, and we have a boy friend who comes
nearly every day to shoot and to fish with us. We have all kinds of
wild animals near us. Rabbits and owls and squirrels and weasels. And
there are hundreds of birds who all sing at once early in the morning.
We have fields where little strawberries grow wild, and we can pick
them without paying anything. And we never go out for a walk without
seeing somebody we know. We have all kinds of friends, a lady who
paints pictures, a shepherd who keeps a dog to drive his sheep, a boy
who has a raft of his own, a man who plays he is a pirate, an old man
who lies on a couch, and is very fond of Faith, a man who has a house
full of books, and his wife who always smiles when she sees us, and
they both have horses and ponies which Hope likes to ride. And they
have two boys who are very nice, but we like Charlie best.
"And now, Mrs. Cox, you see how happy we are in the country, and we
hope you are well, and if you would ever be able to come and see us we
will be very glad to take you round and show you everything.
"From your affectionate friends,
"CHARITY, HOPE and FAITH."
"It doesn't sound as if we are bragging?" said Hope a little doubtfully
after Charity had read this long letter through with much pride.
"No, for we only tell her what is true," Charity replied.
"I should like you to tell her a little more about Timothy," said
Faith. "Mrs. Cox would be made quite happy if Timothy talked to her."
"Mrs. Cox would never be happy," said Charity firmly; "she's one of
those people who are happy when they're unhappy."
"Let me put a postscript," begged Faith.
Charity assented, and Faith sat down at the table and wrote very
carefully as follows:
"My friend Timothy tells me about God the Comforter Who lives now in
the world going about and drying people's tears. Do you know Him, Mrs.
Cox? He will make the people you tell us about who are sick of life
quite, quite joyful. I wish you knew Timothy. He does talk me into
being happy, and you would be happy too. But the Comforter is in London
and in your street. I told Timothy where you lived and he said He was.
"FAITH."
Charity and Hope looked at each other when they had read what Faith had
written.
Charity shrugged her shoulders.
"Faith will get too good to live soon," she said; "but she's simply
cracked over her old Timothy."
Faith coloured up, but said nothing. She could never argue, and found
it wisest to be silent.
But she was not sorry that she had sent Mrs. Cox that postscript.