This was the name Walter Radlow's father had requested should be given
the gray donkey which he presented to his son on the latter's thirteenth
birthday.
"You see, I was at my wits' end what to buy," he afterward explained;
"for a dozen birthdays, to say nothing of as many Christmases, had about
exhausted my genius for discovering something new, and I was beginning
to think I'd have to start all over again with a rattle, when the idea
of a donkey and cart popped into my head."
So Popsey was the donkey, and the donkey was Walter's, and--such a
donkey! Not one of your meek, spiritless animals, "warranted gentle with
ladies and children," that you must beat to make go, and simply cease
beating to stop.
Ah, no; Popsey, though not wild or vicious, was full of life, which was
just what Walter delighted in; and as Mrs. Radlow had satisfied herself
that the beast was really too small to do any serious damage, she ceased
to worry about his "playfulness."
But it was not long before Popsey became so attached to his young master
that it was thought perfectly safe to allow two-year-old Amy the
privilege of a ride now and then, from which she returned in a very
mixed state of mind as to whether she wanted to tell papa about Popsey,
or Popsey about papa.
One Saturday, about three months after Popsey's advent, Walter's cousins
came over from Wallingville to make him a visit. They were the children
of Mr. Radlow's only brother, and Helen was fourteen, May twelve, and
Jack ten.
They arrived about nine in the morning, to find Walter just recovering
from an attack of rheumatism, and suffering from such a raging toothache
that he could scarcely bear to speak.
"But don't mind me," he said, as they all gathered about him to condole
and bemoan. "When you come from town to the country for the first time
in years, and for such a short stay, too, you mustn't stick in the house
just because a chap can't go round with you to-- Oh!" and poor Walter
suddenly dashed his head down against the hop pillow on the lounge,
while the girls sympathetically exclaimed, "Too bad!" and Jack looked as
if he was afraid it might be "catching."
But in a moment or two Walter bobbed up again to say, "There's the
croquet set and archery, tennis and--Popsey."
"Oh yes; that's the donkey, you know," eagerly interrupted Jack. "And,
oh, Walter, did you say we might drive him?"
"Of course. I guess Helen can manage the fellow. And, by-the-way, you
might take the cart and drive over to the Hillwins'. Fred's got a prime
book about middies I've wanted to read ever since Christmas, and if
you'll borrow it for me, I think it'll make me forget this--" And the
boy expressively ended his sentence by another plunge into the depths of
his hop pillow.
When the plan was first mentioned to her, Mrs. Radlow was inclined to
doubt Helen's ability to deal with Popsey's peculiarities. Though docile
enough with Walter, he might prove troublesome to a stranger.
"But, Aunt Jennie, don't you remember how I drove when we were all up in
the mountains one summer? And, besides, you know you wrote to mamma that
Popsey was so small that you never worried about the children being out
with him."
As this last argument of Helen's could not very well be answered, the
coachman was ordered to harness up.
When the cart was brought to the door, and the three visitors prepared
to crowd themselves into it, a great outcry was made by Amy, who
shouted, "Me too! me too!" so often and so shrilly that, for the sake of
securing quiet in the house for Walter, Mrs. Radlow at last consented to
let her go.
"I'll hold her on my lap just as tight," pleaded May, "and Jack can
stand up behind."
And so it was arranged, and Amy's face, which had been all drawn down
for a good cry, wrinkled up into a laugh instead.
Then Popsey was petted and patted, endearingly addressed as "Good
donkey," and called upon times innumerable to "whoa" when he had not
thought of stirring, after which preliminaries the girls got in, Amy was
handed over to them, and Jack climbed up behind.
"Drive around to the front lawn, so Walter can see you," said Mrs.
Radlow, when all was ready for a start, whereupon Helen chirped to her
steed, and guided him over the grass opposite the second-story window,
at which appeared a black head and white pillow, one of which was nodded
gayly, and the other waved on high, the two to be suddenly clapped
together again in a fashion, that caused Helen to give Popsey a touch of
the whip, and speed off after the "prime book about middies."
[Illustration: "'ISN'T HE JUST TOO CUNNING!'"]
"Oh, isn't he just too cunning!" exclaimed May, as the little donkey
trotted along, with his big load, as steadily as a family horse.
Amy crowed with delight; Helen made a great show of flourishing her whip
(taking good care, however, to keep it out of range of Popsey's long
ears), while Jack pranced about behind in genuine boyish joy. The road
was easy enough to follow, and inside of three-quarters of an hour Helen
drew up before the Hillwins' gate. Their house was the only one within
sight, and just beyond it two or three roads crossed one another in
quite a confusing manner.
"It's lucky we haven't any further to go, Helen," remarked May, as she
noted the latter fact, "for we'd surely become mixed, and-- But I
declare, if Amy isn't fast asleep in my arms! Poor dear, the ride's been
too long for her, I guess. You go in, Helen, and I'll sit perfectly
still so as not to wake her. Don't be long, though."
Jack was already out and standing at Popsey's head, but no sooner had
her elder sister vanished from sight under the long grape arbor that led
to the house, than May suddenly discovered that she was terribly
thirsty.
"Oh, Jack," she cried, "I must go in and get a drink; but I don't want
to wake baby, and make her cross, perhaps; so I'll just put her down
here in the bottom of the cart on the seat cushion. I'll be back in a
minute or two; but mind, keep a tight hold on the donkey, and if Amy
wakes up, talk to her till I come."
Jack answered "All right," May jumped down to hurry off after Helen, and
then there was no sound to break the country stillness but the autumn
wind, as it whirled the dead leaves to the ground, and the rumble of a
train as it rushed along the track down by the river.
As it happened, Fred Hillwin was not at home, or he most certainly would
have come out to inspect Popsey and keep Jack company. As for Fanny, she
was so overjoyed at the unexpected call from her old school friends,
that for about five minutes she could do nothing but give expression to
her delight. Then the book Walter wanted had to be hunted up, all of
which together consumed a good deal of time, the delay seeming
especially prolonged to Jack, who soon grew tired of gazing at the top
of baby's cap between Popsey's ears, and longed for some more exciting
occupation. The donkey stood as if glued to the spot, and Amy slept on
as peacefully as if in her little crib at home.
Suddenly the noon-day quiet was broken in upon by the blast of a horn,
accompanied by the quick trot of horses' feet.
"A circus, perhaps!" exclaimed Jack; but, alas! whatever it was, nothing
could be seen from where he stood, for the sound came from the turnpike
just beyond the cross-roads before mentioned.
"Oh, how I would like to see what it is!" sighed the boy. Then he
quickly measured with his eye the distance he would have to run, saw
that Popsey seemed perfectly stationary, and with a sudden impulse
dashed off to the corner, arriving just in time to behold a four-in-hand
coach rush by like the wind.
It had scarcely passed him, however, when it stopped with an abruptness
that threatened to pitch the passengers on ahead of it.
"What can be the matter?" thought Jack, and with all a boy's curiosity
he ran on down the road to find out.
It seemed that one of the "leaders" had stumbled and fallen, and
consequently been stepped on by the "wheelers," which resulted in such
an entanglement of horses and harness as Jack had never seen before.
With wide-open eyes he looked on at the efforts of the gentlemen to
straighten things out, and was about to ask if he could help them, when
suddenly, with a cry of "Oh, Popsey--and the baby!" he tore back to the
Hillwins' gate, and found the donkey-cart--gone.
With a terrible fear in his heart, the thoughtless boy gave one
despairing look around him, and then started off on a run, in the
direction in which Popsey had been headed, after a black speck just
visible in the distance.
Two minutes later Helen and May came hurrying down the long walk through
the garden, provoked with themselves at having staid so long.
"I do hope Amy hasn't waked up," said May; "but I told Jack in case she
should-- Why, where are they?"
"Perhaps Jack's driven down the road a little," suggested Helen.
But a hurried glance in both directions soon convinced the girls that
the donkey-cart was nowhere near, and they were both beginning to feel a
dread of they knew not what, when all at once May exclaimed, "Oh, Helen,
look! here comes Jack now, and _without Popsey_!"
In great excitement the sisters ran to meet him, and imagine their
horror when, with a voice all broken with sobs, he cried: "Oh! oh! it
was only a--a peddler's wagon, and I ran nearly a mile to catch it,
and--and now I don't know where to look, because Popsey's run off with
the baby!"
Terrified beyond description at the thought of the danger that
threatened their aunt's pet, who had been so reluctantly committed to
their charge, the girls commanded Jack to tell them instantly just how
it had all happened, which he did with teeth-chattering from fright,
and repeated assertions that he had believed Popsey was asleep.
"But didn't I tell you not to stir?--and oh, Helen, it's partly my fault
too, for if I hadn't been so foolish as to leave Amy, she--" Here May
broke down completely, and leaving her and Jack in tears together, Helen
flew back to the house, and soon returned with Mrs. Hillwin, Fanny, the
maid, and the cook. Then she pointed out the three roads it was possible
the donkey had taken, and burst out crying herself.
"An' shure, miss, don't give way so," said the cook, cheeringly, "but
jist take yer stand at the cross-roads beyant, an' ask ivery person that
comes along--an' precious few do it be in this wild region, bad luck to
it!--ef they're afther seein' a donkey runnin' off wid a baby."
This sensible suggestion was at once acted upon, and while the rest all
hurried off in the direction of a turnip-field, which the maid declared
Popsey must have sniffed, Helen stood at the junction of the three roads
until a pleasant-faced old gentleman in a buggy approached her.
"Oh, sir," she cried, rushing up dangerously close to the wheels, "did
you meet a runaway donkey-cart?"
"No, not I," was the answer; and the gentleman repressed a smile, but
suddenly grew quite grave as he drew rein and asked if the donkey's name
was Popsey.
"Oh, yes, yes," exclaimed Helen. "And have you seen him?"
"No, but I am going to see his owner now, and if you will get in, I will
take you along with me. I am the family doctor, and am quite well
acquainted with Popsey."
Hardly knowing what she did, but feeling that any sort of motion or
action was better than waiting in suspense, Helen accepted the
invitation, and began at once to pour forth her tale of grief to the
kindly old physician, upon hearing which he whipped up his horse, saying
that he was sure no harm had come to Amy.
Then Helen suddenly recollected how she had deserted her post, and was
filled with a foreboding lest some one should pass the cross-roads who
might know something about the donkey-cart, and there would be no one
there to question him.
"Here comes Mr. Radlow's coachman now," exclaimed the doctor, when they
had nearly reached their destination, "and driving at a furious rate. I
warrant it's turned out just as I expected;" and with the words he
signaled to the man to stop.
"Yes, yes, exactly as I imagined," said the physician, when the coachman
had hurriedly and excitedly explained that Popsey had come trotting back
to the stable with the lines about his heels, and baby Amy crowing
joyously in the bottom of the cart, and that in consequence Mrs. Radlow
was in a great state of fright concerning the fate of the cousins.
"Well, I'll soon relieve her fears on that score; and do you, Dennis,
drive on toward the cross-roads with your carriage as fast as ever you
can, and bring the other two children back."
As for Helen, she had not yet recovered from her joyful surprise.
"To think," she exclaimed, "that that donkey should have turned
deliberately around and walked off home, nearly four miles, without
upsetting anything, while we were looking for him in every other
direction! There certainly never was such a dear little animal. But that
doesn't excuse Jack's thoughtlessness, and I'm going to give Aunt Jennie
leave to punish him _very severely_."
However, when the case was laid before the doctor, he declared that as
the fault lay really with so many persons, and that as the three cousins
had suffered sufficiently already from anxiety and suspense, the blame
should be changed to praise, and that given to Popsey, who had displayed
a disposition to execute the errand upon which he had been sent as
speedily as possible.
[Illustration: WHAT HAPPENED WHEN DINAH WENT OUT AND LEFT TOPSY ALL
ALONE.]
[Illustration]
Good-morning, little bird;
I wish you'd sing for me;
You look as if 'twere fun to live
Out-doors so wild and free.
I've brought Matilda Jane
Because she needs the air;
She is a very pretty child,
With lovely curling hair.
How many little birds
Are flying round to-day!
Now surely you will stay with me
When I've come here to play?
Oh, you have children three,
And they, perhaps, have stirred;
Well, if they need you, hurry home.
Good-morning, little bird.