The Project Gutenberg eBook of Another year with Denise and Ned Toodles
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: Another year with Denise and Ned Toodles
Author: Gabrielle E. Jackson
Release date: September 3, 2025 [eBook #76807]
Language: English
Original publication: Philadelphia, PA: Henry Altemus Company, 1904
Credits: Carla Foust and The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANOTHER YEAR WITH DENISE AND NED TOODLES ***
ANOTHER YEAR WITH
DENISE AND NED TOODLES
[Illustration:
_Frontispiece--Denise._
“DENISE RAISED HER HEAD AND LISTENED FOR THE SECOND CALL.”
_See page 15_
]
ANOTHER YEAR
WITH
Denise and Ned Toodles
BY
GABRIELLE E. JACKSON
_With Illustrations_
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
CAPS AND CAPERS
DOUGHNUTS AND DIPLOMAS
$1.00 each
A BLUE GRASS BEAUTY
Fifty cents
Copyright, 1904, by Henry Altemus
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I PAGE
WHAT THE WOOD-THRUSH TOLD 13
CHAPTER II
“MABIE LILLY TAINTIT” 23
CHAPTER III
AN OLD FRIEND AND A NEW ONE 35
CHAPTER IV
HART 48
CHAPTER V
KING ROYAL DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF 61
CHAPTER VI
THE SUNSET HOUR 71
CHAPTER VII
“OH, WE’LL SAIL THE OCEAN BLUE!” 85
CHAPTER VIII
POKEY AND A CIRCUS 99
CHAPTER IX
THE EARTH OPENS AND POKEY IS SWALLOWED UP 113
CHAPTER X
TROUBLES NEVER COME SINGLY 124
CHAPTER XI
A TIMELY RESCUE 136
CHAPTER XII
JOY TURNS POKEY DAFT 150
CHAPTER XIII
MISCHIEF 160
CHAPTER XIV
AUNT MIRANDA COMES TO TOWN 174
CHAPTER XV
AUNT MIRANDA AND NED HAVE A LITTLE ALTERCATION 187
CHAPTER XVI
AUNT MIRANDA INTERVIEWS NERO’S OWNER 200
CHAPTER XVII
NED DISGRACES HIMSELF, BUT MAKES AMENDS 214
CHAPTER XVIII
A BIRTHDAY FROLIC AND WHAT CAME OF IT 227
CHAPTER XIX
DENISE TO THE RESCUE 240
CHAPTER XX
A COASTING EPISODE 254
CHAPTER XXI
ANOTHER CHRISTMAS DAY DRAWS NEAR 269
CHAPTER XXII
CHRISTMAS FOR ALL THE PETS 280
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
“Denise raised her head and listened for the second call”
_Frontispiece_
“‘Why not call it the _River Kelpie_?’” Facing p. 94
“The man bent down to avoid the branches” “ 150
“They had many things to talk over” “ 230
WHAT THE WOOD-THRUSH TOLD
ANOTHER YEAR WITH DENISE AND NED TOODLES
CHAPTER I
WHAT THE WOOD-THRUSH TOLD
Denise sat all alone in her phaeton, her elbows resting upon her knees,
and her chin propped upon her hands. The soft brown curls fell all
about her face, and the brown eyes, which matched the curls in color,
looked dreamily off toward the glassy river. The linen carriage-robe
had slipped from her knees and one end trailed out upon the fresh green
grass upon which the phaeton stood, for she had driven out of the main
road into a little by-way leading up the mountain, her favorite spot
for a “good quiet think,” and she and Ned Toodles were reveling in the
beauty of that early spring day. The atmosphere was so balmy, so filled
with the thousand promises of spring, the sun so warm and comforting,
without the oppressive heat that would come later in the season, and
all nature so entrancing in the exquisitely soft green of her new
spring attire, that it was no wonder that the sensitive, imaginative
child of eleven should be transported into a fairy-like reverie, or
the little pony, which had now been her constant companion for more
than eighteen months, should, so far as an animal can sympathize with
a human being’s moods, enter into sympathy with Denise’s. He stood
perfectly still, his head turned slightly toward the river upon which
Denise’s eyes rested, his head slightly drooping, and the usually
wide-awake eyes partly closed, as though he, too, had nearly slipped
away into the land of dreams. One ear, however, was turned backward
toward the occupant of the phaeton, as though he had placed an anchor
in the land of reality in which his beloved little mistress dwelt most
of the time.
To the right of the phaeton stretched the great woodland, with its
silence, broken only by the wind whispering through the trees, and its
bird-calls. It was a dreamy, beautiful world which Denise and her pet
were dwelling in just there and then, and a fitting surrounding for
a child whose life had been filled with sunshine, and whose nature
reflected it, as well as for the little pony, who ever since he had
become hers, eighteen months before, had not known the meaning of a
harsh word or unkindness.
Presently from out the woodland came the incomparable call of the
wood-thrush, rising from its soft, tender note to the clear joyous call
which told to all the world that life was, oh, so sweet! Denise raised
her head from her hands and listened for the second call which she
knew would follow. It came, and this time a little nearer, as though
the bird were searching the woods for its mate. Then back went the
answering call, but not from the bird’s mate. Raising her head, Denise
puckered up the soft red lips, and clear and sweet from between them
came the
[Music]
Then she listened for the answer. It came, and so did the bird, peering
cautiously from a leafy covert, flying nearer and nearer the still
figures at the roadside, hopping questioningly from bough to bough, as
though asking, “Where is she?”
Denise smiled, but made no sound, and the little bird, deciding that
those odd-looking creatures so near by were harmless, opened his tiny
beak, and clear and sweet at her very side gave his entrancing call
again.
The moment it ceased Denise repeated hers, and for a few moments a very
bewildered little bird flitted about the phaeton, calling and hearing
the answering call without seeing the lady bird whom he felt sure must
be near at hand. It was altogether too tantalizing, and the mystery
must be solved if possible, so, gathering courage from his intense
curiosity, down he flew from his leafy branch and alighted upon the
wheel of the phaeton, to give a still louder and more peremptory call.
It was of no use, for even though his lady-love politely answered from
between Denise’s lips, she refused to appear, and with an indignant
flourish of his brown tail, off flew her suitor to seek a lady-love
less disdainful.
As he disappeared into the wood a merry laugh rippled after him, which
must have caused a surprised flutter from his wings, and, giving one
bound, Denise sprang over the wheels and landed upon the grass beside
Ned. The move was a sudden one, but Ned was used to moves of all sorts,
so, giving a soft little whinny of welcome, he aroused himself from his
dreams, took a step or two nearer, and poked his head under Denise’s
arm. She dropped upon the soft grass, saying:--
“Ned Toodles, it’s springtime, springtime, springtime! I am so glad,
aren’t you?” And cuddling both arms about the warm head which was
thrust into her lap as she sat there, she buried her face in the silky
forelock and “snuggled” as hard as she could. Ned responded by a
succession of subdued whinnies, as though saying, “More delighted than
I can express, for spring means green grass, long walks with you, and
no bother with blankets!”
“Now, Ned, listen,” continued Denise, for these conversations were by
no means uncommon; they were held daily. “Spring means warm weather,
warm weather means vacation, vacation means Pokey! What do you think
of that? Vacation doesn’t mean much to us, does it? It’s a sort of
vacation all the time with Miss Meredith, for she seems to know just
when I have done enough, and doing any more would make my brain all
sort of muddled up, and it’s just fun to study with some one who
makes you see every solitary thing you learn, till you couldn’t _help_
knowing it unless you were as stupid as--as, well that funny person who
called upon mamma the other day and who said to me, ‘So this is the
examplry child I have heard so much about. Dear me, I think I shall
have to ask your mamma to let you come and visit my children for a
while; they are simply irrepressible, and perhaps your shining example
will serve as a beacon to their benighted minds.’”
“Ned, it was just awful! Really, it was! That funny woman was so very
much dressed up, and was so very, very polite, but she used such queer
words. I did not dare look at mamma for fear I should laugh, and then
what would she have thought of this ‘examplry’ child I am sure I
don’t know. Mamma said, ‘We do not consider Denise a model child by
any means, Mrs. Smithers; she is no more than any child may be if the
parents will take the trouble to study their children’s characters and
learn the wisest manner of government. “One man’s meat is another man’s
poison,” you know, and I think the rule will apply to children pretty
well, too, don’t you?’ And then mamma smiled that odd little smile of
hers that just means _so_ much. You sort of _feel_ its meaning way down
inside you, and even if you could not _tell_ in words just what she
means you know it all the same. Then she said to me, ‘Mrs. Smithers
will excuse you now, Sweetheart,’ and gave me the little love-nod which
means, ‘I see you don’t understand what it is all about, but we will
talk it over together when twilight comes and we have our cuddle in the
big armchair in the library.’ Ned Toodles, that armchair is just the
very nicest place in the whole wide world, do you know that?”
Ned evidently agreed perfectly, for he answered, “Hoo-hoo-hoo!” and
Denise continued:--
“But, oh, dear, I’m just miles away from where I started! What was
I telling you? Oh, yes, I remember. Vacation and Pokey. You see, Ned
Toodles, Pokey is smart, very smart, indeed, and some day she is going
to be famous, because she told me so. She is going to study hard and
get to be a teacher, and buy a dear little house and furnish it all
just as pretty as can be, and have her mother live with her and never
wish for a single thing that she cannot give to her right off! Isn’t
that just splendid? But to do that she must study hard while she is a
little girl, and that is what she is doing now, oh, _so_ hard! And she
gets all tired out and fidgety, and sort of criss-cross, because she
doesn’t know what ails her, but mamma says it is because the brain is
trying to grow too fast for the body, and Pokey can’t keep up to it, so
just as soon as vacation comes Pokey will come out here, and--_then_!”
This thought was too tremendous to be dealt with in a sitting position,
and, springing up, Denise cried:--
“Let’s go home just as fast as ever we can, Ned, for I’ve a sort of
feeling that something fine is going to happen,” and she scrambled into
the phaeton, and was soon spinning down the road toward home--the very
road down which she and her beloved Pokey had scurried the previous
summer in their vain attempt to escape from Colonel Franklin when
their taffy candy had led them into disgrace. Her thoughts were still
busy with her little friend as she hurried along, but she could not
look into the future to see that friend’s dream a reality beyond her
most sanguine hopes nor behold her grown to dignified womanhood and
presiding as superintendent of one of the largest schools in the city
which had always been her home.
CHAPTER II
“MABIE LILLY TAINTIT”
Ned Toodles trotted along the road that beautiful afternoon, and
Denise’s joyous mood found a vent in a charming little song which kept
time with Ned’s footfalls and to which he occasionally gave a sort of
staccato accent, by breaking into a frisky jump. “Sing-Song Polly” rang
out over the fields, the song growing gayer and wilder at every bar,
till suddenly a second voice took up the theme in a long-drawn, doleful
wail, that brought Denise’s warble to an abrupt ending. Ned heard
it, too, and gave a little start to one side, for the wail seemed to
proceed from the very ground beneath them, and was decidedly uncanny.
Denise drew rein quickly, and stopped to listen for further signs of
distress. They came very promptly, and a second later she was stooping
over a forlorn figure which the low bushes at the roadside nearly
concealed.
A little ditch divided the adjacent fields from the road, and at this
season of the year the ditch was very apt to be filled with water and
inhabited by a flourishing family of tadpoles. Seated upon the ground
at the further side of the ditch, her feet firmly embedded in its mud,
from which she was vainly striving to withdraw them, was a small child,
probably six years of age. She wore a little pink and white checked
gingham, which was splashed with mud from top to bottom; her hands were
the color of a little darky’s, and her hair, which perhaps had not been
in perfect order upon setting out, was now a hopeless snarl and firmly
caught in the overhanging branches of the bushes at her back.
Altogether she was in a sorry plight, for she was held fast by head
and feet, and, unless some good Samaritan appeared upon the scene
to release her, in a fair way to remain a prisoner for some time to
come. But she certainly had no intention of submitting meekly to the
predicament in which she found herself, if lusty shouts and yells could
compass her release.
“My good gracious!” exclaimed Denise, “how in this world did you ever
get in there, and stuck tight fast in the mud?”
“I wanted the littule fat fises! I wanted the littule fat fises! I want
to get out! I want to get out!” screamed the child, tugging with might
and main to free her feet, and thereby only adding to the trouble above.
“Wait a minute! Wait a minute!” cried Denise. “I must get your hair
free before you can move.” But the youngster was beyond all reasoning
with, and, turning to Denise, shrieked at the top of her lungs: “Take
that old tree away! Take it away, I say!”
“Why don’t you ask me to take the whole woods away, you little goose!”
exclaimed Denise with some asperity. “I _can’t_ take the tree away,
and if you don’t keep still long enough to let me loosen your hair
from the branches, I shall never in the world get you free. Be still!”
and she gave the screaming youngster a little shake. It was not much
of a shake, but it had the desired effect, and was doubtless the
sort of persuasion to which she was accustomed. As a rule Denise was
wonderfully gentle with little folk, but here was a situation which
needed prompt action, and this small imp seemed determined to frustrate
every move she made to help her.
Denise began to unwind the tangled hair, and was just upon the point of
releasing the whole mop, when, “Oh! Oh! Ohuu! They’re all tummin’ after
me! Oh-h! Ou-u! Ou-u!” and up bounced the youngster, as four or five
tadpoles, emboldened by the silence which had prevailed while Denise
was absorbed in her task, came swimming toward her, only to vanish
at the howl which greeted them. In a twinkling Denise’s labors were
undone. Up bobbed the head into the branches, only to be jerked back
again by the imprisoned feet, and the hair, caught more firmly than
ever, drew down with it a slender branch which gave a stinging lash
across the child’s face.
If she had howled before, she outdid herself now when the pain added
to her miseries, and Denise was literally at her wit’s end. To ever
untangle that hair now was out of the question, and what in the world
was to be done? Every moment was adding to the mischief, and the
child was becoming nearly frantic. Stepping to one side, Denise drew
from her pocket the little knife she always carried, and, opening
the largest blade, stepped carefully back to the struggling child.
Watching her chance, she grasped her firmly with one arm, and, despite
her struggles, held her fast while she cut the hair from the bush.
Once that end was freed, she flung the knife out into the road, and
set about pulling the other end from the mud. The first jerk produced
no effect, but the second resulted in a prolonged “s-k-e-r-S-w-A-P,”
and up flew one foot without a shoe, the other foot with so much mud
upon it that it looked like nothing in this world but a lump of wet
peat, while heels-over-head went Denise and her charge into the bushes
behind them. Denise was too frightened to care whether she was hurt or
not, but, scrambling to her feet, turned to see what had befallen Miss
Pink-Gingham. The howl had been scared out of her, and she was making
for the road as fast as her legs would carry her. Once upon _terra
firma_ she stood still to wait for her rescuer, sobbing meanwhile in a
subdued sort of fashion.
By this time it may easily be imagined what sort of condition Denise
was in, but, feeling that it could not possibly be any worse, she
clawed down into the mud till she found the missing shoe and drew it
out in triumph. As upon one other memorable occasion, the linen duster
now served as a towel, and a moment later Denise had scoured off her
hands and was turning her attention to the little blackamoor in the
road. At sight of the forlorn little figure Denise’s heart melted, but
to offer condolence, excepting in the form of words, until some of
mother earth had been removed, was obviously impossible. So she rubbed
and scraped as she poured forth words of consolation, and ere long had
the child as much restored to her normal color as was possible and
seated beside her in the phaeton. Then came the question of where to
take her, for, although pretty well acquainted with every one in that
town, this face was a strange one, and where its owner belonged she did
not know.
“Now tell me your name and where you live,” said Denise, soothingly,
but, as though the mention of home recalled her recent harrowing
experiences, the child began to sob again, and Denise was in despair.
“Oh, please stop crying, and tell me where to take you. See. I will
drive you in the carriage wherever you tell me, and Ned Toodles will
go ever so fast if you will only let him know where _to_ go.”
“Mabie Lilly--oh!--Taint! Taint--it!” sobbed the child.
“Maybe Lilly--what? Isn’t Lilly your name? Then what is it?” pleaded
Denise.
“Oh, Taint-it! Taint-it!” was all she could hear.
“_What_ isn’t it? Lilly? Isn’t Lilly your name?” demanded Denise,
inwardly thinking that no name could have been a greater misnomer under
existing conditions.
“Yes; yes, Mabie Lilly--boo, hoo. Taint-it! Taint-it!”
“Oh, _dear_ me, what _shall_ I do with her,” wailed Denise, then,
thinking to find out the child’s address if she could not learn her
name, she asked, “Where do you live?” Tell me that, and I’ll take you
straight there.
“In Noo York! In Noo York!” was the climax of a reply.
“Oh, I’ll take you there by the very next train, of course,” cried
Denise; “or, perhaps, I’d better turn around and drive there to save
time. Where in the world _does_ she belong, I wonder. I’ve never seen
her before, but I suppose I might sit here till to-morrow and never
find out from her. Go on, Ned, and we’ll see what we can find out from
the first person we meet,” for pity, combined with despair of learning
who the child was, was a sore tax upon nerves and patience, and,
gathering up her reins, she started for the town, the youngster beside
her keeping up an incessant sob of “Taint-it; Taint it! Oh, Ma-bie
Lilly; Ma-bie Lilly--Taint-it! Taint-it!”
Ned spun along over the road, till at last they came to the section
of the town dotted all along the roadside with pretty homes. They
were about a quarter of a mile from Denise’s when she spied a man
hurrying toward them, gesticulating, and evidently holding an animated
conversation with _himself_. Denise could not help laughing at the
figure he cut, for wrath, strong and potent, was written in every
gesture. Just at that moment the child saw him also, and, jumping up
in the carriage, cried at the top of her lungs: “Oh, Michael! Michael!
Here I is! Here I is!” By this time they were nearly up to him, and,
stopping short in the road, the man froze to his last gesture and
stared at them open-mouthed. Then, shaking his fist at the youngster,
he came a step nearer, saying:
“An’ is it yersilf I see a-sittin’ up there in yer illigince, an’ me
runnin’ me legs arf me ter search the town fer ye, ye schmall bit av a
divil, that has run away twinty times within the past tin days! Faith
I’ve a mind ter shake the head arf ye fer the thrubble ye’ve put upon
me! An’ yer mither a-screechin’ an’ a-screamin’ that ye’re drownded
entirely in the river beyant, an’ fer gettin’ out half the town ter
search it fer ye! Arrah, now! Come out av that, an’ let me--Ah! what
shall I do wid ye at all, I dunno!” and, reaching over the wheel, the
irate Irishman lifted the child out with not the gentlest hand, she
protesting and screaming that she wanted to “wide home with the nice
young lady dat fised her out of the brook.”
“An’ will ye look at the young lady, ye young limb o’ Satan! See the
sthate ye’ve been after puttin’ hersilf an’ her kerrege in! Ah! Miss
Denise, an’ it’s a shame, so it is, the dhirt that’s from hid ter ind
av yer little wagon.”
“Never mind the mud, Michael. I don’t care about that, for John will
soon brush it all out. But who on earth is that child? I thought I knew
everybody in Springdale, but I have never seen her before. I thought I
should never get her home, because I could not get her to say a single
thing when I asked her name, but that maybe it was Lilly, and then she
always added, oh, taint it, taint it, till I knew less than before she
began to tell it.”
Over Michael’s broad face a smile began to spread itself, till it
well-nigh reached from ear to ear, and then, becoming aware of his
rudeness, he put his hand over his mouth to suppress the guffaw that
_would_ come.
“Oh! Oho! Oho!” cried Michael, spasmodically, his face puckered up as
though he were going to sneeze. “Is that what she towld ye? Will I iver
hear the bate o’ that! Faith, tis no wonder ye couldn’t make head or
tail av it. Shure, she is master’s sister’s choild what is a-visitin’
him fer the last tin days, an’ runnin’ arf iviry blessed one av those
tin, wid me chasin’ after her till me legs is worn out. ’Tis Taintit
her name is, Mabel Lilly Taintit. Her mother is Mr. Wilson’s sister.”
“Well, it is no wonder I didn’t understand,” cried Denise, as she
joined in the laugh, and then turned Ned’s head toward home, as Michael
lifted up his charge and turned toward theirs, asserting as he departed
that “afther this it’s tied up ye’ll be fer sertain.”
CHAPTER III
AN OLD FRIEND AND A NEW ONE
It was the twentieth of April! Tan’s birthday! At least, Denise
considered it his birthday, for upon that date, when she was a wee
lassie of four, Tan had been given to her, although he certainly had
not come into the world upon the same day, for Tan was “no kid” when
she got him. That he was more than seven and one-half years she knew,
and a friend of her father’s who was well up in animal lore, said that
Tan was not far from fourteen years of age, to judge from the rings
upon his horns, which were almost as distinct as those seen upon the
Rocky Mountain sheep which Tan resembled both in size and color. So Tan
was growing old for a goat, and during the past winter had suffered
somewhat from rheumatism. The Veterinary who came to see him did all
that he could to afford him relief, but said that Tan would probably
not live through another winter. Denise had been greatly troubled at
this, but, like all “mothers,” only loved old Tan more dearly in his
affliction, and cared for him more tenderly. But as spring drew near
Tan improved steadily, and when the warm days came and he could go out
in his field to crop the fresh, sweet grass, it seemed just the tonic
he required, and he grew quite gay and frisky. He still followed Denise
whenever he could do so, but in some of their long rambles, or after a
particularly hard climb, often grew tired and stopped stock-still in
the road to pant.
Ned, Sailor, and Beauty Buttons were not able to understand, although
Sailor, himself, was not very young.
Directly lessons were ended and luncheon eaten, Denise flew out to the
“Bird’s Nest,” for the pretty little playhouse and stable for her pets
combined was still as dear to her as upon the day she had received
the key to it from papa’s hand, and most of her time was spent in it.
Running into the part which held the carriages for Ned and Tan, she
took down Tan’s harness, which had not been put on him for many a long
day, wheeled out the little carriage, and then went to the door to
whistle for Tan. Ned Toodles stood in his day-stall, which permitted
him to see through the bars all that was taking place, and looked upon
the unusual preparations with a sort of “Well, I wonder what you are up
to now?” look. He stood perfectly still except for an occasional whisk
of his tail, very much as a person might, without really being aware of
it, hastily brush away a stray lock of hair which tickled him.
Out upon the grass in front of the “Bird’s Nest,” Denise rolled the
little old-fashioned carriage, and then turned to greet Tan, who, at
the first sight of these familiar objects, felt his poor old bones
filled with new life, and his loving old heart beat for joy, for
these meant that he was again to draw the little carriage and, as he
supposed, his beloved little mistress. With a prolonged baa-aa-a-a--a,
he came trotting toward her as fast as the stiff legs permitted, and
rubbed his head against her sleeve by way of telling her how pleased he
was.
“Now, Tanny-boy,” said Denise, “this is your birthday. At least,
_I_ call it your birthday, because you came to live with me on the
twentieth of April just seven years ago. Haven’t we had good times all
these years? You haven’t been harnessed for ever so long, and I don’t
know whether you ought to be now, to tell the truth, for you don’t seem
very strong, but I am not going to take you out of the grounds, and
this is to make you feel that you _aren’t_ so very old after all,” and
Denise stroked the faithful old pet, who responded in every way he knew
how; licking her hands, rubbing against her, and making a soft little
snuffling sound.
It was only a moment’s work to her practiced hands to adjust the
harness, and Tan was a proud goat as he waited for her to get into
the carriage. But she had no intention of doing so. Such a load as
her plump little self was not to be thought of, so, bidding him stand
perfectly still, she ran back into the playhouse and a moment later
reappeared with a little pink flannelette blanket, bound all around the
edges with black braid, and a piece of broad pink ribbon.
“Here, Beauty Buttons,” she called to the tiny black-and-tan terrier
which was enjoying a sun-bath in the playhouse dining-room, “come
and ride in Tan’s wagon, for I’m too heavy,” and down trotted the
small dog, to be dressed in the blanket she had made for this festive
occasion and adorned with the bow to match. He knew well enough what
was expected, and hopped into the carriage. Denise put the reins over
his neck and there he sat, a brave little groom, while Denise went up
to Tan’s head and took hold of the bridle. Poor old Tan! All aches and
pains were forgotten, and he stepped off in his bravest style.
“Now we will go over there under the apple-trees, and I’ll dress you
all up,” said Denise, and off they went, and presently were standing
beneath the blossom-laden trees, so filled with their beautiful bloom
that they looked exactly like huge bouquets. The boughs hung low, and
before long Tan had nearly disappeared under his decorations, for
sprigs of apple-blossoms were stuck in every part of the harness that
they could be stuck in, the carriage and Beauty also coming in for
their share. When all was finished Denise led Tan to the rear porch
and gave a “bob-white” call. It was almost instantly answered by a
bob-white from within, and her mother’s face appeared at an upper
window.
“What is this, Sweetheart? A flower fête?” asked Mrs. Lombard, smiling
at the posy bank under her window.
“Isn’t it pretty,” cried Denise, “and did you ever see such lovely
blossoms. Tan seems so much better, and I guess he will be all right
now that warm weather has come again, don’t you?”
“I would not wonder a bit,” was the comforting reply, for somehow this
mother rarely made any other sort, and had a knack of putting the
simplest things in a new and happy light.
“Have you got a letter?” asked Denise, noticing that her mother held an
envelope in her hand.
“Yes, dear; it is a letter from Mrs. Murray, saying that they will be
back in their old home this week, and that we may expect to see the
house open any day. I am so pleased to hear such good news, for it has
seemed very lonely to have our nearest neighbor’s house shut up all
these years. I wonder if you can remember the children at all? The
eldest was only six months your senior, and a dear little lad.”
“I am afraid I can’t,” said Denise, wagging her head solemnly, as
though she were found wanting in something.
“Well, keep your weather eye open,” said Mrs. Lombard, laughing, “and
when you see some one whom you don’t know, just say to yourself, ‘that
is an old friend.’”
“I will,” answered Denise, joining in the laugh, and turning to lead
Tan and her passenger back under the trees. The apple-trees grew near
to the fence which divided Mr. Lombard’s property from his neighbor’s,
and that particular corner of the grounds was always a favorite one
of Denise’s. Up in one tree was her “cubby,” beneath two others swung
her hammock, and upon the velvety grass beneath them she spent many a
happy hour reading, while Ned Toodles, Tan, Sailor, Beauty Buttons,
and the kittens stood, sat, or stretched themselves about her. A hedge
of currant-bushes grew along the fence, concealing all that took place
within or beyond.
Denise had led Tan to a particularly inviting spot and took him
from the shafts, although she did not remove the harness and its
decorations. Beauty had hopped out of the carriage, and was now
sprawled out like a big frog. Seating herself in one of the rustic
benches beneath the trees, she drew Tan toward her and began to scratch
the little spot between his horns; a spot which seemed to be in a
perpetual state of itching, as his head would fall lower and lower the
longer she scratched there. As she rubbed she talked to Tan, rambling
on in the odd way she had of sharing all her thoughts with her pets,
safe confidants, who never betrayed her secrets, and who loved the
voice for the voice’s sake. Presently a loud, impatient whinney caused
her to look over toward the playhouse.
“Do you hear that?” she demanded. “I do believe that Ned is jealous for
the first time in his life,” and she answered the whinney by giving a
peculiar piping whistle.
A stamping and a clatter was the result, and presently John’s voice
was heard shouting: “Hi! you young scamp! Don’t you dare thry that
thrick on me agin. It’s takin’ out yer own bar fastenings ye’ll be, is
it? Don’t ye dare! There,” as the sound of dropping bars told that Ned
was free, “gt-t-t out beyant to Miss Denise, and cut no more capers,”
and with a rattle and clatter out rushed Ned to come tearing over the
grass toward Denise. His abrupt exit so startled the kittens, who were
basking in the sunshine just outside the door, that they bounced up
like two rubber balls and tore along ahead of him with both tails stuck
straight up in the air like bottle-brushes, and did not stop their
flight until they were safe in the branches above Denise’s head.
As though to rebuke such unseemly haste, Sailor rose majestically from
his favorite corner of the piazza, and, descending the steps, came
slowly across the lawn, waving his plumy tail like a flag of truce and
looking with dignified contempt upon such mad antics as Ned was just
then giving way to, for having been confined in his stall all the
morning while Denise was occupied with her lessons, and then having had
insult added to injury by receiving from her only a few words when she
ran out to get Tan, his outraged spirit had to find some sort of vent,
and this up-end, down-end, tip-end, top-end sort of performance with
which he was now favoring his audience was evidently the proper sort of
demonstration under the circumstances, and for a little time it would
have been hard to tell which end of him rested upon _terra firma_. As a
fitting ending to his performance, he rushed around and around two or
three times, evidently regarding Denise’s laughter which pealed out as
wild applause, and then, coming toward her with a rush, bumped against
old Tan and nearly upset him, as he pushed him aside to put _his_ saucy
nose where Tan’s had been.
It was all done so quickly that Denise hardly realized what had
happened till she was startled by a hearty, boyish laugh from the
other side of the hedge, and, turning quickly, saw a lad of about
twelve looking over it and laughing as hard as he could. Giving Ned a
shake by his little silky ears, Denise pushed him from her and hopped
up from the bench, saying: “Isn’t he the craziest thing you ever saw?
I guess you are the person I am to see and not know a bit, but to call
an old friend,” and with this bewildering announcement she went over to
the fence to speak to the still amused boy.
Hastily reaching in the pocket of his immaculate little overcoat, the
boy drew from it a small card-case, and, taking from it a card, handed
it to Denise with a truly Chesterfieldian air as he raised his cap and
waited for her to read the name.
Although a carefully-bred child, Denise had not had much experience
in conventionalities, and did not go about with a card-case in her
pocket. So it never occurred to her to throw any formality into her
reply, and her next words banished forever any misgivings the boy
was entertaining of the outcome of this act. “Will she be stiff and
prim?” had been his inward doubt while coming back to the home so long
untenanted by his parents, and learning that their next-door neighbor
had an only daughter blessed with more good things than usually falls
to the lot of one child. He had been at school abroad, and “manners
polite” had been as breakfast, dinner, and supper to him for three long
years, till very little of the genuine boy appeared upon the surface,
however much it seethed and bubbled beneath. True to his training, the
card had been produced when occasion called for it, but the sigh of
relief which came at Denise’s next words told that a mighty burden had
been lifted from his boyish soul:
“Oh, how perfectly splendid! You are Hart Murray, mamma’s old friend’s
son. Come straight over the fence and let me show you all my pets, and
we’ll talk, talk, talk, till we can’t think of another word to say!”
CHAPTER IV
HART
No second invitation was needed, and with one of the marvelous
“neck-or-nothing” bounds which only boys can make, Hart rested one hand
upon the fence and the next instant stood beside the surprised girl.
“How under the sun did you do it!” she exclaimed, for never having had
any boy companions excepting her cousins from the city, Denise hardly
knew what to expect from boys.
“That didn’t amount to much,” answered the boy, modestly, as he
followed Denise over the lawn, and a moment later was surrounded by her
inquisitive family. Ned promptly struck an attitude, and sniffed from
afar in long, audible breaths. Tan presented arms, so to speak, by
trying to rear upon his hind legs as of old, and make believe butt the
newcomer. Sailor walked right up to him and put his paw into his hand,
and Beauty, not to be outdone in politeness, instantly began to do his
tricks for their guest’s benefit. He lay down at his feet, rolled over
first one way and then the other so quickly that one wondered if he had
some sort of a patent spring inside him; then sat upon his hind legs
to “beg” and “sneeze” three times in rapid succession. Overhead the
kittens kept up a sort of accompaniment to the other’s performances by
running rapidly up and down the limbs and meowing incessantly.
“I say! What a lot of them!” exclaimed the boy, “and aren’t they
dandies?”
“Yes, I think that they _are_ a pretty nice family. Tan is all dressed
up because it is his birthday.”
“Not really? That’s a joke, for it’s mine, too. I’m twelve years old
to-day, and that is the reason I came out here. A sort of birthday
treat, don’t you see.”
“How funny,” cried Denise, “but isn’t it splendid, too! Let’s leave the
children down here to enjoy themselves while you and I get up into the
tree and have a fine talk. See the seats up there? It’s a fine place
for a powwow.”
“What do you mean by the children?” asked Hart, glancing about for
several infants, but failing to see them.
Denise laughed. “Oh, that is only my way of speaking of the pets. There
are such a lot of them that they need as much care as children, so I
call them so.”
Hart glanced up into the blossom-laden tree, and without another word
began to scramble into its fragrant depths, Denise following as nimbly
as a squirrel. Seating themselves upon bits of board which had been
nailed in the branches, they at once availed themselves of that blessed
privilege of childhood, and asked questions by the dozen.
“When did you come out?” was Denise’s first question.
“Just before luncheon with Mrs. Dean, the housekeeper. Father and
mother won’t be out until to-morrow. But I couldn’t wait any longer. I
wanted to see the place so much, and--” Hart paused abruptly, for he
had been about to add “you,” when he bethought himself of his manners.
“And what?” asked Denise.
“Why, you see, I hadn’t seen the place since I was just a little kid
only five years old, and mother said that she had always lived here
when she was a girl, and that your mother was her school-friend. And
then she told me about your pets, and--and--well, she said that she
hoped you and I would grow to be good friends, too, don’t you see,”
and the handsome blue eyes smiled in the friendliest way. Hart was a
handsome boy, tall and well formed for a boy of twelve, with a firm
mouth, fine teeth, and the most winning smile imaginable. Little
brownie Denise was an exact opposite, for his hair was a mass of
golden waves and hers as dark as a seal’s.
“Why, of course we’ll be friends. We are already, and it is just too
splendid for anything to think that you live so near, and we can be
together all the time,” for it never occurred to Denise that there
might be people in this world ready to criticise a boy and girl
friendship, and the silly nonsense of “little beaus” and “little
sweethearts” had, happily, never even entered her head. It was just
good comradeship with all her boy friends. True, she had never had any
close ones, although she knew nearly all the children in Springdale,
and was always glad to welcome them to her home. But the greater part
of her life was passed with her pets, and they filled it very full,
indeed. But here was a friend close at hand with whom she might talk,
drive, or cut any prank, and the experience was novel.
As they sat chattering, a musical bob-white whistle sounded almost
beneath their feet, and Mrs. Lombard’s face peered through the boughs.
“Who ever heard of a quail and a golden pheasant up a tree!” she said
merrily. “That boy up there is Hart Murray, I know, for he has stolen
his mother’s eyes and golden hair, and come out here to masquerade.
Come straight down here and let me shake hands with you.”
It would have been hard to resist the cordial welcome of Mrs. Lombard’s
voice, and a second later Hart’s slender hand lay in hers, and she was
smiling into his face as only Mrs. Lombard could smile. “I thought I
heard a wonderous piping in the old apple-tree,” she said, “and came
out to learn what manner of bird had taken possession. I have found a
_rara avis_, sure enough, and shall try to induce it to spend a good
part of its time in my grounds.”
“I don’t believe it will need much coaxing,” was the laughing reply.
“Oh, we have laid all sorts of splendid plans already,” cried Denise,
“and were just going over to see the rabbits when you piped up. Come
with us, Moddie,” and slipping her arm about her mother’s waist, Denise
led the way to the rabbits’ quarters in one end of Tan’s field. Resting
her hand upon the shoulder of the tall boy walking beside her, Mrs.
Lombard asked: “And what are the plans for good times?”
“Oh, all sorts of things. Father says that he will give me a pony and
a boat. Denise and I can have jolly rides, and I’ll take her rowing if
you’ll let her go; will you?” he asked eagerly.
“Dear me, who will guarantee her safe return?” asked Mrs. Lombard.
“Oh, I’ll take first-rate care of her, if you’ll only let her come;
please say yes,” and he placed his hand upon her shoulder.
He was probably unconscious of the act, but that was exactly the
influence Mrs. Lombard always exercised over young people; they were
at once drawn toward her, and soon lost all sense of the presence of a
“grown-up.”
They had now reached the rabbit-house, and were surrounded by black,
white, gray, and brown wiggling noses--dozens and dozens of of them.
Hart was delighted, and when Mrs. Lombard asked, “Wouldn’t you like to
have a pair for your own?” accepted her offer with a frank, boyish,
“You’d better believe I would.” So a fine pair, one black and one white
one, was selected, and within the hour had taken up their abode in the
hothouse in their neighbor’s grounds, there to live until their new
owner could build a house for them.
That was the beginning of a boy and girl friendship which lasted
many years, and was not broken till years after when Hart, grown to
splendid, talented manhood, slipped into “the great beyond,” and left
many a sad heart behind.
Ned Toodles had always displayed a very marked aversion for any one
wearing trousers, and it was funny enough to watch his attitude toward
Hart. At first he submitted to his caresses with the air of, “Well,
good breeding compels me to show no aversion, but remember, you are
only accepted on probation.” But Hart was too manly a little chap to
torment an animal, and before long Ned grew very fond of him, although
Hart had never yet attempted to ride him.
One afternoon, when Denise and Hart were playing “livery stable,”
and, as usual, having a royal good time, with Ned upon constant call,
Sailor harnessed to a small express wagon, and Beauty Buttons to the
doll’s carriage, for “pony orders for children,” the proprietor of the
stable received an order for a saddle-horse to be sent to a customer as
quickly as possible.
Obviously, Ned was the only animal in that stable who was
saddle-broken. Tan was standing in line, lest he feel neglected, but
“let’s make believe that he is just a boarding horse, which some lady
keeps in the stable, and that we can’t use him for anything.”
“Yes, and sometimes we must take him out and walk him around for
exercise,” answered Hart.
Z-z-z--z-ing! rang an imaginary telephone-bell, or, at least, a
call-bell, for this all happened long before the days of telephones.
“Thomas, there goes the order-bell,” called the proprietor, Mr. Andrews.
“Aye, aye, sir!” answered Thomas, running to the little window to
receive an imaginary order from without. “It’s from Mr. Casey, and he
wants a saddle-horse sent up right off.”
“Does he ask for a _side_ or man’s saddle,” asked the proprietor,
filled with inward misgivings should the order prove to be a demand for
the latter.
Thomas turned to the window to ask the invisible messenger which was
wanted, and stated that Mr. Casey wished to ride himself. Here was a
coil, but that proprietor was not to be baffled by the fact that the
stable boasted no man’s saddle, or that the only saddle horse would
be very liable to make things pretty lively for the first masculine
creature attempting to mount him. With an air of added importance she
said:
“Very good! Very good! I shall have to get the new saddle from the
harness-room,” and went to the pretty little closet containing all
Ned’s belongings. Taking from it her own beautiful little saddle with
its castor seat and immaculate saddle-cloth, she hastily rigged up a
stirrup upon the right side, unscrewed the pummels, and, heigh, presto!
there was your man’s saddle fine as a fiddle.
Ned was then taken from his stall, and the saddle adjusted. So far so
good. That move was not an unusual one, and his little mistress had
superintended the operation. No doubt she was going to ride him, even
though she had rigged up that queer dangling thing upon the right side
of the saddle.
“Thomas, it is only a short way to Mr. Casey’s, and I think that you’d
better lead King Royal. He is pretty fresh, and it will be safer.”
“Very good, sir,” answered the obedient Thomas, secretly resolving
to get upon that noble animal’s back once he was out of sight of
the stable. Just then another order was delivered: this time for a
pony-phaeton. “As this order must be filled without delay, I shall take
Tiny Tim over to Mrs. Murray’s myself, for perhaps she will not want
the young lady to drive herself,” said Mr. Andrews. “When you get back
you’d better take Gold Auster out for a little exercise; Miss Ward does
not like him to get stiffened up.”
King Royal was led out of the stable by the submissive Thomas, and
Mr. Andrews, making believe seat himself in the doll’s carriage, said
“Get up” to Tiny Tim. King Royal looked back as Thomas led him away,
as though trying to reason out in his horse mind why the one he loved
best did not come, too. But that person was filled with other concerns,
and Thomas was saying “Come on, now, Mr. Casey will be wantin’ you” in
very excellent imitation of John’s voice. A moment later, Tiny Tim had
passed into Mr. Murray’s grounds, and King Royal was marching off down
the road which led to Mr. Casey’s beautiful home on the river bank.
Arrived at the entrance gate, Thomas held a conversation with Mr.
Casey, and a wonderful transformation instantly took place, for Thomas
vanished, and “Mr. Casey” prepared to mount the noble animal sent to
him by Mr. Andrews. What happened next will need a chapter all to
itself.
CHAPTER V
KING ROYAL DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF
Although Hart had been with Denise and her pets daily for the past
three weeks, up to this time he had never undertaken to mount Ned. He
had ridden in the carriage by the hour, and often driven him, but for
some reason had never thought of getting upon his back. Denise had
never revealed Ned’s peculiarities regarding boys, excepting to say
that he did not like _some_ boys, feeling, perhaps, that she might
arouse distrust of her pet in her friend. But here was a crisis, and
well enough she knew that there would be, as she mentally termed it, “a
high old time” when Hart tried to get on Ned’s back, as she felt sure
he meant to do when “Mr. Casey” sent in the order for a saddle-horse.
However, Ned was not vicious, and the worst outcome of the venture
would be a spill, which neither Hart nor she minded in the least. Now
Ned’s usual procedure, when submitted to the indignity of a boyish
burden, was to stand perfectly still until he had his victim safe
upon his back, looking, meanwhile, the very picture of innocence and
meekness, a sort of “what a good boy am I” expression. So when Hart
gathered up the reins in the most scientific manner, for he had ridden
all his life, and was a skillful little horseman, Ned wagged one ear
wisely and “prepared for action.”
Hart placed his foot in the stirrups, adjusting the makeshift one to
his satisfaction. “Now, old fellow, let’s show our paces!” he said,
and Ned took him at his word. First a sedate walk, smooth and easy
as a rocking-chair, but gradually growing more rapid. Charming! The
walk is changed into a trot. Quite the Park gait. Now a gentle lope.
_Could_ anything be more perfect than that gait? His rider becomes
more than ever assured that the animal he is bestriding is the most
perfectly broken one he has ever ridden. All this time one wise eye
is cocked knowingly backward to watch the boy upon his back, and note
with great satisfaction that his confidence in his mount is momentarily
increasing. Then! Off like a mad thing, tail up in the air, head down,
and Tam o’Shanter’s imps in hot pursuit till about three blocks are
told off. HALT! Down goes the head, up go the hind legs, and it is a
skilled rider, indeed, who sticks on at the point of the game.
But this time Master Ned had reckoned without his host, for his host
“didn’t spill worth a cent,” as that host himself asserted. Then came
a tussle, and up and down the road tore that crazy little beast, bent
upon dislodging Hart or dying in the attempt. Meanwhile “Mr. Andrews”
had returned from giving the “Misses Murray” their outing, and was
standing at the gate screaming with laughter. Hart’s hat had long
since sailed into a neighboring field, and most of his attire looked as
though he had dressed himself in the dark. But he was still on Ned’s
back, and, so far as that bad little scamp’s efforts were concerned,
liable to stay there for some time.
“Ned Toodles, how _can_ you be so bad!” cried Denise, forgetful for
the time being, that it was the royal antics of a royal king she was
witnessing. Ned stopped short at that sound, and took time to consider
the situation. Fatal moment! Fatal, at least, for Hart, for into that
wise little horse noddle flashed an idea, and without a second’s
hesitation was acted upon. With a wild, triumphant neigh, he wheeled
short around, made a rush for an open gate at the end of the grounds,
pelted through it like a monstrous cannon-ball, and a second later
was in Buttercup’s cow-yard. Now Buttercup was the dearest cow in the
world, and her eyes were beautiful to behold, and her coat like satin.
But her barnyard--well, they are very nice places for--_cows_. Into
this yard came Ned like a tornado, scaring poor Buttercup out of her
wits, for, although upon the friendliest of terms, she had never before
received a visit from him.
“So you _won’t_ get off my back!” said Ned’s face and attitude, as
plainly as words could have said it. “We’ll see!” and down he went flat
upon his side. What happened next would better be left untold. Alas,
for the pretty castor saddle! When Denise arrived upon the scene Ned
was still resting from his labors, Hart stood staring at the peacefully
reposing animal with a decidedly crestfallen air, and John had arrived
upon the scene to “drop a casual word” regarding affairs in general.
Ned had never been whipped, but he came pretty near being that time,
and did not forget his sound scolding, for after that an armistice was
declared, and Hart was permitted to ride all he wished, Ned evidently
feeling that he had earned a right to do so.
Not long after this Hart’s pony was given to him, and, although
somewhat larger than Ned Toodles, as warm a friendship was formed by
the two little horses as existed between their master and mistress.
“Pinto,” as Hart’s pony was named on account of his peculiar marking,
was a dear little beastie, although he never attained to the degree
of intelligence that Ned displayed as the years went on. But that, no
doubt, was due to the fact that he had not been so closely associated
with a human being as Ned had been ever since he became Denise’s and
as Mr. Lombard suspected he had been during much of his former life,
although nothing for a long time was known of it, and it was not until
this eventful summer that they learned his history.
Hart and Denise, mounted upon Ned and Pinto, ranged the country far
and wide, and it was a far corner indeed that they did not find their
way into sooner or later. Those spring months, with all their bud and
bloom, were halcyon days for the children, for Hart literally lived at
Mrs. Lombard’s house till Mrs. Murray said to her: “Emilie Lombard,
when do you intend to send in my son’s board-bill? This is simply
dreadful. He is hardly out of bed in the morning before he is making
some excuse to come over here.”
“Let him come all he wants to. It is good for Denise to have such a
sturdy playmate, for she has never had any real crony but Pokey, and
she is such a gentle little soul that I’m afraid Denise will think more
of her own way than some one else’s.”
“Well, you have no idea what it means to me to have that boy so happily
associated,” exclaimed Mrs. Murray. “He has been abroad at school so
long that I hardly know him myself, and isn’t in the least like our
true, every-day American boys. And Denise is just the jolly little chum
for him to have.”
“It all seems too delightful to be true,” said Mrs. Lombard, “and to
have you for my neighbor after all these years of separation makes me
feel like a young girl again.”
“You have never been anything else,” replied Mrs. Murray, “for you have
stayed young with Denise, and that is the secret of your beautiful
attitude toward each other.”
“Perhaps so,” replied Mrs. Lombard, a happy smile creeping about her
lips as thoughts of the sunny little daughter and their mutual love
put into her eyes the lovely “mother” light that never comes till that
precious name becomes ours.
“Well, you must not let him remain to dinner every night, at all
events,” added Mrs. Murray. “Send him home in time to dine with his
father, or I do not know what will happen.”
“Very well, home he goes at the stroke of five, to remove all traces of
the afternoon’s siege before Mr. Murray’s arrival at six.”
“Yes, do; it will be a real kindness, for my time is so occupied with
the other children that I fear I have let Hart paddle his own canoe
more than I should have done. But they are all so small that they need
me more. Good-bye, and run in when you can. I am always disengaged
between five and six.”
“And I am always engaged at that hour,” answered Mrs. Lombard with an
odd smile, which made Mrs. Murray ask: “Afternoon tea, and a quiet
little gossip with your best friends?”
“The gossip with my best friend, but not the tea,” answered Mrs.
Lombard. “That is Denise’s hour with me, and I try never to let
anything interfere with it.”
“What? Do you give up all that time to the child never mind what is
going on? I should think it would be impossible at times!”
“There, of course, arise circumstances which make it impossible once
in a while, but they are rare, and she is always ready to accept my
explanations and apology,” answered Mrs. Lombard, with the gentlest
expression.
“Explanations and apologies to one’s child!” cried Mrs. Murray in
dismay. “You don’t mean to say that you carry things to that extent
with her! I should think that she would be so conceited that you would
never in the world be able to do a thing with her.”
A slight flush overspread Mrs. Lombard’s sweet face as she answered,
“Could I hope to have her wholly courteous to me or to others if she
found me wanting in courtesy to her?”
CHAPTER VI
THE SUNSET HOUR
The library windows stood open, and the soft little June winds played
“peep” with the lace curtains, swaying them in and out, and letting
the rose-laden air slip into the room. Outside the setting sun cast
long slanting rays upon the lawn and foliage, lighting the world as
it can only light it just before it slips away behind the hills to
carry the promise of a new day to other lands. Within the library all
was wonderfully peaceful and quiet. It was a very attractive room,
pervaded with the home atmosphere that only a much-used, well-loved
room can possess. A sort of individuality of each member of the family,
as though even in their absence they left there something which could
not fail to recall their presence. In the bay-window stood a monstrous
leather-covered armchair. A motherly-fatherly sort of chair that said:
“Come, snuggle within my inviting depths and tell me all your secrets,
and whether they be joyful or sad, I’ll prove a comfort to you.”
It was five o’clock. As the cuckoo clock announced the fact to all
who cared to know it, a stately pad, pad, pad, came stalking across
the piazza, and a second later Sailor’s great head pushed aside the
curtains and he looked into the room. That no one was visible did not
seem to deter him in the least, for walking over to the fur rug which
lay upon the floor beside the couch, he stretched himself at length
upon it, and lay there with his head raised in a listening attitude.
Pat, pat, pat, came the sound of small hurrying feet through the hall,
and in ran Beauty Buttons with a “woof, woof,” by way of salutation.
He, too, evidently expected others to follow, for, after settling
himself comfortably between Sailor’s great front paws, he listened
with ears erect.
But he must, indeed, have possessed acute hearing to have detected
the footfalls of the next arrivals, for not until they had crossed
the piazza, and slipped beneath the curtains, did they make the least
sound. Then a warbly little “r-r-r-r-rwow” told that Hero wished to say
“good-evening,” and Leander, who was never far away from his lady-love,
echoed her greeting in deeper tones. Advancing toward the dogs with
tails held straight up in the air, they rubbed against Sailor’s long
hair and then sought the places they preferred in the library. Hero was
soon perched upon the top of the big chair in the window, and Leander
blinked at her from the luxurious billows of a bright red sofa-pillow
which lay upon the couch near at hand. The two cats were so exactly
alike that it would have been impossible to tell one from the other had
not Denise tied a red ribbon upon Leander and a blue one upon Hero,
which contrasted finely with their maltese coats.
Apparently the stage was now properly set for the “stars,” and a moment
later Mrs. Lombard came into the room and took her seat in the big
chair, stopping on her way to stroke the dogs and Leander.
As she sat down Hero welcomed her with a soft little warbly sound she
reserved for those she loved, and, arching her back, rubbed her silky
coat against Mrs. Lombard’s face.
“Dear old pussykins, are you glad that ‘cosy hour’ has come?” she asked
the cat, as she stroked her. And Hero gave another little throaty meow,
which no doubt meant that it was a very happy one for them all.
“Good-night! Come over early in the morning and we’ll get ready to
launch it,” cried a happy voice at the foot of the piazza steps, and
the next moment Denise’s merry face peered through the curtains.
“Oh, there you all are! Waiting for me, as usual. Oh, me, the days
aren’t half long enough, are they, Moddie? Hart and I have so many
plans for each one that we could never carry them all out if we lived
to be a hundred. But, Moddie,” she added, as she slipped into the big
chair, whose proportions were amply large for the accommodation of
these two, and, placing her arm about her mother’s waist, snuggled her
head upon the shoulder that had never failed her, “I am so glad you
got it all so nicely settled about Hart going home at five o’clock.
Of course, I couldn’t say a word, but I did so miss our cosy hour.
Somehow, the day doesn’t seem finished without it, for every day is
sure to have just _one_ little kink come into it somewhere, and I don’t
know how to get it out. But when we have our talk at the end of it, the
kink flies away, and--it’s just my precious Moddie who sends it!” and
Denise flung her other arm about her mother to hug her as hard as she
could. There was a wonderfully tender light in Mrs. Lombard’s eyes as
she held her impulsive little daughter close to her side, and answered:
“This is a sort of weather bureau, where we prophesy fair weather
instead of foul, and try to set about providing it.”
“Yes, that is it, I guess,” answered Denise, falling back to her
original position, and holding one of her mother’s hands in her own
warm ones. “You see, now that the vacation has come, and I have the
whole day in which to think of just nobody but Denise Lombard, I am
afraid that I think about her and her good times entirely too much, and
if I didn’t come in here once in a while I should grow just too selfish
to live. Hart is lovely, and we _do_ have splendid times, but he likes
to do things his way, and I like to do them mine, and--well, if it
wasn’t for a little Moddie who lives in a big armchair, I’m afraid that
sometimes I’d be, yes--I’m very much afraid I’d be sort of mean. And
then that ‘wise fairy’ which ever so long ago you told me lived way
down in your heart, and helped you know what was best for me, pops out
and flies to my shoulder, and whispers in my ear: ‘There is a little
Moddie who lives in the armchair, and by and by you will have to talk
with her, and tell her every little thing that has happened to-day, and
if some of them are not pleasant to tell, then you will feel ashamed
of yourself, and she--well she won’t _say_ a single word, but her
_eyes_ will look sorry, and then you will feel just like a nasty little
worm--all crawly and wriggly.’ Isn’t it funny, Moddie, that I sort of
see _you_ when such things happen? It doesn’t make any difference how
far away you are. What makes it so?”
“I presume it is the same influence as that which frequently causes us
to think exactly the same thoughts at the same moment--our great love
and sympathy for each other, dear. Our lives are so closely identified
that joy or sorrow, pleasure or pain, seem to be mutually shared.”
Denise thought a moment before replying, for, although but eleven and a
half years of age, she had a thoughtful little head upon her shoulders,
and liked to reason out her mother’s words, and see them in her own
peculiar light. Presently she said:
“That is funny when you come to think of it, isn’t it? But I know it
is true, too, because it so often happens so, and only yesterday, when
I was out on the lawn with Ned I was thinking about that pink gingham
dress that I used to wear last summer, and wondering if it would be
too small for me this year, and just at that moment you whistled
‘Bob White,’ and when I answered you called me to come up and try it
on. Wasn’t that odd? I didn’t know that you were even thinking about
getting the dress out.”
“That is but one of many similar instances, Sweetheart. But apropos
of those much shrivelled-up gowns, or is it that their owner has
expanded?” asked Mrs. Lombard as she looked into Denise’s upturned face
and smiled. “Will you be good enough to drive me over to Mary Murphy’s
to-morrow morning, for I think that the little Murphys will fit into
those garments to perfection.”
“Why, I promised Hart--” began Denise, and then stopped short and
colored slightly.
“What did you promise him, dear?” asked Mrs. Lombard gently.
“Why, you see,” said Denise, somewhat embarrassed, “his new rowboat
will be sent out this evening, and he wants me to christen it when it
is launched, and I told him I would. Of course, I did not know that you
wanted me to drive you up to the village, or I would not have promised.”
“Certainly you could not have known it, and now we must see what can be
done to smooth out these little kinks that have been saucy enough to
obtrude themselves upon us and upset our plans.”
“I know _you_ can do it,” cried Denise. “There is only one Moddie like
this one, and ‘I got her!’”
“There is only one such madcap of a daughter,” laughed Mrs. Lombard.
“But now to continue. I particularly wish to have you go with me
to-morrow, for there is a new little daughter at Mary’s house, and I
think that there are many things which we may be able to do for her.
She was a very faithful nurse to you during the first five years of
your life, and it gives her great pleasure to have you visit her and do
these little things yourself, for she is very proud of her nursling. So
much for my reasons concerning Mary. Now for Hart. It is only a step
over there, I know, but I think it would be more courteous if you were
to sit down and write a little note to him explaining the situation.
This may seem a trifle formal to you both when you are such jolly
chums, but it is one of those little acts which, even though they seem
uncalled for, serve to help you both. It shows Hart that you know what
it is proper to do under the circumstances, and that even though you
are both children, you do not wish to be found wanting in politeness to
each other, and he will respect you all the more for doing this. John
may take your note to him. On the other hand, it helps my girl to learn
how to write a graceful note, and to excuse herself properly when she
finds it impossible to keep an engagement. There! What do you think of
all those ‘reasons why’?”
Denise did not reply for a moment or two, nor did Mrs. Lombard break
the silence. The cuckoo opened his little door in the top of the clock
and gave one toot, as though trying to break the silence. Way down in
Denise’s heart lingered a strong desire to go with Hart in the morning,
Mary Murphy and new babies, nevertheless, and notwithstanding. But
eleven and a half years of the firmest, gentlest training led by this
wise mother to do the right thing simply because it _was_ right, and
not because she had been ordered to do so by those who possessed the
right and power to so order, had not been in vain, and this little girl
had grown to regard the right way as the only one, and the wrong one
as a reflection upon herself. It was often hard to give up, for the
days were wonderfully happy ones. Presently she asked:
“When may I tell him that I will christen it?”
“The following morning, dear, if agreeable to him,” replied Mrs.
Lombard without further comment, for the heart beside her was as
plainly revealed to her as though glass instead of flesh covered it,
and she well knew that a struggle was going on, not only to do what she
wished, but to do it cheerfully and without regret--the true beauty of
the doing.
“I’ll write it this minute,” cried Denise, springing so suddenly from
the chair that Hero lost her balance upon the top and tumbled upon
the floor. “Oh, dear! Isn’t that exactly like me? I’ve upset Hero and
scared her nearly out of her wits besides. Poor pussy,” she said, as
she picked the cat up and comforted her. “Your missie is a madcap, do
you know that?” and then a merry laugh came to dispel the haze that
had gathered, and the sun shone forth again. The note was written, and
a wise woman had tact enough to say that it was charmingly done, and
that she was delighted to see how prettily her little daughter could
write, and how well she was able to express herself. Only a few words
of praise, but they were dropped when most needed, and served as a
wonderful balm to a slightly ruffled spirit. None of us are _born_
saints, and we _all_ like to have our own way. Mrs. Lombard did not add
just then that she was much troubled at the thought of Denise going
upon the river with Hart, or that she feared she must forbid it. It
was not the moment for doing so, and would have seriously marred the
beautiful harmony of the hour. Nevertheless, she had decided that she
could not let her go until she had learned more of Hart’s seamanship
and tested it herself. But that would all adjust itself later.
Just as the letter was finished the whistle of the incoming train told
that Mr. Lombard would be with them presently, and by the time both
had reached the entrance to the grounds, with two dogs and two cats
as body-guard, Sunshine and Flash came spinning along the road and
neighed aloud as Denise called out, “Oh, papa L., papa L.! here we
are!” for these horses did not dread their driver, and loved the voices
they knew so well. Mr. Lombard stepped from the carriage at the gate,
and, slipping an arm about his wife and sunny little daughter, walked
with them toward the house, the dogs and cats crowding about him and
claiming the notice which they never claimed in vain. The peace of all
the world lay upon that home.
CHAPTER VII
“OH, WE’LL SAIL THE OCEAN BLUE!”
“We will stop at the market, dear, and lay in a supply of goodies for
Mary,” said Mrs. Lombard, as she took her seat in the phaeton beside
Denise, the following morning.
“‘Allee rightie,’ as John Chinaman said to me the other day when I
stopped for papa’s laundry work. Good-by, Hinky-Dinky, we’ll come back
before long, and I am going to bring you a surprise,” she called out to
Hart, who had just crawled through the opening in the hedge. “Moddie
says she has thought of a splendid plan, and you’ll be glad we waited
till to-morrow to launch the boat. There, it’s lucky Miss Meredith
didn’t hear _that_ sentence! She would ask me when I’d landed,” and
Denise’s laugh rang out upon the balmy June air.
“The old thing didn’t come anyway, Snipenfrizzle,” called Hart, as the
carriage rolled out of the grounds. “It won’t be out till to-night,
papa says. There was something wanting for the rudder. Tralla!” and he
waved his hat and disappeared within the “Bird’s Nest,” there to lose
himself in one of the numerous books which the book-shelves held, for
Denise’s library was an extensive one, and she was as fond of boys’
stories as she was of girls’.
After purchasing a generous supply of good things for Mary, they drove
to the little cottage in which she lived and reared her numerous
progeny. There were six all told, and Patsy, of dirty-face fame,
was the eldest. But Patsy had improved somewhat of late. Possibly
the possession of a wash-bowl and its accessories for his very own
exclusive use had incited a desire to live up to such elegancies, for
Mrs. Lombard had made it her duty to send him one directly Denise had
related to her the conversation held with the incorrigible Patsy during
the previous summer.
At all events Patsy was the proud owner of “a foin bowel an’ pitcher,
all blue on wan soide, an’ white on ’tither,” and sallied forth each
morning shining and radiant.
“Ah, Miss Denise, darlint, an’ have ye come to see me ba-b-y!” said
Mary when Denise’s smiling face peeped through the doorway.
“Yes, here we are, Mary, and have brought along the expressman, too.
See him? He wears dresses,” she cried, as she placed upon a chair the
parcel she was carrying. Mrs. Lombard followed close behind with a
basket of provisions, and a moment later Mary’s eyes were gladdened by
the sight of a very substantial supply of eatables.
“Now, Blossom,” said Mrs. Lombard, “while I take a few stitches for
Mary and this new baby, I want you to play ‘Polly’ and put the kettle
on. We will get dinner started, Mary, and when Patrick arrives he can
eat it and clean house.”
“Ah, the poor childe mustn’t be doing such work for the likes of me,”
protested Mary. “Sure, she don’t know nothin’ of this worrk.”
“Don’t I, though!” cried Denise, giving an emphatic nod. “What do you
think I have had all my ‘Bird’s Nest’ cooking lessons for, I’d like to
know? What shall I do, Moddie? You sit still and talk to Mary while I
play cook. What fun!”
“Make some tea, dearie, and put the beef over for the broth. Then put
on that piece of corned beef for Patrick’s dinner. My sweetheart knows
what to do,” said Mrs. Lombard, stopping to give Denise one of the
little love-pats that meant so much, and then, taking her seat beside
Mary, she began to sew upon some garments for the new baby.
“May I have this big apron, Mary?” asked Denise, taking up a huge
gingham one which lay upon a chair and enveloping herself in it till
she nearly vanished from sight. “Now for it,” she added, rolling back
her sleeves, and seizing the poker. “Moddie says that it’s no use
to try to cook with a poor fire, so you see how well I remember my
lessons, Mary,” and the little poker rattled at a great rate. Then,
catching up the kettle, she ran to the sink to fill it with fresh water.
“Where shall I find the saucepan, Mary?”
“Jist beyant in that little cupboard, darlint. Faith, did iver I see
the loikes of the child. Sure, ma’am, ’tis a housekaper she is alriddy.”
“She cannot begin too soon, Mary. It is all play now, but there may
come a time when she will be very glad to have learned it all in this
pleasant manner.”
Meantime the preparations went on. The chopped beef was put back upon
the stove to simmer in the cold water till all the rich juices were
extracted. Patrick’s big piece of corned beef was put into a big pot
and placed beside it, some potatoes were carefully washed and peeled
and left in cold water until needed. And all this time Denise was
humming away like a big bumblebee. And all this was the result of
the little playhouse training which this mother, whom the neighbors
sometimes termed “overindulgent,” had carried on in the guise of play,
till this little girl, now in her twelfth year, had become a capable,
helpful little body, able to do her share of the world’s work should
occasion ever arise for it. And years later, when the dear mother
was no more, and Denise, grown to womanhood, was forced to meet the
vicissitudes of life, her thoughts often went back to those happy days
and the precious mother, who taught so wisely and well that, as though
the mother eyes were capable of looking into the future and there
seeing all that lay in store for this cherished little daughter, she
was fitted when the necessity arose for it to meet the duties which lay
upon every hand.
“Tea is all ready,” announced Denise, as she brought to her mother and
Mary fragrant, steaming cups. True, the cups were not of “egg-shell”
china, but the tea was properly made, and everything was clean as wax,
for, notwithstanding her six children and hard work, Mary was a neat
woman, and everything in her house testified thereto. Twelve o’clock
had struck upon the town clock before all was completed, and Denise
had just set the potatoes on to boil when Patrick came home and the
children came rushing in from school.
“Now we will leave you to your many nurses,” said Mrs. Lombard, as she
arose from her chair.
“Don’t you let my potatoes burn, Patrick,” said Denise, wagging an
admonishing finger at him.
“Indade no, that I will not,” said Patrick, positively. “They’ll be the
foines’ taties that iver was at all, Miss Denise.”
Upon the way home Denise spied some circus posters, and was at once
filled with a desire to see the circus, for anything in which horses
were introduced was bliss unalloyed for her.
“They will be here on the seventh!” she cried. “The very day that
_Pokey_ will come! Oh, Moddie, how splendid! We can go, can’t we? Papa
will surely take us.”
“I wouldn’t wonder,” answered Mrs. Lombard, with the expression which
Denise knew to mean “yes.”
For the next few days Denise could hardly think of anything else, and
no suspicion of the startling events which would take place ere that
circus, which proved to be a circus in more senses than one, and its
proprietor, passed out of her life, ever entered her head.
Hart was waiting for them at the turn of the road, and Pinto and Ned
exchanged greetings with joyous neighs. He cantered along beside them,
his tongue and Denise’s keeping time to the ponies’ clattering feet.
That evening the new boat was delivered at Mr. Murray’s house. It was
a fairy-like little craft, built of cedar and shining with its fresh
varnish. Of course, Denise was upon the scene when it was taken from
the long express-wagon, and nearly as eager as Hart to see it in the
water.
Without letting the children suspect it, Mrs. Lombard had made a fine
silk flag and embroidered thereupon Hart’s monogram. Then, to make the
launching like a “really truly one,” she bought a tiny bottle of cider,
warranted to smash and sizzle in the most approved style.
While they were at breakfast the next morning Hart’s face peeped in at
the window, for boyish patience was stretched to the snapping-point.
“I’ve only two more bites of beefsteak to eat, and then I’ll come,”
said Denise, when Mrs. Lombard added, “Come in here, laddie, and help
us eat some of this fruit,” for she had no notion of letting the
children out of her sight until she could follow behind.
“What do you think of those bouncers?” asked Mr. Lombard, holding up a
big bunch of bright scarlet cherries. “Ah, ah! Tell your father that
my cherry-tree has beaten his this year. Put some of these beauties in
a little basket, Mary, and give them to Master Hart to take over to his
mother with my compliments. One must be generous to one’s neighbors
when one has fine cherries to show off,” laughed Mr. Lombard.
By the time Hart had eaten his fill, and the basket was ready to be
carried to Mrs. Murray, Mr. Lombard had left for town, and his wife was
ready to be present at the launching.
“What is the boat to be named?” she asked, as she followed the children
down to the river, with Ned, Tan, and the two dogs trotting along with
them, for Denise rarely stirred without her family surrounding her.
“Why, do you know that we haven’t been able to decide yet,” said Hart,
rather dismayed at the thought.
“He wants to call it ‘Denise,’” said the owner of that name, “but I
don’t think that it will mean much for the boat, do you?”
[Illustration:
_Denise._
“‘WHY NOT CALL IT THE _RIVER KELPIE_?’”]
“He pays you a very pretty compliment,” answered Mrs. Lombard.
“Yes, I know that, but it seems to me a boat ought to have a name that
sort of means something about water, and sailing, and all that.”
“Why not call it the _River Kelpie_? That means something.”
“There! you have just hit it! That’s splendid. She is as light as a
fairy, and those things are water-fairies, aren’t they?”
“Yes, little water-sprites who come to the surface and do all sorts of
graceful, fascinating things.”
“Then that’s what she is going to be called. What a shame that we
haven’t got a real simon-pure bottle to smash on her bow,” he added
regretfully.
“How will this answer for a substitute?” asked Mrs. Lombard, as she
drew from the little bag she was carrying a miniature champagne bottle,
gayly decked with blue ribbons.
“Oh! I say! Aren’t you just a trump!” cried Hart, surprised into
genuine boyish praise. “That’s a regular jim dandy, and Denise can
smash it to smithereens. Quick, let’s get her launched!”
The little boat lay high and dry upon the rocks, and a moment later
Hart and Denise had carried it to the water’s edge, for it was as light
as a feather, and they could easily handle it. To put it into the water
stern foremost, letting the bow rest upon sand until the ceremony of
christening it was ended, took but a few seconds, and, grasping the
little bottle by its ribbon-decked neck, Denise bent over the bow
saying: “I christen thee the Water Kelpie!” As the last word left her
lips, SMASH went the bottle, and a vigorous push from Hart sent the
boat into the water, he singing at the top of his lungs: “Oh, we’ll
sail the ocean blue,” and Mrs. Lombard joining in with a will.
After the children had somewhat subsided from the Indian war-dance
which followed the launching, Mrs. Lombard said:
“And may I have the honor of presenting to the captain of this
beautiful craft the private signal, which I hope will add to its
attractions and wave to his glory as long as the vessel rides the
waves?”
The shrieks of delight which greeted the pretty flag when she unrolled
it from its wrappings left her no doubt of its reception. It was
mounted upon a slender cedar staff, which fitted exactly the little
socket in the stern, and Mrs. Lombard never hinted that a note sent
to Mr. Murray when Denise had sent hers to Hart had been the cause
of the delay in the delivery of this little craft until the socket
could be placed in the stern all ready to receive the flagstaff, whose
dimensions she had given to Mr. Murray.
Of course, the Captain was duty bound to invite the donor of this
splendid flag to accompany him upon his trial trip, and taking her seat
in the stern, with Beauty Buttons beside her, Denise up in the bow,
and the Captain “amidships,” off they glided upon the calm river.
Sailor, Ned, and Tan were minded to follow, but Denise called out,
“Take them home, Sailor, that’s a dear dog,” and Sailor, proud of his
responsibilities, waved his tail in farewell and set about doing her
bidding.
More than an hour was spent upon the river, and when they came ashore
Mrs. Lombard felt entirely reassured, for Hart handled his oars like an
“old salt,” having rowed a great deal while at school.
“Thank you very much for a delightful morning,” she said to him. “I
shall make but one proviso regarding water expeditions, and that is
this: Please ask my consent before going, and then I shall never feel
anxiety.”
“We will! Of course, we will,” cried the children in chorus.
CHAPTER VIII
POKEY AND A CIRCUS
As she had waited just one year before, gayly decked in blue ribbons in
honor of the occasion, Denise was now waiting again for Pokey to arrive.
This time Ned was not arrayed in ribbons, but in tiny American flags
stuck in every part of his harness that they could be stuck and
fastened all over the carriage, for it was the seventh of July, and the
glorious Fourth had been a gala-day, celebrated with roaring crackers
by day and splendid fireworks after dark. Ned had, as usual, been
prinked out for so great an occasion, his decorations being appropriate
to the day celebrated.
Usually Pokey arrived for her summer visit before the Fourth,
but a slight illness, the result of too much study and difficult
examinations, all too taxing for her young body and brain when the
thermometer stood at ninety, had caused a collapse, and for several
days poor Pokey lay upon her bed with her heart playing a wild
tattoo, and her brain working like a runaway engine. Had she not had
the prospect of her visit before her, it is probable that she would
have lain upon that bed several days longer, for the very thought of
exerting herself brought added weariness. But up the Hudson River there
waited a lovely little white bed, a pretty room to be shared with some
one she loved dearly, and, blessed thought, sunshine, green grass,
great spreading trees that whispered all manner of secrets to this
dreaming little body, and a welcome which left nothing to be desired.
So Pokey made haste to get better and start upon her two hours’
journey, but it was a pale, thin little Pokey that stepped from the
train into Denise’s outstretched arms.
She was somewhat taller, and that made her seem even more slender, but
it was the same Pokey, and Ned Toodles greeted her with a cordial neigh.
“And what do you think!” cried Denise, when they were spinning along
home, Ned occasionally joining in their conversation with a sociable
whinney, “a circus is here, and papa is going to take us all to see it.
It is going to parade through the town at eleven, and as soon as we
have seen mamma and grandma we’ll drive up to the village and see it.
It won’t, of course, come down this way. I left Ned all dressed up on
that account. Won’t it be great fun!”
“You don’t suppose Ned will try to do any of _his_ tricks when he sees
the other ponies, do you?” asked Pokey, for a year’s acquaintance with
Ned had not served to overcome her misgivings of that animal’s wild
pranks.
“Of course not! Why should he? Besides he couldn’t while in harness,”
replied Denise, blissfully ignorant even yet of that little scamp’s
resources or determination to carry his point once he set about doing
so. Ned was never ugly or vicious, but well Denise knew that a good
bit of firmness was required upon her part when she wished to get him
past the little store where chocolate creams were sold, and that it was
always far wiser to choose another road if time pressed. But she was
too loyal to her pet to betray his little weaknesses.
“Moddie! Moddie! grandma! Here we come, bag and baggage, only that is
coming along behind escorted by John!” she cried, as she rushed into
the hall with weary little Pokey following her as fast as she could.
“My dear little girl, how delighted we are to have you with us again!”
said Mrs. Lombard, as she gathered Pokey into her arms, and dear old
grandma stroked the tired head which nestled upon Mrs. Lombard’s
shoulder as though it had found a very peaceful haven.
“Take her right out to the dining-room, dearie, and have Mary fetch her
a glass of cool milk and some little biscuits,” cried grandma, filled
with solicitude for the little girl.
“Yes, indeed,” added Mrs. Lombard, “we must not lose a moment in
setting about finding some roses for these white cheeks.”
“There! Now you look quite refreshed, and when you have had a drive
with Ned, and seen this great parade that is filling all Denise’s
thoughts, I am sure you will be ready for, oh, _such_ a luncheon!”
On their way to the village they were overtaken by Hart mounted upon
Pinto. Knowing that Pokey was about to arrive, he had kept at a safe
distance till he could “size her up,” as he put it, for his intercourse
with girls had been decidedly limited, and he had no notion of plunging
into an intimacy with one whom he had never seen before. The hedge
was a safe covert for observing all that took place in Denise’s
grounds, and from that vantage-point he had “sized up” to his entire
satisfaction.
“Guess she ain’t much like Denise,” was his mental comment. “But if
Denise likes her so much she must be all right.”
As he drew up beside the phaeton he was greeted by Denise, who said:
“Pokey, this is my friend Hart Murray, and this is Elizabeth Delano,
Hart, only we don’t call her by her name once in a blue moon. She is
our very own Pokey, and _he’s_ Hinkey-Dinkey,” giving a laughing Nod
toward Hart.
“Yes, and _she’s_ Snipenfrizzle!” was the prompt retort.
“Well, I guess we all know each other now,” laughed Denise, and before
another word could be spoken the sound of a band playing in the
village, just beyond, caused all to exclaim, “Oh, they’ve started!
They’ve started!” and to hurry forward as though one brain urged them
all. But upon Ned the effect of that band was certainly odd. It was
playing “Marching through Georgia,” and one might have supposed it to
be his favorite air, for he began to prance and dance in perfect time
to it.
“Do look at him! Do look at him!” cried Denise; “I believe he knows
that march.”
“Oh, let’s get out,” begged timid Pokey. “He acts as though he were
crazy.”
“Nonsense; he won’t do anything but mark time,” answered Denise,
laughing. “I always said he knew just everything, but I never supposed
that he was a musician.”
They were now just at the entrance to the village, and at that moment
the circus parade turned in from a side street which led out to the
grounds where their tents were pitched. The streets were crowded
as though the entire town had turned out to see the show, which,
doubtless, it had, for Springdale in those days was a small place,
and circuses did not often tarry there. But this time it was to be
an exception, for “Backus’s Greatest Show on Earth” had deigned to
honor the town with a two days’ performance upon its way to the more
important town of Sing Sing further up the river. It would give a
performance this Saturday afternoon and evening, “rest up” on Sunday,
give another on Monday, and then “fold its tents like the Arabs” and
depart, leaving many an enthusiastic youngster behind who would live
for six months upon his memories of its delights, and for another
six upon his anticipations of its return. It was, indeed, a gorgeous
pageant which burst upon the children’s sight, for in a splendid golden
chariot blared and tooted a brass band, the musicians resplendent in
red uniforms, and blowing as though their very lives depended upon the
volume of sound they could make, and six handsome white horses pranced
and curveted before it. Then came a pale-blue and gold chariot drawn
by six of the dearest piebald ponies one ever saw, and with whom Ned
instantly claimed kinship with a regular rowdy “hullo-yourself” neigh.
But you have all doubtless seen circus parades, and know all about the
knights and fairies, beautiful horses with their gay riders, elephants,
camels, wild animals and tame ones which go to make up a show which
will be in vogue as long as children are, and when _they_ drop out of
this world’s economy, then the sooner we all scurry out of sight, too,
the better. But it is with one particular pony that we must deal, and
a summary dealing it is liable to prove before it ends. All the time
the parade was passing Ned kept up an incessant fidgeting, tugging at
the reins, pawing the ground, shaking his head up and down, and only
restrained from plunging headlong into the midst of it all by Denise’s
firm hand. Pinto stood behind the phaeton, but, save for a start or two
of surprise when an exceptionally loud toot was blown, he behaved like
a gentleman. The children were as close to the line of march as they
well could be without the ponies’ noses brushing the elephant’s sides,
when there came along a magnificent black horse, bearing upon his back
the grand high mogul of the show. This was the manager, so the posters
announced, mounted upon “his splendid Sinbad the Great, most wonderful
performing horse in the world.”
Just then the parade was obliged to halt for a moment or two, and the
handsome horse and his rider stopped directly in front of the children.
With a “Hullo, how-are-you-glad-to-make-your acquaintance” air, Ned
poked out his muzzle and greeted Sinbad the Great. As Sinbad was a
true gentleman, and not to be outdone in politeness, down came his
nose to meet little perky Ned’s, and they held a second’s whispered
conversation--a conversation fraught with fatal results for Ned, as
will be seen.
Now Sinbad’s rider had a pair of eyes which just nothing escaped, and
one sweeping glance took in every detail of pony, phaeton, and children.
Nodding pleasantly to them he addressed Denise with:
“Fine little horse you’ve got there. Had him long? He doesn’t look very
old.”
“Nearly two years. I just guess he _is_ fine! There isn’t another like
him in all the world. He is not nine years old yet.”
“Want to sell him?” asked the man.
“Well, I just guess NOT!” was the indignant reply.
“Live here?” was the next question, but Denise began to think that this
bravely decked individual was decidedly curious, and hesitated before
answering. Before she had made up her mind to do so, the parade moved
on, and a few moments later the last donkey had passed. Then Ned took
matters into his own hands, or rather his teeth, and did that which
he had never done before since Denise had owned him: He positively
refused to turn around and go home, and neither coaxing, threats, nor
a loudly-cracked whip had the least effect upon him. Shake his head,
back, paw, and act like a regular little scamp was all he would do, and
at last, growing tired of trying to make her understand what he did
want, he resolved to show her, and off he went, pelting ahead till he
had overtaken the vanishing circus, wheeling aside to avoid those at
the end, tearing along until he had overtaken the part of the parade
in which Sinbad was still delighting all beholders, and then, neck or
nothing, forcing his way, carriage, occupants, and all, right in behind
that wily beast whose whisper had surely been: “Come on behind me and
we’ll cut a dash, see if we don’t.”
Having achieved his object, Master Ned was triumphant, and no French
dancing-master ever pirouetted and “showed off” for the admiration of
all beholders as did this vain little scrap of a beast as he danced
along in perfect time to the band.
Pokey was very nearly reduced to a state of collapse, for Sinbad the
Great was making the path before them rather lively, while just behind
stalked a huge elephant who now and again by way of welcome to the
ranks gracefully flourished a wriggling trunk over the phaeton.
Denise’s face was a study. Never before had she met with open
rebellion upon Ned’s part, and this first exhibition of it was
certainly a triumph. Although thoroughly frightened, she sat holding
her reins for dear life, with no thought of deserting her post, while
Pokey begged her piteously to “please drive home.”
“Home! Don’t you suppose I want to go there every bit as much as you
do? But how _can_ I when this little villain is acting so like time? I
can’t get out and leave him, can I?” and just then Hart came tearing
alongside the line shouting:
“Hello, Snipenfrizzle, I’m off for home to tell your mother that you’ve
joined the circus and the next time she sees you you will be riding
bareback! Good-by,” and with a wild whoop he pelted off down the road,
Ned whinnying out after Pinto: “Oh, I’m having the time of my life!”
Then the funny side of the whole affair appealed to Denise and saved
her from tears, and she began to laugh. Never say that animals do not
know the different tones of the human voice! If others do not, Ned
_did_, and that familiar laugh was the one thing wanting to complete
his festive mood, and if he had cut shines before, he simply outdid
himself now, and not till he had followed that circus parade over the
entire town, and marched straight into the big tent behind Sinbad, did
he decide that he had had enough excitement, and consent to go home. At
half-past one he walked sedately up the driveway, and as John led him
off to his stable, roundly berating him for his prank, he heaved a sigh
which said as plainly as words could have done: “Well, I’ve kicked over
the traces for once in my life, anyway.”
CHAPTER IX
THE EARTH OPENS AND POKEY IS SWALLOWED UP
“Well, how soon can you all be ready? We must get an early start if we
expect to secure the best seats in the house,” cried Mr. Lombard, as
dessert was being served at dinner that night.
“Oh, we’ll be ready the very minute we’ve finished,” cried Denise, who
was so eager to start that she would willingly have dispensed with
dessert altogether.
“How soon can you be ready, mamma,” he asked.
“As quickly as I can stick in a hatpin to keep my hat from tumbling off
when I laugh,” replied Mrs. Lombard.
“And you, mother?”
“Why, Lewis Lombard, are you crazy?” demanded grandma. “Do you suppose
that I am going to a circus at my time of life?”
“To be sure you are! We’re _all_ of us going, the whole family, from
you down to cook, John and his family included. I’ve ordered down a
hack from the village, and away we all go. Dear me, you don’t suppose
that we are going to let such a rare treat as ‘Backus’s Greatest Show
on Earth’ go by unappreciated. Certainly _not_!” and Mr. Lombard leaned
back in his chair to laugh in his hearty way that proved so infectious
that none could resist.
And it was not long before he was assisting his family into one of
the village hacks sent down, rather than use his own horses and so
deprive the help of their treat, for his thoughts were always for the
pleasure he could give to high or lowly. Hart was perched in front
with the driver, for he had been borrowed for the occasion; grandma,
still protesting that “it was utterly absurd for a woman of seventy to
attend a circus,” sat with Mrs. Lombard on the back seat, while her
son assured her that she “was his best girl and that no fellow ever
went to a circus without his best girl.” “And you’re my ‘second best,’”
he said, as he put his arm around Pokey, who sat between him and Denise
on the front seat, “and I shall put you one side of me and grandma upon
the other, just to keep you from getting into mischief. Grandma looks
sedate enough, but you must never judge from appearances.”
“Right this way, gentlemen and ladies! Right this way to secure the
finest reserved seats in the house! Fine cushioned parquet chairs.
Comfortable as your own lux_ur_us sofas at home. Don’t lose a moment!
They’re going fast! Seventy-five cents each for first choice!” shouted
the ticket-seller, perched in a funny little tent all by himself at the
entrance to the big tent.
“That’s just what we’re after! Here are six of us; now let’s see how
well you are going to treat us!” said Mr. Lombard to the man.
The smile with which it was said sent a cheering ray straight down
into the man’s tired heart, for, whatever it might seem to the public,
circus life was not bliss unalloyed, as this ticket-seller had learned
to his sorrow. “Treat you first-class, sir! Six fine seats all in line
on third row. Just high enough to see the whole arena, and escape any
dust! Here you are! Thank you, sir. Thank you, sir,” as Mr. Lombard
laid the money upon the little shelf and gathered up the six tickets.
But as he did not pass on, the man looked at him rather questioningly.
“Now I want seven more somewhere else. How about your fifty-cent seats?
Got plenty of those?”
If the man had beamed before, he fairly glowed now, for such customers
were rare. “All you want, sir! All you want!” he cried.
Mr. Lombard made his second purchase, and then, turning to the man who
had driven them up, said:
“Now get along back for your second load, and here’s a ticket for
yourself when you’ve safely landed all the help at the show. Tie up
your horses where they’ll be comfortable--I’ve made that all right with
Mr. Andrews--and see the whole thing. Only don’t forget us when it’s
over. There will be another hack along for John and the maids when
needed.”
“Oh, I say, _you’re all right_, Mr. Lombard,” said the hackman, with a
broad grin.
I need not tell you a single thing about the performance. You have all
been to the circus, and I dare say much finer ones than this little
country show, but I doubt if you ever laughed more heartily at the
funny pranks of the clowns and trick ponies, or ever enthused more
wildly over the beautiful horses and wonderful trapeze performances,
than did this happy party. Near the end of the performance the
ringmaster announced that there was to be a “new and novel feature
presented this evening by an exhibition of the manner in which bareback
riders were taught to ride.” Then a tremendous crane was fastened
to the great center pole of the tent in such a manner that it would
swing around in a circle the size of the circus-ring. A steady old
horse, a very patriarch of ring horses, was brought in, and some one
was selected from the audience to ride him. Now it so happened that
John’s eldest hopeful, a boy about twelve years of age, was the one to
volunteer, and to scramble upon the horse’s back like a young monkey.
A long strap with a stout belt attached dangled from the end of the
crane, and the belt was buckled securely about the boy’s waist, and the
word given to start. So far so good. He sat his steed bravely, and the
horse cantered around the ring in the easy rocking motion peculiar to
circus horses, who learn to move like machines. “Now stand up,” ordered
the ringmaster, and John, Jr., essayed to do so, to find himself a
moment later dangling in midair like a big spider from its web, legs
and arms flying wildly about in search of something to grasp as the
old horse still plodded staidly along beneath him, although just out of
reach of those wildly gesticulating arms and legs, while the audience
howled with laughter. Around went the horse, and just above him moved
the crane at the same speed, but land upon that beast again John, Jr.,
could not.
“Lewis, if you do not take me home I shall certainly die of laughter,”
said poor grandma to her son, who was so convulsed at the sight before
him that he was powerless to heed her, for certainly anything funnier
than that struggling boy, who had mounted that beast so confident
of his ability to ride him “any old way,” as he had confided to his
father, it would be hard to conceive of. On Mr. Lombard’s left sat
Pokey, laughing as she seldom laughed and until she ached therefrom.
But now John, Jr., grew desperate, and resolved to ride bareback or die
in the attempt. Ah, now he has his feet upon that broad back, and then
follows a wild struggle, only to end in defeat, as John, Jr., wildly
kicking, slides gracefully over his steed’s tail and lands gently upon
the sawdust. But he was not to monopolize all the excitement, for Pokey
had resolved to create a little on her own account, and when next Mr.
Lombard turned around to see how she fared she had vanished entirely.
“My soul and body, what has become of her!” he cried, in dismay, when a
voice from the bowels of the earth answered:
“I slipped through when I doubled up to laugh, and I can’t get back,”
for the “fine cushioned parquet chairs” had proved to be but boards
laid upon tiers and covered with turkey-red cushions, which needed but
a slight push to slip them into space. Pokey, in her excitement, had
given the push, and away she went, cushion and all, her exclamations
being completely drowned in the shouts of laughter.
Reaching down, Mr. Lombard gave a “long pull and a strong pull,” and
brought Pokey to light, none the worse for her spill.
“Look here, Miss. I’m going to tie a string to you in future,” said Mr.
Lombard, while grandma administered consolation in the shape of cream
peppermints, with which she seemed provided upon all occasions.
“I don’t see how I ever did it, I’m sure,” said Pokey solemnly.
“No more do I,” laughed Mrs. Lombard.
When the show came to an end Mr. Lombard said:
“Now keep all in a line close behind me, and then we will not become
separated in this jam, for the whole town is turned loose I firmly
believe.”
So off they started, Hart in the lead, with Mr. Lombard’s hands upon
his shoulders to “steer him straight,” Grandma, Mrs. Lombard, Denise,
and Pokey, as usual, at the end. They had just reached the exit, when
Denise turned to speak to Pokey, when lo, and behold, Pokey had again
disappeared.
“Papa, mamma, grandma!” she screamed, “Pokey’s gone again.”
They would have stopped could they have done so, but who can check the
outpouring of a circus crowd? Willy-nilly they were swept out into the
moonlight.
“Oh, what can have happened to her now,” wailed Denise. “How _could_
she get lost in just that little time?”
“Don’t be alarmed, dearie,” said mamma. “Papa and I will go right back
the moment we can get through the crowd, and will surely find her.”
Placing grandma and the two children in the waiting hack, Mr. and Mrs.
Lombard made their way back into the rapidly emptying tent, and had
hardly proceeded twenty feet when they came upon Pokey, covered with
dirt and sawdust.
“What under the sun has happened?” demanded Mr. Lombard.
“Oh, that old stump!” answered Pokey in tones of intense disgust. “Just
look at it, and the mess I’m in!” and she gave an impatient kick at
a small stump which showed about three inches above the ground close
to the bottom row of seats. “I was walking right along close behind
Denise, when I stubbed my toe on that hateful old thing and down I
went, flat on my face, and before I could get up I guess a _hundred_
people walked right over me. I thought they’d kill me, and I couldn’t
get up or stir. So I rolled over till I was in under the seats, and lay
there till the people got by. And just look what a sight I am!”
“Pokey, my girl, you are altogether too much given to stretching
at length upon mother earth, and after this I must beg you to keep
right end up, if you wish to avoid giving the entire family nervous
prostration. But considering that no bones are broken, and you are not
ground to fine powder, I’ll forgive you this time,” said Mr. Lombard,
as he scrubbed her off with his pocket-handkerchief.
CHAPTER X
TROUBLES NEVER COME SINGLY
“We have waited for Pokey’s arrival before making our first visit to
the ‘Chapel’ this year,” said Mrs. Lombard, when all were seated at the
dinner-table at one o’clock on Sunday.
“Haven’t you been up there at all this year?” she asked, for it was one
of her favorite spots.
“No; but John finished putting it in order yesterday afternoon and we
will all go up at about three o’clock.”
“Oh, splendid!” cried Denise. “I’ve got the loveliest book for you to
read, Pokey, and I’ll take dear old Tan and Ned. Tan can go up the hill
as easy as can be.”
Before long the whole party set out for the beautiful little woodland
retreat which went by the name of the Chapel because, during the summer
the family spent nearly every Sunday afternoon there, resting in the
hammocks, in the comfortable rustic seats, or stretched at length upon
the soft moss. Plenty of cushions were always carried, and a more
restful, soothing spot it would have been hard to find. The path led
through the fields up the hill and to the woods’ edge, and just within
it, where the view of the river was most charming, the seats had been
built. But between the previous late autumn days and this warm July
one, something else had been built, too, although the owner of the
property little suspected that squatters had taken possession of a
portion of this land. Possibly he would never have made the discovery
at all, had not his daughter and her pets brought it about. All were
toiling up the hill, burdened with their pet cushions, books, etc.,
with Denise in the lead, Tan on one side of her, and Ned on the other.
She had thrown an arm across each neck, and was saying, “Now ‘hay-foot,
straw-foot’” to teach them to keep in step. Not far behind came Pokey
upon “Mrs. Mamma’s” arm, for Pokey had not had time to get her climbing
wind yet, and the hill made her pant. Grandma was assisted by papa’s
arm, and all were “making haste slowly.”
“Hay-foot! Straw-foot! Hay-foot! S-t-r-a-w--Ohw-w-w-w-w!!!!!”
“Baa-a-a-a-a-a!” and a screeching neigh! Then pandemonium reigned for a
few moments, for the “straw-foot” no, _feet_, three of them! had been
planted fairly and squarely into a ground-hornet’s nest, and, in far
less time than it takes to tell about it, these “three musketeers” wore
yellow and brown uniforms, for the hornets literally covered them as a
garment. Mr. Lombard rushed to Denise’s rescue, or there is no telling
what her fate would have been, shouting to the others as he ran to fly
for their lives. Ned did not wait to be told, but tore down the hill
as though all the demons from the lower regions had attacked him, while
poor, stiff old Tan forgot all his stiffness and fled for “home and
peace” like any kid. But Mr. Lombard found his task no easy one, for
the enraged hornets were venting their wrath upon poor little Denise,
and he had actually to scrape them from her legs with a stick, only to
find them swarm upon the next unprotected spots and upon himself. At
last, in desperation, he rolled her in a rug he had brought with him,
and tore down the hill, mamma having fled at the first alarm to send
John to his assistance.
If you have ever been stung by even one hornet, you will know just
about a one-hundredth part of what Denise was enduring then, for some
of the hornets were still on her and Mr. Lombard.
John now came hurrying up, and, taking Denise from her father’s arms,
fled for home, leaving Mr. Lombard to dispose of his little enemies.
For a few hours there were lively scenes enacted in that home, for
while Mrs. Lombard and grandma, with Eliza the cook, and Mary the maid,
to help, administered all manner of home remedies to the sufferers,
John, mounted upon Flash, rushed for the doctor, and Pokey sat down and
quietly sobbed in one corner.
She had not been stung, but was filled with anxiety for Denise, and
heart-broken to see her suffer as she was suffering.
Dr. Swift was as good as his name, and came with all haste to give
relief, but it was many days before Denise could leave her room, and
Pokey was her greatest comfort, for the dear child cared for her as
she used to care for the invalid dolls. But before Denise could get
about again upon those poor swollen legs, something else happened which
almost reconciled the family to her having been so severely stung that
she was confined to her room.
Ned and Tan were not much the worse for their experience, for their
hair had been a protection, and a vigorous rolling in the dusty
road had produced a wonderfully pacifying effect upon those rampant
insects. After he had done all he could for the family, John turned
his attention to the pets, and had just made Tan comfortable and begun
upon Ned when he noticed a man standing by the fence and looking at the
pony as he brushed him and rubbed ointment where the stings were worst.
John gave a friendly nod, and said: “It’s lively work we’ve been havin’
these past two hours!”
“What’s happened?” asked the man.
John related the story, embellishing it, till the man might have
thought that Denise had retired in a garment made of hornets.
“Fine little beast, that,” said the man presently.
“You niver saw the loike of him in all your loife!” said John proudly.
“What will you take for him?”
“What’ll I take for him, is it, ye’re askin’? Faith he’s not mine to
sell, as ye well know, but ye’d better not be askin’ the master that
same.”
“What’s the boss’s name?”
“What’s that to you?” demanded John with some asperity, for he was
beginning to dislike the man.
“Say, I know a man who’ll give a cool two-fifty for him and never wink.”
“Well, he may save his offer, thin, for the boss paid three-fifty for
him not two year ago, and wouldn’t sell him for twice that, and don’t
you forgit it aither, me son.”
“Want ter make a deal? You git him to sell the little horse to my man
for what he paid fer him, an’ it’ll mean a fifty for you.”
But this was too much. “Who the divvil are ye, thin, I’d loike to know?
Get out av this, an’ if I catch ye about the place with yer blackguard
offers I’ll call the constable for ye as sure as iver me name’s John
Noonan,” and John advanced toward the fence with ire in his eyes.
“Did iver ye listen to sooch chake as that, me foin boy?” he asked his
small charge. “Don’t ye let it worry ye heart, me soon; it’s not goin’
to be sold out of _this_ home ye are! Not fer _no_ money!”
On Monday the circus gave another performance, and after that, in the
evening, crossed the river by special arrangement with the ferry-boat
and went upon its way.
As Pokey never drove Ned, he was not used at all on Monday, and at
eight o’clock had been locked in his little stable by John, and left,
as usual, to his dreams.
It was John’s custom to come early to his work, his own home being but
a short walk across the fields, and six o’clock usually found him at
the stable-door, to be greeted with welcoming neighs by the horses,
which had learned to love him, and by Denise’s pets, who found in John
a very faithful attendant. After opening up the big stable he went over
to the “Birds’ Nest,” and was surprised to find the door unlocked.
“Now who’s been that careless, I wonder,” he muttered.
Then, entering, he wondered not to hear Ned’s morning greeting. Filled
with an unaccountable misgiving, he hurried across the floor and looked
over the top of the door of the night-stall, but Ned was gone!
But even then the true situation did not dawn upon him, and he hurried
out to look all about the grounds and in every place Ned could possibly
have gone. But no Ned was to be found, and now, thoroughly alarmed, he
went to the kitchen to ask Eliza, who was just lighting her morning
fire, to call Mr. Lombard.
“Whatever has happened you?” demanded Eliza, looking up from her range.
“Ye look like ye’d seen a ghost.”
“The little horse is gone! I’ve hunted the place for him and can find
no trace of him,” answered John, in a distressed voice.
“The Lord save us! What will that dear child do?” cried Eliza in dismay.
“Go quick and call master,” was John’s answer.
“Don’t let this get to Miss Denise’s ears if it can possibly be
helped,” said Mr. Lombard when he and John had returned from a
fruitless search. “There may be some foundation for your suspicion
regarding that man who spoke to you on Sunday, and, coupled with what
Denise has told me about the circus-manager’s questions, I am forced
to admit that it does not look well. Go up to the village and ask Mr.
Stevens to come to me as quickly and as quietly as possible, for this
case needs both a lawyer and detectives. I will warn the others to keep
silent,” and with a very troubled face Mr. Lombard entered the house.
But all that day passed, and still others, without revealing a trace of
Ned. Inquiries set afoot came to naught. The circus had left at one A.
M., but Ned had not been among the ponies. If he were really stolen, as
Mr. Lombard was reluctantly compelled to believe, for that wise little
beast was not going to lose himself or stay away from home voluntarily,
those who tried to get him away must have used great skill, for
everybody in that town knew him.
The search had been on foot for three days when the thunderbolt fell
from the sky, dropped by Hart.
Mrs. Lombard, Denise, and Pokey were sitting in the former’s pleasant
room on Thursday morning when Hart called to Mrs. Lombard from the
bottom of the stairs, “Please may I speak with you a second?”
Mrs. Lombard hastened into the hall, for she was fearful that the
message pertained to Ned, and, even though the voice vibrated with
hope, she did not wish it to be heard by Denise unless it was the one
message she longed for. Hart had scoured the country on Pinto, but
thus far to no purpose. Half-way down the stairs Hart met her, and
whispered, as he supposed, in a low voice: “They think they have found
tracks of him because that man who spoke to John was seen away up on
Hook Mountain, and had come across the river in a great big boat, big
enough to carry Ned over in! And--”
“Hush!” whispered Mrs. Lombard, holding up a warning finger, but it
was too late. Over the railing hung a white little face, and a pair of
wild eyes looked beseechingly at her as Denise demanded: “_What_ do you
mean? Ned found? Traces of Ned? Where is he? What has happened? Tell me
right off.”
CHAPTER XI
A TIMELY RESCUE
Feeling that a real tragedy had come into the little girl’s life, as
great as perhaps she would ever experience, for Mrs. Lombard fully
realized how strong was the tie between Denise and this well-beloved
pet, and also realizing that which, unhappily, few do realize, that
childhood’s trials and sorrows are fully as keen for the time being as
the trials and sorrows which visit us later in life, although, blessed
provision of providence, less enduring. Had not a beneficent Father so
ordained it there would be no childhood, for we should be old men and
women while still in our teens.
Stepping quickly to her little daughter’s side, Mrs. Lombard put her
arm about her and said, “Come into the sitting-room, darling, and let
mother tell you all about it. I had thought to spare you the anxiety,
for we are confident that all will end well, but now that you have
heard so much you would better know the truth.”
Trembling from sympathy, Pokey had drawn near and taken one of Denise’s
hands, and now stood beside her “pooring” it and looking into her eyes
as though beseeching her not to be quite heart-broken. Hart, with
contrition stamped upon his handsome, boyish face, had crept up the
stairs, and was looking in at the door. Drawing Denise beside her upon
the couch, Mrs. Lombard said in her calm, soothing voice:
“When John went to the stable Monday morning Ned was not there. At
first we thought that he had managed to run away, but later we were
convinced that he could not have gone voluntarily, and a thorough
search has been instituted. Thus far it has been fruitless, but Hart
has just reported that one of the detectives whom papa has pressed
into service has seen one of the men whom we now know to have been
connected with the circus, and has further learned that which surprises
us not a little, that Ned once belonged to another branch of this very
circus. Indeed, that he and Sinbad, the big black horse with whom he
so promptly renewed his acquaintance, were formerly ring companions,
and performed tricks together. All this papa’s men have discovered, and
also that about a year before Ned became yours, the circus then being
in financial straits, Ned was sold, very much to the regret of the
proprietor. When more prosperous days returned, they tried to find him,
but could not, and not until they chanced to come to Springdale did
they ever see their clever little trick pony again. Then this manager
recognized him from the odd mark upon his right temple, and sent a man
down to see if he could buy him back again, but John sent him to the
right-about with a word of advice. Then Ned vanished, and, naturally,
our first thought flew to the circus. But Ned is not with it, nor yet
with the main body of it, for papa has sent everywhere. If they have
taken him they have surely hidden him somewhere till the excitement
shall pass, and they think it safe to bring him upon the scene far from
this section of the country. There, my dear little girl, is all the
truth, and you understand better than any one else can, how very sorry
I am to be forced to tell it to you,” and Mrs. Lombard held Denise
close to her and tenderly kissed her forehead.
Denise had not opened her lips but had grown whiter and whiter as the
story was told. The hand which lay in Pokey’s was icy, and the eyes,
which had never once been removed from her mother’s face while she was
speaking, had the look of a terrified animal’s.
Not a sound was heard in that room for a few moments save the ticking
of the little clock upon the mantel, and then Denise asked in a
strange, hard little voice:
“You say that the man was seen up near Hook Mountain?”
“Yes!” burst in Hart. “He had rowed across the river, they think, and
was prowling along the shore in a great big boat. Patsy Murphy was out
on the river fishing and saw him, and told Mr. Stevens when he got
back.”
“Mamma, could he take Ned in a boat?” asked Denise.
“He might do so if the boat were a very large one and Ned so tied that
he could not struggle.”
“Hart,” she cried suddenly, the big brown eyes filling with a fire
which boded ill for any one minded to take Ned from her, “do you
remember that wild little path we once came upon on Hook Mountain when
you and I were trying to find a short cut over to the lake one day? It
led around the curve of the mountain, and seemed to end, but when we
forced our way through the underbrush it led down to an old brick-yard
dock. We said at the time that it would be a splendid place to play
Captain Kidd and bury a treasure, for nobody would ever think of
scrambling way round there.”
“Of course I remember,” cried Hart, catching her excitement, although
as yet he hardly knew why.
“Have you hunted there?”
“No! I never once thought of that place.”
“Please go quick, _and take Sailor_. Give him something of Ned’s to
smell of and then say: ‘Find Ned, Sailor; find him!’ and he will know
just what you mean, because that is what I always say to him when
he and Ned and Tan and I play hide-and-seek, as we often do when we
are alone. I would go, too, but somehow I don’t feel very well, and
I--guess--I’ll--lie--” and the voice dwindled off into nothingness,
as poor little nearly-heartbroken Denise drew a long sigh and quietly
dropped into her mother’s arms, for the time being oblivious of her
loss and grief.
Raising her hand in warning to the terrified children, Mrs. Lombard
laid the limp little figure upon the couch, and began administering
restoratives with grandma, who, at the first sign of distress, had
appeared upon the scene to help. Pokey promptly sat down at the foot
of the couch and, taking Denise’s feet in her arms, proceeded to bedew
them with tears, begging them piteously to “oh, please get better right
off, and she would go herself to find Ned for them.”
Hart fled, dashing from his eyes the tears that had sought to disgrace
him, and muttering an excited, “Dod blasticate that circus! Wish the
hanged old thing had never showed up in Springdale! I’ll go up to that
place before I’ve lived another minute, and if Ned is anywhere in
the mountain, I’ll have him or bust the whole shebang. Wish I could
catch that man, I’d smash his head for him sure as guns! I’d--I’d--Why
didn’t we think of Sailor before! That girl’s got the longest head
_for a girl_, and if Pinto doesn’t just hustle _this_ time!” and with
his thoughts upon the gallop, Hart rushed across the lawn, calling
to Sailor, who was always ready to follow, and five minutes later was
tearing up the road toward Hook Mountain with Sailor bounding on ahead
of him.
Meantime Denise had come to her senses, but was limp as a little rag,
for she had not yet recovered from the effects of her terrible stings,
and the news had been as a thunderbolt to her. But Mrs. Lombard was a
wise nurse, and presently had the satisfaction of seeing her patient
succumb to the gentle influence of hyoscyamus, and slip away into
dreamland. Then, motioning to Pokey to leave the room, she drew the
shades, and followed her, saying to the distressed girl:
“Something tells me that Ned will come home to-day, and that Hart and
Sailor will find him. So run out into the sunshine and keep a sharp
watch, dearie, and be ready to report at the first sign of good news.”
Pokey, with Beauty Buttons close upon her heels, went downstairs, and
out into the grounds, making her way from force of habit to the Birds’
Nest. But the place was so deserted and silent that she gave a little
shiver and turned away from it, to wander aimlessly about with her
thoughts filled with Denise and Ned. Hardly knowing what she did, she
walked out of the grounds and turned toward the road which Hart had so
lately galloped over, and began walking along it.
Meanwhile Hart had passed through the village, and was galloping toward
Hook Mountain. Before long he came to the point at which the main road
turned aside to wind its way by a circuitous route over the mountain,
and this was the only way known to the ordinary traveler to reach the
fairy-like lake which lay in the lap of the mountain. But not so to the
children, who had scoured the country for miles in every direction. A
little path which seemed to end at the edge of an adjoining field did
not end there at all, but made its way through the undergrowth, up,
down, in, and out until it finally scrambled over to the other side of
the steep cliff, at whose base years before a small dock had been built
for the accommodation of a long-since-dismantled brick-yard. Stopping
at the entrance to the path, Hart called Sailor to him and, taking from
under his arm the saddle-cloth of Ned’s saddle, said to the dog: “Here,
old boy, see this? Smell it good, it’s Ned’s, Ned’s! Find him, Sailor,
find him! That’s a good dog!”
If ever an animal’s eyes spoke, Sailor’s did then, for, giving Hart
one comprehensive glance from those big brown eyes, so full of love
and faith, he began to bark and caper about like a puppy. Then Hart
started Pinto forward, and he and Sailor began their search. On and
on they went, furlong after furlong measured off behind them, brushed
by overhanging boughs, stumbling through the tangled undergrowth, and
repeatedly stopping to call and listen; Hart telling Sailor to bark
for Ned, and the deep bark waking the echoes of the silent woods. As
though he understood what they were doing, Pinto, too, would often
join in with a loud neigh, but no responsive neigh could be heard.
Nearly three hours had slipped away since Hart left Mrs. Lombard, and
the boy was beginning to lose hope, when they came upon the old dock,
and Sailor uttered a low growl, as, with hair bristling, he walked
toward it in that peculiar manner a Newfoundland dog advances upon
his enemy--a sort of “Come on and face me fairly and squarely” air.
Hart drew rein and called, while down his boyish spine crept a wee bit
of a chill, for he was far from home, and entirely defenseless. But
there was no sign of living thing, and, thinking that Sailor must have
been mistaken, Hart called to him, and went on into the wood again.
Had he been able to see the lower side of the old dock he might have
discovered a large flat-bottomed boat tied close under an overhanging
shed of it, while, from beneath the rickety boards peered a pair
of steely eyes which watched his every movement. Hart was indeed in
greater peril than he suspected, for this man would be the richer by a
considerable sum of money if he carried out successfully the dastardly
scheme of the one who offered the money to him, and to sit hidden there
and see his plans balked before his very eyes, unless he resorted to
far worse villainy than that already afoot, was a sore temptation.
With hair still bristling, and an occasional admonitory growl, Sailor
stalked very slowly after Hart, looking back from time to time to guard
against trouble from the rear. They reached the point where the path
wound its way up the jagged rocks, and where they had been forced to
pause when he and Denise explored it before, and a feeling of despair
began to settle upon him, for it seemed utterly hopeless to look
further. Sailor stood panting beside Pinto, evidently trying to ask,
What next? when suddenly he supplied the answer himself for, putting
his head close to the ground, he gave one long sniff, and then uttered
a joyous bark and dashed into the woods. As it was almost impossible
for Pinto to make way through the tangle, Hart slipped from his back,
and tore after Sailor. Just as he did so, Sailor barked again, and
far off in the distance a faint whinny answered him. “Gee whillikens,
Christmas! If that ain’t Ned’s whinny, I’m a bluefish!” shouted Hart,
and the next moment he almost tumbled into a little dell at the bottom
of which a sight greeted him that made him throw his cap into the air
and simply yell. In a little cleared space, firmly tied to a tree, a
dirty old blanket strapped upon him, and the remains of his last meal
scattered upon the ground near him, stood little Ned, with Sailor
licking his velvety nose and whining over him as though he were a lost
puppy. The next second Hart had his arms around Ned’s neck, laughing,
talking, asking questions as though he were speaking to a human being
who could answer if he only would. And Ned very nearly did, for the
little fellow’s joy was pathetic to witness. When Hart had somewhat
calmed down, he discovered how Ned had been led into his hiding-place,
for at the other side of it from the one he had entered there were
distinct traces of hoof-marks, and Hart lost not a second more in
untying the rope which held him and leading him out that way. This path
came out upon the wood-path somewhat below the point where Pinto had
been waiting, but, at Hart’s call, Pinto came picking his way down the
path and was greeted by his old friend with a joyous neigh. They had
not gone far when Sailor gave signs of anger, and, without a moment’s
warning, sprang upon a man who suddenly barred their progress.
CHAPTER XII
JOY TURNS POKEY DAFT
Had not Sailor acted so promptly, one trembles to think what might have
been the outcome of Hart’s adventure, but as the man bent down to avoid
the branches when he entered the pathway, Sailor sprang upon him and
bore him to the ground, face downwards, then planted both front feet
squarely upon the man’s back and held him firmly by his coat-collar,
growling in his ear: “If you know what is well for you, you won’t move!”
“Guard him, Sailor, guard him!” shouted Hart. “Hold him fast, good dog,
and I’ll send some one to you!” and, scrambling upon Pinto’s back and
leading Ned by his tattered rope, he plunged along the path at a
pace fit to bring destruction upon all three. But he had no thought of
destruction just then, his only thought being to send some one to the
noble dog’s aid. He reached the main road, and was tearing along at
breakneck speed, when he came upon a hay-wagon which had just turned in
from a roadside field. Pulling up so suddenly that he nearly fell over
Pinto’s head, he shouted: “Quick! Quick! Run up into the woods, for Mr.
Lombard’s Sailor has caught the man who was trying to steal Ned and is
holding him fast.”
[Illustration:
_Denise._
“THE MAN BENT DOWN TO AVOID THE BRANCHES.”]
All Springdale knew the story, and the three men in the hay-wagon
tumbled out of it as one man, to run toward the wood-path as though
they had Mercury’s wings upon their feet, while Hart, still quivering
with excitement, again pelted off toward home and friends. He was still
rivaling John Gilpin when a voice from the side of the road called:
“Oh, Hinkey-Dinkey! Hinkey-Dinkey! Where did you find him? Where did
you find him?” and up bounded Pokey, to plant herself almost directly
in his path, for joy made her reckless. They were on the lower side of
the village, Pokey having walked and walked till she was weary, and
then seated herself by the roadside to think things over. Hart slid off
Pinto’s back, and both ponies were glad to rest, for Hart had never
given a thought to time, distance, or heat in his eagerness to reach
home. Both ponies were blowing like porpoises, and for once in her
life Pokey forgot all fear of Ned and, gathering his head in her arms,
proceeded to sob out her joy upon his neck.
“I say, what the dickens are you crying about now when we’ve got him?”
demanded Hart, with a boy’s usual disgust for tears. “Those fellows up
there will fix that man all right and Sailor’s a trump. Come on home,
for that’s where we want to get Ned now just as quick as ever we can,”
and he gave Pokey’s sleeve a pull.
“I know it,” she answered, raising her head from Ned’s silky mane. “But
I’m sort of all shaky, I’m so happy, and please let me lead Ned home.
He’s awful tired, and will be glad to walk the rest of the way, and I
want to take him to Denise, for I couldn’t go to find him, and I wanted
to do something so badly.”
“Of course you may lead him, but I thought you were scared to death of
him,” said Hart, amazed to find that timid Pokey, who had invariably
kept some one between herself and Ned, wanted to lead him. But on
they went, and Hart had cause to be more surprised before he was less
so, for Pokey hurried along the road, Ned pattering beside her, and
occasionally tugging at the rope to hasten her steps as he drew nearer
and nearer the dear home and dearer little mistress. Pokey did not
take time to go around by the driveway when she reached the grounds,
but slipped in through a side gate, and right across the lawn. What
happened next will be told presently.
After about an hour’s sleep, Denise awakened much refreshed, and Mrs.
Lombard was on hand to say a soothing word the moment her eyes opened.
Then followed a long, quiet talk, Denise asking questions and her
mother answering them with the utmost care and infinite patience.
“Where is Pokey, mamma?” she asked, after a little.
“I sent her outdoors to freshen up a bit, for she is much disturbed
over this misfortune. She will be in soon, I think, dear.”
“Would you mind if I went down into the library, mamma? That room
always seems the nicest one to be in when things trouble me, for
somehow or other they seem to sort of get straight there.”
“Certainly, we will go down, darling, if you think you can do so, but
the poor legs are still pretty stiff.”
“I think I can with your help.”
“Then off we go,” and Mrs. Lombard placed her arm about Denise’s waist
to help her down the stairs. In a few moments they were settled in the
big chair, Denise saying, with a sigh, as she rested her weary little
head against her mother’s shoulder:
“Mamma, why is it that I always feel such a sense of security when
_you_ are with me? Then things always seem to go so smoothly, and
troubles don’t seem half so hard to bear.”
“I wish that it lay within my power to make all your pathway smooth for
you, my darling, and insure a future free from trials. But that cannot
be, so I try to make the childhood days sweet and happy ones, that you
may carry with you throughout your life a beautiful memory, of which
nothing can ever deprive you, and which will bring into the dark days
which you like all others, must meet, a ray of sunshine to cheer and
gladden you. Then the memory of these precious home hours, our little
talks, and confidences, our perfect trust in each other, will come
back to you, and, I think, strengthen you to meet the daily trials we
must all meet, and to see how you may smooth them out for others when
opportunity arises.”
Mrs. Lombard was stroking back the hair from Denise’s forehead as she
talked to her, and Denise was toying idly with the ribbons upon her
mother’s gown. When Mrs. Lombard finished speaking they sat silent for
a moment or two, and then the silence was broken in a startling manner.
“Yes, you can do it if you want to, and you just _must_ ’cause her legs
are too stiff for her to come to you. There? Now you see you can, just
as well as not! Now another! Another! One more! Another! Now only two
more-and--t-h-e-r-e you are!” and then a clatter and a scramble over
the piazza, and in through the lace curtains tore Pokey and Ned side by
side, one with a cry of, “I had to bring him! I couldn’t wait!” and the
other with as joyous a neigh as ever a horse gave voice to. Straight
into the library they came pell-mell, and straight into Denise’s arms,
to be laughed over and cried over. For the tears which had not come at
the sorrow, fell like a refreshing summer shower now, and Denise never
knew that they were falling.
Mrs. Lombard and Denise had sprung to their feet as the funny pair
entered the library, and both joined in the shout of welcome, and now
Pokey, having done her one wild, unbridled act, curled herself up in a
little heap in the middle of the floor and, clasping her knees in her
arms, swayed back and forth, crying and laughing by turns as she said:
“Hart found him in the woods, and I made him scramble up the
piazza-steps, so we both got him! We both got him, didn’t we?”
Need I tell you any more? Yes, I will tell you how Beauty Buttons
carried the good news to papa when he came home that evening. Of course
all was excitement for a time, for Ned was welcomed like a lost son,
the entire family gathering about him as he stood in the middle of
the library with Denise hugging him as though she would never give
over doing so, and every one trying to find some spot to stroke, for
grandma, Eliza, Mary, and John had rushed up to the library to rejoice,
eulogize, and all talk at once of Ned’s abduction by “that bad man,”
and his rescue by “this blessed boy.” Hart’s head was in a fair way to
be turned hind-side-before with sheer conceit, and in future Ned might
be expected to demand quarters in the library. After the excitement had
subsided a little, John went tearing off to the village to learn the
fate of the “bad man” and Sailor, and also to telegraph to Mr. Lombard.
Of course, during all the attention paid to Ned, Beauty was somewhat
overlooked, but this he set about remedying himself by first jumping
upon a chair, and then upon Ned’s back, where he wriggled about so much
that Ned turned his head around to hint at less active demonstrations
of joy.
Finally Ned was taken to the “Birds’ Nest” by the children, Denise
having speedily recovered under the stimulating influence of so much
happiness. During the afternoon Beauty was as fidgety as a flea, and
kept running to the entrance-gate every time a train whistled. As
six o’clock drew near he vanished, but was not missed by the family
because Sailor, who had just been brought home by John, after having
held his victim till the men sent by Hart released him and led him to
the sheriff’s office, where he was promptly dealt with, was now the
conquering hero to be worshiped and commended.
As John’s testimony was required at the sheriff’s office, he was not
on hand to drive to the station as usual for Mr. Lombard, but as that
gentleman stepped from the train, what should he see perched at the end
of the platform, but a tiny black-and-tan dog, with both ears cocked up
expectantly, and who, directly he spied his master, rushed toward him
fairly squirming and wriggling with excitement. Mr. Lombard said that
he felt sure that Beauty was trying to tell him the good news.
CHAPTER XIII
MISCHIEF
“Good-night, Sweetheart. Good-night, Pokey, dear,” said Mrs. Lombard,
as she kissed the children just before departing a few evenings later
to attend a card-party given by one of their neighbors. The children
were not to accompany them, and a few moments later Mr. and Mrs.
Lombard, with grandma, sweet and delightful to look upon, arrayed all
in soft gray china silk, with a dainty little white lace cap upon her
snowy hair, and dainty lace at her throat, took their seats in the
carriage and were whirled out of the grounds and down the road, waving
farewells as long as they were in sight.
“Now what shall we do this evening?” demanded Denise, as they ran back
to the piazza.
“Let’s take a walk down the road,” answered Pokey.
“No, we can’t do that, because mamma does not like me to leave the
grounds when she goes out in the evening.”
“Then let’s go into the library and get a nice book and read aloud. I
saw one that looked wonderfully interesting when I was looking in there
the other day. It was called ‘Ernest Hart on Mesmerism,’ and I want to
see what it is about.”
“My goodness! Why don’t you try to read Greek and have done with it?
Why, papa would think we were crazy if we tried to read those books.
Besides, I don’t think he would like to have us take them. Whenever I
want to know anything about such things I ask him and he tells me all
about them in just plain every-day language that I can understand. I
don’t believe that we could make head or tail of that book if we took
it. What is mesmerism, anyway?”
“Why,--it’s--it’s--a man who can put people to sleep and make them do
things they don’t know a thing about. When they wake up again they
can’t remember a single thing they have done, and--why, what are you
laughing about? I don’t see anything so very funny in that,” for
Denise’s eyes had begun to sparkle, and a mischievous smile appeared
upon her lips.
“Maybe our mesmerizings aren’t the same, but I know of one kind that
is the funniest thing that you ever saw if we only had some one to
mesmerize.”
“Who told you about it?”
“We did it one time at a Hallowe’en party, and we nearly died laughing.
Some of the girls got angry, but most of them took it just as fun. It
really was fun, for it did not do them the least harm, and it all came
off.”
“_What_ came off?” persisted Pokey, for Denise’s explanation certainly
left room for speculation.
“The smudge. I tell you what we’ll do. We’ll mesmerize Eliza. She’s
such a good-natured old thing that she’ll not mind it a bit, and Mary
will nearly have a fit when she sees her.”
Pokey’s faith in Denise was boundless, so a few moments later the
conspiracy was hatched, and the two scapegraces were on their way to
victimize Eliza.
Running down to the little porch just outside the laundry-door, where
Eliza took her evening airing after the labors of the day were ended,
the children pounced upon her, crying:
“Oh, Eliza, we have come to show you and Mary something wonderful that
we have learned. Do you want to see it?”
“Somethin’ wondherful, is it, Miss Denise? Shure, yoursilf and Miss
Pokey is wondhers all riddy.”
“No, but really, Eliza, this _is_ something wonderful! Have you ever
heard of a man named Mesmer?”
“Mismer? What was he loike at all? Was it him thot came out to tach ye
all to dance last winter?”
“Oh, no! That was Monsieur Mezereau. The man Pokey and I mean was a
great magician, and could do almost anything.”
“A mugician? What did he play on, thin? A horn? Thim Frinch min does be
playin’ horns mostly.”
“Oh, Eliza, she doesn’t mean a musician,” explained Pokey. “She means a
man that does all sorts of tricks, and magic things like they do in the
theatres. Have you ever seen one?”
“Sure! Didn’t me niphew take me to see that feller called Heller
whin I was down in New York this very sphring past. Faith, he was a
marvil thin, an’ no mistake. Is it him ye mane, an’ can ye do some
av thim things yersels?” and Eliza clasped and unclasped her hands
in excitement, for her trip to town to pass a week with her married
sister early in the spring, the first Mrs. Lombard had been able to
persuade her to take in more than two years, had been one of the
events of her life, and the happenings of that week, among which had
been an evening at the theatre watching Professor Heller’s marvelous
performances, had been gone over again and again for the benefit of the
none too credulous Mary.
“Well, we can’t do _all_ the things he did, of course,” said Denise,
“but we can do one of them. We can put you to sleep and make you do
just the things we tell you if you will let us. Will you?”
“Thot Heller man put a girl to slape, and then tuck away the thing she
was slapin’ on and left her lyin’ there on the air! Could ye do thot
same wid _me_?” demanded Eliza in amazement.
“We can put you to sleep, but we don’t know how to make you lie on the
air,” answered Denise, a twinkle coming into her eyes as she surveyed
Eliza’s ample proportions.
“Well thin, thry it now, an’ I’ll bet ye all me old shoes that niver
a wink will ye be afther gittin’ out av me. So there now!” and
Eliza settled herself comfortably back in the rocking-chair she was
occupying, and looked defiance at her amateur magicians.
“Will you do just exactly as we tell you to do?” demanded Pokey.
“Sure!” with a confirming nod.
Meantime Mary, who had been having a neighborly chat across the fence
with Mr. Murray’s gardener, came upon the scene, and at once became
interested in the proceedings.
“There now, ye wouldn’t belave me whin I towld ye all I’d seen down
yonder, would ye now?” cried Eliza, “but here the very childer know
about it an’ will be afther showin’ ye. They think that they’ll be able
to put _me_ to slape! Faith, it do be wake-moinded cratures that can
be sint off to the land o’ nod by thim thricks. I’m not such a fool as
not to know _that_ much. But let thim thry if they want to. It’ll do
_me_ no harm, and it’ll show ye a thing or two ye’ve been doubtin’,”
and Eliza, whom Mary had driven nearly to the point of distraction by
teasing unmercifully when she had related some of her experiences while
in town, nodded her head in the way that meant, maybe you will believe
me when you have seen it tried yourself.
Pokey and Denise now came running back armed and equipped for magical
deeds. They carried three plates, each one partially filled with water.
When they saw Mary, Pokey cried:
“Oh, Mary, you must let me mesmerize _you_, while Denise mesmerizes
Eliza. Will you? Please do.”
“If she kin stand it I guess I kin,” was Mary’s laughing reply, and,
taking a seat beside Eliza, she waited developments. Pokey rushed back
into the house and presently returned with a fourth plate.
“Now you must both do just exactly as you see us do, and you must look
right straight at us _every_ minute,” commanded Denise.
“Sure, that’s dead aisy,” answered Eliza, reaching two chubby hands for
her plate.
Denise undertook to direct Eliza, while Pokey gave her attention to
Mary.
“Now hold it just this way, and _no_ other,” said Denise, adjusting the
plate in Eliza’s hands in such a manner that her thumbs rested upon the
rim, and her four fingers just touched the under side. “Don’t take your
eyes from my face, and don’t _laugh_ whatever you do. Mary, you do just
exactly the same as you see Pokey do.”
Two chairs were then placed opposite their victims, and the children
took their seats, their own plates held in precisely the same manner
the maids were holding theirs.
“One, two, three,” counted Denise, and “one, two, three,” counted Pokey.
“Wan, twoo, thrae-e,” echoed Eliza, and “one, two, three,” repeated
Mary, looking intently at the children.
“With this magic sign I charm thee,” droned Denise, dipping her finger
into her plate and making a snake-like streak across her forehead.
“’Tis the sign av the divvil himsilf, I doubt,” muttered Eliza.
“Hush! You must say exactly what I say,” commanded Denise.
“The god of sleep descend upon you,” muttered Pokey, frowning
prodigiously at Mary, and making moist, wavy signs upon her own
forehead, which Mary imitated with a half-laughing, half-scared look.
“Hickory, dickory, dockory, o,--Four little imps on the bottom, I
know,” continued Denise, doing her best to keep a straight face, while
Eliza repeated with more or less accuracy the nonsense which had
sprung into Denise’s fertile brain and out of her lips, as she rubbed
her fingers around and around upon the bottom of her plate, and then
drew it carefully down the bridge of her tip-tilted nose; Eliza doing
precisely the same so far as motion was concerned, but with a far more
startling result.
“‘_De gustibus non est disputandum_,’”[1] quoted Pokey, airing some of
the Latin which she had learned the previous winter, and which she now
used with telling effect upon Mary.
“Lord have mercy upon us! She’s sayin’ the very words the praist said
on Sunday last!” said Eliza, glancing hastily toward Pokey.
“Oh, you mustn’t! You mustn’t!” cried Denise. “Now pay strict attention
to me. By all the powers of the little god of sleep,” and a finger
was rubbed beneath the plate, and then a cross made upon her cheek:
“By all the charms that he can work upon us,” another cross upon the
other cheek: “By every dream that haunts us,” more vigorous rubbing
upon the bottom of her plate, and cabalistic signs drawn upon her face,
which were closely imitated by Eliza’s fat finger, upon her fatter
face, until it would have been doubtful if her own sister, so recently
visited, would have recognized her. “By--, By--, oh dear! _Don’t_ you
feel the least _little bit_ sleepy?”
“Sorry a wink! Didn’t I tell ye it would take a wake-moinded person,
Mary?” turning a most triumphant, soot-marked face toward Mary, who,
giving a howl of derision, let her own plate go rolling across the
porch floor, to bound off the steps and land in the grass, where it lay
peacefully right side up and told no tales.
“What are ye howling at me loike that for, I’d loike to know?” demanded
Eliza, for Mary had come to the house when a mere slip of a girl, and
Eliza had trained her in the way she should go, and laughing at her
superior was not one of the duties inculcated.
“Oh, Eliza, will ye be lookin’ at yer face! ’Tis a sight for sinners ye
are!”
“Well, thin,” cried Eliza, bridling, and adding red as well as black to
her decorations, “maybe it would be jist as well were ye afther takin’
a look at yer own pheeziognomy in the mirror there in the dinin’-room
beyant, for beloik ye’d think that ye had not missed all the beauty av
the whorld entoirly,” and up rose Eliza to sail majestically into the
house, from whence a moment later arose a howl of wrath which caused
Denise and Pokey to flee to the seclusion of the Birds’ Nest, there to
confide to Ned Toodles the prank they had played upon the autocrats
of the kitchen and dining-room, while said autocrats resorted to a
vigorous application of pumice-stone soap and hot water, meanwhile
comparing notes and vowing vengeance upon their would-be mesmerizers.
“Ah, ’tis sthrong-minded ye are, Eliza,” cried Mary, scouring
vigorously, and then bursting into hearty laughter.
“Faith I do be thinkin’ it’s a _nayguer_ I am, an’ no mistake. Did
iver ye know the loikes av them childer, to take in an old woman loike
me wid their palaverin’? Faith, it’s makin’ their marks in the whorld
the’ll be afther doin’!”
“Glory be, but they’ve already begun on oursels, an’ no mistake,” and
Mary sat down upon a near-by chair to laugh as only a light-hearted
Irish girl can, even though the joke be at her own expense.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] There is no use disputing about tastes.
CHAPTER XIV
AUNT MIRANDA COMES TO TOWN
Vacation was slipping away all too rapidly, and the first of September
drawing near to carry Pokey away from her beloved Springdale and back
to the city and school duties. But Pokey was an ambitious little soul,
as well as a very philosophical one, and took her blessings as they
came, making the most of them for the time being, and taking up the
duties with a cheerful face when the time arrived to take them--a
characteristic which followed her through her whole life, and made many
a wearisome burden less wearisome.
But two more weeks remained of that precious vacation, and how to make
those weeks the very best of all was a problem the children were
settling themselves to solve one warm morning, when John appeared
with the mail-bag. Springing from their seats upon the soft grass
under the old apple-tree, and scattering dogs, cats, a goat, and a
pony helter-skelter, the two girls rushed after him to claim any
mail the bag might hold for them. True, their correspondence was not
so overwhelming that they required amanuenses, but a mail-bag has a
wonderful fascination for both old and young folk, and simply to watch
for a possible letter was exciting.
This time there was the usual supply for each member of the family,
and, although there was nothing for either of the children, there was
one letter which held a peculiar, and none too pleasing, interest
for the family. This one came from an aunt who usually visited the
family once a year--an aunt of Mr. Lombard’s, who had seen many, many
summers and winters pass by, and yet had never learned that simplest
of all lessons: to look upon certain situations with other people’s
eyes. No, Aunt Miranda saw things with her _own_ eyes, and why her
range of vision was not the only correct one, or why some one’s else
might not be equally correct, sixty-seven years spent upon this big
globe had utterly failed to convince her. In _her_ day young girls,
young men, middle-aged men, and middle-aged women did thus and so, and
consequently ought to do so at the present day.
It need hardly be added that her annual visit was not anticipated with
enthusiasm, for, from the moment she entered the front door to the
moment it closed upon her, a succession of comments, criticisms, and
commands, issued as only Aunt Miranda could give voice to them, kept
everybody rubbed the wrong way, and made things generally miserable.
“Oh, dear-r-r! Is she really coming day after to-morrow?” wailed
Denise, in a tone very unlike her usual cheery one, for if “coming
events cast their shadows before,” certainly Aunt Miranda’s letter had
already obscured the sun.
“Sweetheart!” said Mrs. Lombard gently.
“Yes, I know what you mean, mamma, and I know it isn’t the proper way
to speak of a guest; and I know you don’t like to have me feel so;
and I know that it’s just hateful to; and I know that Aunt Miranda
is coming, and, oh, me, that means the fidgets for every one of us,
from Beauty Buttons straight down to _you_, or up, just as you want to
count. There! Now I’ve said my hateful things, I’ll set about getting
my mind in shape for saying nice ones, when way down inside myself
I feel like saying horrid ones, and if that is not being a little
hypocrite I’d like to know it,” and Denise gave herself a shake as
though she hated the very thought of doing something which she knew did
not ring true.
Mrs. Lombard was too wise a woman to read her little daughter a lesson
on manners and morals and goody-goody conduct generally, for she
understood human nature too well for that, and realized just how hard
it was for a happy, open-hearted girl, entirely natural in speech
and manner, to control herself when every act, every word, and every
expression of countenance was undergoing the keenest criticism, and
she was being taken to task for the very acts which had always been
considered proper by those who had trained her so carefully. So now,
instead of speaking harshly, or making the situation even more trying
by laying down certain rules to be followed during the coming visit,
she did the one thing best calculated to smooth a ruffled spirit.
Laying down the unwelcome letter, she took Denise’s rather defiant face
in both her hands, drew her gently toward her, and kissed her ever so
softly just under the little curls upon her forehead, saying as she did
so:
“If it were not for the little clouds in the sky we should never half
appreciate the sunshine, darling. We all have obligations, and you
and I will endeavor to meet ours gracefully, even though they are
not as pleasant as they might be. One little week out of our lives
will hardly count, and some day we shall both be old and, possibly,
peculiar ourselves. Then we will be glad to have others tolerant of our
peculiarities. But in the present case we must both fill the rôle of
hostess, and, as the Scots say, ‘Stranger is a holy name.’ Aunt Miranda
is not a stranger to us by any means, but if we substitute the word
‘guest’ for that of ‘stranger,’ we shall hold to the spirit of the old
saying, and that is all we need consider. Shall we try to remember,
Sweetheart?”
“I’d be the crankiest old thing that ever lived if I didn’t, and Aunt
Miranda will find me a perfect saint!” cried Denise, the laugh coming
back to her usually sunny face.
“Not a saint; they are entirely too oppressive for every-day life; just
a ‘creature not too wise or good for human nature’s daily food,’ you
know,” answered Mrs. Lombard, with a final pat upon Denise’s head, and
a smile for Pokey.
In the course of time Aunt Miranda, her baggage, and her whims arrived.
Denise and Pokey drove to the station with John when he went to meet
that estimable lady, and were greeted with:
“My heart and body! how do you ever expect me to get into that carriage
with you in it already? I can’t abide being crushed, and I shall _not_
put my bag and things on the bottom of the carriage.”
“Oh, Pokey and I will sit on the front seat of the surrey with John,
Aunt Miranda, and you can put all your things on the seat beside you,”
cried Denise, remembering her mother’s gentle words, and doing her best
to overcome the spirit of rebellion which this “dash of cold water”
instantly summoned up within her, for Aunt Miranda had not taken the
slightest notice of her greeting, but, pushing her to one side, had
sailed straight for the surrey, and the opening remark had been her
first words.
“And crowd him up so that he can’t manage the horses? Not if I know
it! I never risk _my_ life with fractious horses.”
“Oh, Sunshine and Flash are _never_ fractious!” cried Denise, prompt to
defend her favorites. “They are only spirited, and John can manage them
perfectly.”
Aunt Miranda turned upon her like a whirlwind. “Young lady, will you be
good enough to let _me_ have an opinion of my own? I’ve ridden behind
those animals more than once, I can assure you, and I think that I know
a thing or two about them which even you, with all your wisdom, may not
have learned yet. Elizabeth Delano, come right out of that surrey! You
and Denise (where on earth your father and mother ever found _that_
heathenish name I can’t conceive) may walk home. ’Twon’t hurt you one
mite. Then I’ll put my things on that seat and set Lorenzo on this seat
beside me; he can’t bear to be away from me a moment,” and she held
forth to John, who was already seething inwardly, a bag and bundle of
shawls, while she firmly grasped a huge cage which held the idolized
“Lorenzo,” a parrot of many accomplishments and diabolical temper.
Pokey came meekly forth, and Aunt Miranda stalked into the place she
had vacated. The cage was settled beside her, her traps beside John,
and her orders issued.
“Now, don’t you children come tearing home as though your lives
depended upon your getting there within the next five minutes. It’s
only eleven o’clock now, and your luncheon won’t be ready for two
hours. So take your time, do you understand?”
“Wait here, Miss Denise, and I’ll drive back for you and Miss Pokey,”
said John, for he was wroth with the elderly maiden who would make his
young mistress tramp nearly a mile through the sultry August heat.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort! My heart and body, do you suppose it is
going to kill two perfectly healthy girls to walk that distance? In
_my_ time girls walked or stayed home, I can tell you. No such nonsense
as teams being sent for them. Now you girls come right along behind;
do you understand?” and Aunt Miranda wagged a lisle-covered finger at
the bewildered pair upon the platform. But before further orders could
be issued, John adroitly drew the long whip-lash gently across Flash’s
flanks, and that sagacious horse needed no broader hint to put a
quietus to Aunt Miranda’s tirade. It was all fun and good spirits, but
when Flash “arose to the occasion” by rearing upon his hind feet and
then making a dash forward, which Sunshine was not slow in following,
Aunt Miranda had all she wished to attend to.
“My heart and body! My heart and body!” she screamed, grasping the
front seat with one hand and holding on to Lorenzo for dear life
with the other. “Look out for those demons! Didn’t I say they were
fractious? I shall do all in my power to persuade Lewis to sell them
at once. They are not fit to be driven by any one! Vicious brutes!”
“Oh, that’s jist the tickle in their fate, ma’am,” said John, doing
his best not to smile, and sending at the same time a silent message
along the reins all too well understood by those sagacious beasts. That
ride of three-quarters of a mile was a wild one, for if John could not
speak his mind to the lady behind him, he certainly held a means of
retaliation which worked to a charm, and when he finally whisked her up
to the door=step, both she and Lorenzo had experienced a very lively
five minutes, and a more flustered bird, or more flustered elderly
lady, it would have been difficult to find.
“Emilie Lombard, if you ever send those horses for me again I shall
refuse to ride behind them!” was the greeting Mrs. Lombard heard as she
hastened to welcome her guest. “They are perfect demons; just nothing
but demons! Here, let me get out before they kill me outright! Never,
never again shall I ride in this carriage! There, there! Be careful
how you handle Lorenzo, Mary. He has been nearly shaken to death as it
is, and I dare say will be ill from the fright. No, don’t touch that
bag! It has my camphor and smelling-salts, to say nothing of several
other things, which I never permit any one to touch, in it. Emilie, you
hold this while I get out, and John, get straight down and hold those
beasts’ heads. I sha’n’t stir one step from this carriage unless you
do, and I don’t know but what I’ll die of fright if I stay in it. My
heart and body, why people can want to drive such fractious animals is
entirely beyond my understanding.”
John obediently dismounted, and, going to the horses’ heads, began
the little freemasonry which he and they so well understood, with the
result that they nosed and mumbled him like a pair of kittens, and
no kittens could have shown more coyness than they while their irate
passenger was removing herself and her belongings from the carriage,
and fussing and bustling herself into the house.
“Faith, we fixed her well that toime, didn’t we now, me dandies?”
said John with a knowing laugh, as he gave a final pat to the pretty
creatures, and sprang back into the surrey. “And now we’ll spin back
for the young ladies, that we will, and never turn a hair for the spin.
Walk home is it they will? Faith, I’d loike to see thim doin’ the loiks
of it if me and you knows what we’re about! Now, thin! Off wid yees!”
CHAPTER XV
AUNT MIRANDA AND NED HAVE A LITTLE ALTERCATION
It all began with Beauty Buttons. Ordinarily Beauty was a well-behaved
dog, but even a well-behaved dog has been known, to resent
discourtesies, and Beauty had a grievance. In the first place, he knew
his rights and privileges, and meant to have them respected One of
these was to lie upon the couch-rug in the guest-room if he chose to
do so. With Aunt Miranda’s advent that privilege was withheld for the
time being, but of this, of course, Beauty was ignorant, and when he
felt disposed to take a little siesta in the cool, inviting guest-room,
thither he made his way, and was peacefully dreaming of luscious bones
when Aunt Miranda pounced upon him, and, with one sweep of her strong
right arm, sent him sprawling upon the floor, there to blink at her
with sleep-stupefied eyes until another swoop sent him scurrying out
of the room to rush to the Birds’ Nest, there, no doubt, to confide
his wrongs to Ned Toodles’ sympathetic ears, and receive assurance
that they would be avenged at the earliest possible moment. The moment
arrived that very afternoon.
“Emilie Lombard, how am I to get to the village to register this
letter?” demanded Aunt Miranda shortly after luncheon.
“John will take it for you, Aunt Miranda, if it is very important,”
answered Mrs. Lombard.
“No he won’t, either! Catch me trusting an important letter to that
Irishman! He would not know the difference between a registered letter
and one to be sent special delivery; I shall take it myself. But how am
I to get there, I’d like to know?”
“John will drive you up in time for the outgoing mail if you wish to
have him.”
“Drive me with what? Not those demons, I can tell you. I would not go
with those horses if I never went.”
“Oh, you really need not feel any alarm. They are perfectly safe. I
will accompany you if it will make you feel any easier.”
“And like enough both of us will be killed. No. I shall go in the
pony-carriage. If that snip of a horse cuts up I shall get out and
put him in the carriage and _drag him_ home,” asserted Aunt Miranda,
in happy innocence of that small beast’s capabilities when he was not
treated with proper respect. Moreover, did he not have a wrong to
avenge for a fellow-pet?
“Very well, Denise will drive you to the post-office with pleasure,”
was Mrs. Lombard’s gentle reply.
“She won’t drive me with pleasure or anything else, for I mean to drive
_myself_!” was the startling statement, made with a series of positive
wags of Aunt Miranda’s head.
“Oh--” began Denise, who, with Pokey, had been a silent listener to
the foregoing conversation, and who could no longer keep quiet, for
well she knew what might be expected from Ned if Aunt Miranda undertook
to drive him to the village.
“Now, Miss, you need make no remarks, nor advance any opinions. I drove
long before you, or your mother, were born, and I have an idea that I
can drive yet. At any rate, I mean to try, and it won’t do a mite of
good for you to try to stop me. I’m _going_!”
Denise gave one imploring look at her mother, who answered it with
another which meant, “We will not say another word.”
The order was given, and twenty minutes later Aunt Miranda took her
seat in the little phaeton, her tall, spare figure towering up from it
like a liberty-pole, and her face set in determination to drive that
atom of an animal or die in the attempt.
“Now you stand right there at his head until I get comfortably settled,
you man. I don’t want to be jerked all to pieces before I get my
clothes settled right, and that beast seems to have been imbibing some
of those horses’ ideas,” she said, as Ned cocked one wicked eye back
toward her as she stepped into the carriage. “And you come and tuck
this linen robe in so that it won’t drag a mile on the ground,” she
continued, beckoning to Denise, who stood at the foot of the steps,
undecided whether to offer her services or keep discreetly in the
background. She came obediently forward at the bidding, Pokey hastening
to the other side of the phaeton to do her share. “Stand aside. Keep
out of the way. One person can do this easy enough,” was the ungracious
speech which greeted Pokey’s overture.
“Now hand me those reins. There! I’d like to see him cut up now!” she
said, as she gave the reins a twist about her hands, and held them as
though she were holding an elephant. “Now stand out of my way, all of
you. Now!” and giving the loud cluck which she felt to be the correct
signal for a start, and slapping the reins upon Ned’s back, she essayed
to start. John had held Ned’s head up to this moment, but now he let
go, and, with a bound, Ned started forward, to find himself suddenly
jerked almost upon his haunches.
“Not if _I_ know it, you little villain!” cried his driver.
Ned came to a standstill, but gave his head two or three ominous shakes
sidewise, which, to any one understanding him as Denise understood him,
meant mischief ahead, but Aunt Miranda merely regarded them as a proof
of her control over him.
“Now I shall take my time and go by the river-road,” she announced to
those watching her, “and you need not expect me back for more than an
hour. I’ve no notion of being hustled about.”
At the announcement that she was going by the river-road, Denise sprang
forward and clasped her hands about her mother’s arm, whispering
excitedly: “Oh, mamma, she ought not go that way with Ned. You know Mr.
Blair’s Nero!”
“Aunt Miranda,” called Mrs. Lombard, “I would advise you to take the
other road. Mr. Blair’s--” but Aunt Miranda had not paused for any
instructions, and, with a backward nod, drove off with determination in
her eye and defiance in her attitude.
Now Ned’s mouth still pained from the jerk it had received, and Ned’s
sense of right and justice had been outraged at the very outset. He
was never vicious, but, on the other hand, he was invariably wisely
handled, and carefully driven. A horse’s mouth, if properly treated, is
a wonderfully sensitive thing, and Ned’s was filled with many delicate
nerves which had never been abused. But there was nothing gentle
about the person who now had him in hand, and the poor little beast
was having anything but a pleasant time of it. With arms stretched
straight out in front of her, reins grasped as though she were
driving upon a race-track, and her body as rigidly erect as though an
instant’s relaxation would bring instant death, she sent her charger
along the one road in all Springdale that he detested, for midway
between his home and the village lived his sworn enemy, Mr. Blair’s big
Newfoundland dog. Several months before, Denise had had an experience
the like of which neither she nor Ned wished repeated. She was driving
home from the post-office one morning, when over Mr. Blair’s high fence
bounded a huge dog, to rush into the road and pounce upon Ned’s back,
and bite savagely at the saddle. It was fortunate for Ned that the dog
happened to set his teeth in the harness, or the poor little horse
would have had a very bad quarter of an hour indeed. Denise held on
to the reins, and laid the whip upon the dog with a will, but it made
little impression upon his shaggy coat, and something very serious
might have occurred had not Mr. Blair’s groom rushed to their rescue
to beat the dog off and drag him back to their own grounds. But both
Denise and Ned had received a thorough fright, and after that carefully
avoided the river-road.
As he approached Mr. Blair’s grounds, Ned steadily increased his pace,
evidently wishing to get past as speedily as possible. But Aunt Miranda
entirely mistook his motive, and set herself to work to discipline him.
They got past the danger-point, and went upon their way, doing the
errand at the post-office without any interruption, and all would have
gone well had Aunt Miranda taken the broad hint which Ned tried to give
her when they came to the two roads leading toward home. Ned wished to
take the upper one. Aunt Miranda wished to take the lower one, and for
a few minutes it was a question as to which would carry their point.
What was really “good horse sense” upon Ned’s part, Aunt Miranda
chose to regard as balkiness, and set herself religiously to work to
overcome it. A lively scuffle ensued, and for a few moments it seemed
as though the occupant of that little phaeton would have to make good
her threat of putting Ned into it and dragging him home if she wished
to have him go that particular road. Presently he stopped his antics,
stood stock-still, and seemed to consider the situation. Then, giving a
defiant neigh, he started pell-mell down the road she wished to follow,
as though to say:
“You stupid old thing, I’ve done my best to keep you out of trouble,
but if you are determined to have it, why go ahead. Because Nero was
not around when we came up, it is no reason to feel sure that he won’t
be there when we go back, and if you come to grief it will be your own
fault. I’ll take _my_ chances, and if I don’t make good use of _my_
legs in an emergency, it will not be _my_ fault. Now come on with you!”
and off he pelted full tilt. In vain did Aunt Miranda tug at those
reins. Ned had the bit in his teeth and she might as well have tugged
at a post, for fear of Nero, combined with his determination to get
past that dreaded spot as speedily as possible, settled Aunt Miranda’s
fate, and Ned was putting for friends and safety.
“You little wretch, how dare you? It is all because you have been
utterly spoiled with coddling. Such nonsense! There never was a beast
or child that wasn’t utterly ruined with such folly. _Will_ you go
slower and behave yourself?” and Aunt Miranda tugged with a will. Now
Ned’s sight was keen and his hearing acute, and what Aunt Miranda
neither saw nor heard owing to her tirade toward him, he saw and heard
distinctly.
They came to the Blair grounds, were speeding past, when over the
fence sprang a creature which Aunt Miranda took to be nothing less
than a bear. She let go her right rein, grabbed for the whip, meantime
tugging with might and main upon her left rein. Perhaps it was this
which really saved her, for when the great dog saw what he took to
be a still greater one, turn directly toward him, as though to pounce
straight upon him, some of his courage failed him and he paused for
just a second. But in that second a number of things happened. The
sudden jerk upon the left rein had thrown Ned completely out of his
gait, and caused him to swerve suddenly toward the gutter, which was
nothing more than a deep gully beside the road. Into it went the
wheels, and over tipped the phaeton, landing Aunt Miranda, whip and
all, in a heap. As she fell out, the sudden overturn brought the whip
full upon Ned’s back, and at the same moment she loosened her hold
upon the other rein. Thus released, and with a stinging lash across
his haunches, it was no wonder that Ned took the broad hint to depart,
and he departed with might and main; tearing down the road with the
phaeton bounding along behind him, for it had righted almost instantly,
he paused not upon the order of going, or for ladies who for the past
hour had made life a wearisome thing for him, to say nothing of having
ill-treated his chief crony, Beauty Buttons, but went with a will.
The shriek which issued from Aunt Miranda’s lips when she landed in the
soft grass of the gully, did double duty, for it scared the cowardly
dog half out of his wits and also summoned Mr. Blair’s groom, who came
running to the rescue of the irate lady sitting bolt upright in the
gutter.
“Are you hurt, ma’am? Are you hurt?” demanded the man anxiously as he
bent over her.
“Hurt! It is a wonder that I’m not killed! Who owns that dog? I am
going at once to have him killed. Stand back, I don’t need any help.
But that dog has got to die! Take me to your master this minute,” and
up she rose to stalk after the astonished man.
CHAPTER XVI
AUNT MIRANDA INTERVIEWS NERO’S OWNER
“Here is a lady to speak with you, sir. She--”
“Stand aside! Get out of my way! I can say what I wish to. Do you own
that savage beast which sprang over your fence and caused me to be
upset in your gutter?”
Mr. Blair arose from his chair beside his library table, and stood
speechless, for Aunt Miranda had followed close upon the groom’s
heels, and brushed him aside like a fly when he attempted to explain
why he was forcing himself into his master’s presence unannounced, and
bringing with him an elderly lady very much the worse for her sudden
spill, and wild with rage at its cause.
“Whom have I the pleasure of seeing?” began Mr. Blair.
“I don’t know that it will make the least difference to you who I am,
and as for the pleasure it will give you, perhaps it will prove quite
the reverse, for I have come to insist upon the death of that savage
brute you see fit to own and allow to rush from your grounds to attack
inoffensive passers-by. Such an outrage I have never in all my life
heard of. Suppose I had been killed? What do you suppose my niece will
think when that pony comes tearing home, as he no doubt has already
done, without me? I tell you a dog like that cannot be allowed to live.
Now how soon will you kill him?”
“Why, really, madam,--” began Mr. Blair, but got no further, for--
“I’m not madam at all. I’m _Miss_, and expect to remain so all my days,
for there never yet lived a man that I would let dictate to me, and
I’m pretty capable of looking out for myself. So we will drop that and
attend to the dog question. Have you a revolver, and will you shoot
him? I sha’n’t leave this place until I see him ready for burying,” and
down she planted herself upon a near-by chair, and began settling her
tossed-about bonnet.
If ever a man looked nonplused, Mr. Blair was that man, for Nero was
a very valuable dog, and, aside from his dislike of Ned, whom he
evidently took to be a Newfoundland dog, like himself, was a faithful,
valued watch-dog. What in the world to say, or do, in order to pacify
this irate old lady who had suddenly pounced upon him with such an
extraordinary demand, and how to get her out of his house without
bodily ejecting her, was a question too tremendous for him to answer.
Before he could collect his wits, and do so, an interruption came from
an unexpected source, and he was spared the ordeal.
Meantime things were happening at home. John had just stepped from the
stable to go to the house when there fell upon his ears the rapid
clipperty-clip! clipperty-clip! of rushing feet, and down the road came
Ned upon a dead run, the phaeton spinning along behind him, and the
carriage-rug flying out behind like a danger-signal.
“The Lord have mercy upon us, and what has tuk place wid the old lady
now?” gasped John, and he rushed toward the entrance-gate to call to
Ned, and stop his mad career before he could come to grief.
Ned recognized the well-known voice instantly, and as though it brought
reassurance to him at once, he slackened his pace, and a second later
stood with his head nestled in John’s arms, while that good soul
patted and comforted him as he would have comforted a frightened
child. Ned was wringing wet with perspiration, and panting from the
combined effects of fear and his wild stampede, and John was filled
with indignation at the sight, for well he realized what a runaway,
resulting from a fright, meant to horse or pony.
“Ah, me bonny lad, me bonny lad, quiet down now; quiet down now. Don’t
ye know that it’s John what’s got ye, and never a sthroke af har-rm
kin come near ye? There now; there now. Faith, I’d like to have jist
wan word with that mule-headed old lady what drove ye to the village.
She’d be afther rememberin’ what John Noonan said to her, I’ll bet me
last cint. Bad cess to her and her fool ways,” and John led his charge
toward the Birds’ Nest. Mrs. Lombard and the children had heard the
clatter of Ned’s hoofs, and now came hurrying upon the scene, and, as
though even John’s consolation sank into insignificance beside hers,
Ned gave a loud neigh, and started toward Denise.
“Oh, my precious pony!” she cried, as she put her arms about his neck,
and kissed the damp muzzle, never stopping to think or care whether Ned
was as moist as though he had been dipped into the river. “What did
Aunt Miranda do to you? What did she do?” for Ned’s mouth showed signs
of his rough handling, and it filled Denise with indignation. “Oh,
mamma, just look at his poor mouth! It is all cut from being jerked and
pulled so. How could Aunt Miranda treat him so? How could she?” cried
Denise almost in tears, while Pokey cuddled and caressed the misused
little beast from the opposite side.
But much as Mrs. Lombard was distressed at the sight of Ned’s
deplorable condition, she was still more alarmed at the thought of what
might have befallen Ned’s passenger, and said:
“We must go at once to learn what has happened to Aunt Miranda, and
where she is. Something very serious may have occurred, and I am
terribly distressed. Harness as quickly as possible, John, and leave
Ned to the children’s care. We must go at once to find Miss Lombard.”
John flew to do his mistress’s bidding, although deep down in his
heart he harbored the wicked wish that the object of their search had
received a wholesome lesson, and that it would prove sufficiently
wholesome to induce her to take her departure from Springdale at an
earlier date than she had contemplated.
In a very few minutes the surrey stood at the door, and Mrs. Lombard
took her seat in it, to be whirled toward the village. She entertained
little doubt of the cause of the disaster, as Ned had come home by the
dreaded river-road, so thither she made her way as fast as Sunshine and
Flash could speed her, and that was by no means a snail-pace. As they
drove along the road they discovered traces of Aunt Miranda by the way,
for, after mailing her letter, she had made several small purchases,
and these, with the cushion of the phaeton, were dotted along the road.
When they came to the scene of her spill, there lay the whip, and her
change-purse, and the story was told.
Turning directly into Mr. Blair’s grounds, Mrs. Lombard stopped at the
door-step, and was met by Mrs. Blair, who strove in vain to restrain
her laughter, for she had been sitting in the adjoining room, and had
overheard the conversation her husband was holding with his angry guest.
“Pray tell me what has happened?” began Mrs. Lombard.
“Forgive me for smiling, but if you could hear the controversy taking
place in the library at this moment, I am sure you would smile, too.
Miss Lombard is endeavoring to convince Mr. Blair that Nero should be
taken to instant execution, and he, poor man, is striving to collect
his wits sufficiently to know how to gratify her, yet spare the dog’s
life. But I cannot tell you how sorry we are that such a thing should
have happened. Nero jumped the fence again, and rushed upon Ned.
Patrick saw him and rushed to the rescue in time to see Miss Lombard
pull Ned into the ditch, where she was very gently spilled out of the
little carriage, and where she sat bolt upright when he ran to her aid.
She was not in the least hurt, and I hope that Ned was not, and she is
even now laying down the law to Mr. Blair. Step into this room a moment
and you will excuse my mirth, I believe.”
They went into the room next to the library, and divided from it by a
heavy portiere, just in time to hear:
“Very well, if _you_ do not shoot him, I shall go straight back to the
village and get an officer to do it. Mark my word, that dog will be a
dead one before I sleep this night. He is not fit to live! Not fit to
live!”
“Dear me, we certainly all have our trials in this world,” whispered
Mrs. Lombard, as she moved toward the library, and a moment later was
using all her persuasive powers to induce Aunt Miranda to come home
with her. After many attempts to soothe that lady’s ruffled spirit, she
at last succeeded in bringing about a truce between her and Mr. Blair.
Nero should live until Mr. Lombard’s return from town that evening, and
then Mr. Blair and Mr. Lombard should agree upon his fate. With this
Miss Lombard had to feel satisfied, and, with a vigorous shake of her
head, Aunt Miranda followed her niece from Mr. Blair’s home, much to
that harassed man’s relief. But when the door-step was gained a new
difficulty confronted them, for Miss Lombard would not get into the
surrey.
“But it is quite a long walk,” urged Mrs. Lombard, “and after your
fright you ought not tax yourself.”
“Tax myself! Do you think I am an invalid? It would take a good deal
more than that snip of a horse to unnerve me. I am not hurt a mite,
but, my heart and body! I’d like to have a reckoning with that dog. I
will, too, before I am done. Now get into that surrey and ride home if
you aren’t equal to the walk. I am, and I’ll do it.”
“I shall walk with you,” said Mrs. Lombard very quietly, but very
decidedly. Aunt Miranda gave one swift glance at the sweet-faced,
dignified lady beside her and said:
“Humph!”
John grumbled inwardly and drove slowly along the road.
When Mr. Lombard returned that evening, Aunt Miranda pounced upon him
with her woes. He listened to all she had to say, and then said in his
positive way, possibly some of her own determination had been inherited
by him, and she had met her match in him, even though he was ordinarily
the gentlest of men:
“So you came to grief simply because you _would_ have your own way,
and would _not_ listen to the advice offered by those who had had some
experience with Mr. Blair’s dog, even though they were considerably
younger than yourself? Is that the case, Aunt Miranda?”
“He has no right to keep such a dog!”
“That may all be true, too. But how would you suggest preventing him
from so doing if he chooses?”
“What is the law for, I’d like to know?” demanded Aunt Miranda.
“To help Mr. Blair keep a dog, and prevent his neighbors from
destroying it, is one of its provinces.”
“And encourage him in harboring an animal which flies over his fence to
tear people to pieces?” was the indignant query.
“Well, you see, Nero is a pretty valuable dog, notwithstanding his
aversion for small horses which insult him by resembling him; and, even
though I have pretty good cause to feel anything but friendly toward
him, I cannot in justice blame the dog for trying to ‘do’ a dog bigger
than himself. True, I should be glad to convince him of his error, and
think that I shall do so by taking Ned up there and letting them get
acquainted. At present it is not safe for Denise to drive by there, and
for that reason she has been forbidden to do so. Had you been willing
to listen to the warning given, you would have been spared a fright,
and a number of other unpleasant things, as well as our being spared
one, and having the pony frightened and caused to run away. Was the
game worth the candle?” and a very quizzical expression came over Mr.
Lombard’s face.
“I never allow people younger than myself to dictate to me!”
“We are never too old to give heed to a kind or a wise suggestion, my
dear aunt, and, even though you are my senior, I shall take the liberty
of advising you to do so when it is liable to prove for your own good.”
Now Aunt Miranda hated to be talked to in this manner as she hated the
evil one himself, and up she bounced, crying:
“Lewis Lombard, I have spanked you more than once in your life, and I
don’t propose to take your impertinence now. Your father was always as
weak as water, and that is the reason he had such a headstrong son.”
“We will not discuss my father, Aunt Miranda,” replied Mr. Lombard in a
tone which caused Aunt Miranda to recall the gentle, dignified man whom
she had detested simply because she could not rule him, but who was
over the courteous gentleman to her.
“Well, thank goodness I shall not have to remain in a town which
harbors such a beast. I shall leave day after to-morrow.”
And two days later Aunt Miranda, her parrot, and her bundles were
conveyed to the station by one of the village hacks, as she still
stoutly refused to enter the surrey.
CHAPTER XVII
NED DISGRACES HIMSELF, BUT MAKES AMENDS
The first of September came all too quickly. Pokey’s trunk was packed,
and Pokey, with many regrets, and many yearnings for a longer stay
in her beloved Springdale, set her face toward Brooklyn, and school.
As usual, Denise was forlorn for several days, but it is hard to
remain doleful when one is but twelve years old, and the world is a
very lovely place indeed. Her own studies would not be resumed until
October, when the cool, crisp air would turn work into pleasure, and
the young brain, fresh and keenly receptive after its long rest, would
be ready to grasp and retain new ideas and new impressions.
During Pokey’s visit Denise had scarcely ridden Ned at all, but now
that she was alone once more, riding presented a novelty, all the more
alluring because she had not indulged in it for several weeks. The
day after Pokey’s departure Denise had Ned saddled, and started off
for a canter. The little beast seemed to enjoy the outing quite as
much as she did, and swung along with the easy motion so natural to
him when under the saddle. They chose a pretty road leading along the
river-bank, but in the opposite direction from the village, as Denise
did not wish to take any chances with Nero, and, so far as she knew,
no belligerent animals lived along the road she and Ned were following
so happily. But, alas! how easily our most carefully laid plans can go
amiss.
Denise rode gracefully and easily, and it required something rather out
of the ordinary to unseat her. They were cantering along beneath the
beautiful elms which bordered the road and cast their shadows upon it,
making it sweet and cool that delightful morning, when, just behind
the hedge dividing it from a gentleman’s grounds, there arose a wild
yapping which caused Ned to shake his head as though he were disgusted
with such a discordant sound when all was so silent and restful about
them.
“Do we know that dog?” Denise asked, as though Ned were able to
understand and reply to her question. But such questions were not
unusual. She and Ned held amazing conversations, each in a language
well understood by the other. Ned tossed his head up and down in an
irritable sort of manner, as though he were trying to say, “I don’t
think that he is one of our friends,” and somewhat increased his pace.
The hedge was a high one, and they could not see over it, but, before
they had gone ten yards, a fluffy, clumsy puppy wriggled through a gap
just behind them, and came tearing after them as fast as he could run.
Now neither Denise nor Ned had any objections to puppies in general,
or to this one in particular, and would have attended strictly to
their own business had he only seen fit to attend to his, but this
puppy had recently arrived upon the scene, and felt that he had much
to discover. His master had bought him at a dog fancier’s in New York,
where the greater part of his life had been spent in very limited
quarters, and his walks abroad had been taken at the end of a chain.
Now, joy to tell! he had ten-acre grounds to cavort about in, but, like
many another creature who suddenly finds himself surrounded by almost
boundless luxury, after narrow limitations, he wanted an ell when a
very liberal inch had been voluntarily given him.
So he proceeded to take it by wriggling under the hedge, and, once out
upon the highway, there he beheld a sight which instantly banished what
small remnant of common sense remained to him, and he set about having
a royal good time.
If Denise had any notion of getting out of his blundering way, he had
no idea of allowing her to do so, and, almost before a breath could be
drawn, his legs and Ned’s were being tied up in hard knots.
“Yap, yap,” barked the tormenting little beast, making wild grabs at
Ned’s flowing tail, or snapping at his fetlocks.
“Get away, you stupid thing!” cried Denise, reaching over to give
him a well-merited lash with her riding-whip. But she might as well
have tried to hit a will-o’-the-wisp, for, clumsy as he seemed, that
vexatious little beast was wonderfully agile, and seemed to regard
the action as part of the fun. Helter-skelter, around and about he
scurried, one minute in front of Ned, the next minute snapping at his
heels, until it was no wonder that such a well-conducted animal’s
patience became exhausted, and he felt that this tomfoolery had gone
far enough.
“Of all the crazy things I have ever seen, _you_ certainly are the
craziest!” exclaimed Denise, doing her best to get unsnarled from the
little wretch. “Go!” she cried, giving the word that Ned understood so
well, and was always so quick to respond to. And “go,” he did.
With one wild leap, he bounded straight over his tormentor, and made a
dash for freedom, but even as he sprang forward that miserable puppy
got in the last stroke, which settled matters in short order, for he
gave a final vicious snap at Ned’s heels, and his sharp teeth pricked
like needles.
That was too much! Ned forgot the beloved burden he was carrying,
forgot that Denise was somewhat off her guard, and more liable to
become unseated than she would ordinarily have been. Out flew two hind
feet to administer one and one _very_ telling, vicious kick at that
hateful little beast, which caught him fairly and squarely in his
ribs, and sent him howling back to his friends. But, alack-a-day! it
accomplished other things also, for away shot Denise clear and clean
over Ned’s head, to land in a heap in the dust of the road, where she
lay for a moment half stunned by the shock, although not seriously
hurt.
If ever an animal’s face expressed consternation and contrition
Ned’s certainly did then, and, with one wild neigh, he rushed up to
his beloved little mistress just as a carriage rapidly approached
from the other direction. Now some people assert with a good bit of
assurance that animals do not think, particularly that horses do not.
Nevertheless, what I am about to tell you is as true as anything in
this world can be. Ned stood beside his prone rider, his eyes wild with
fright and quivering in every limb. That carriage was coming toward her
as fast as ever it could come, and why, oh! why, didn’t she get out
of its way? It would certainly run over her, and those big, prancing
horses would crush something which he loved better than anything in
this world. They must not! No, they _should_ not do it, and he must
prevent them if possible. Poor little Ned Toodles could not understand
that the very haste with which the carriage approached meant succor
for Denise, for the occupants had witnessed the whole scene, and were
filled with dismay at its ending.
It was almost upon them when Ned gave another neigh, and did that which
caused the lady in the carriage to clasp her hands together and almost
scream aloud. He stepped directly over Denise, and stood with his front
and hind legs astride her, thereby making it impossible for the big
horses to harm her without first crushing him. The brave little head
was raised in defiance, and the nostrils snorted a challenge to those
great creatures which he thought were about to trample his mistress
beneath their feet. Dear little Ned Toodles, you have been dust these
many years, but your mistress has never forgotten that brave deed, and
her eyes fill with tears when she recalls this proof of your devotion
to her.
The coachman drew up his horses beside the fallen girl and her
courageous little horse, the lady hastily descended from the carriage,
and a second later held Denise in her arms, Ned nosing and nickering
over her as though he were trying to express his sorrow and console her
for her fall.
“You darling!” exclaimed the lady, sparing a hand to rub his velvety
nose, even though she was seriously alarmed for Denise. But Denise was
not injured, and presently opened her eyes to blink at Ned and look
with surprise at the lady holding her.
“Why, what happened to me?” she cried, sitting straight up and looking
at those gathered about her.
“Nothing serious, I hope,” answered the lady. “You took a header over
your pony’s neck, and it stunned you for a moment. But he took such
wonderful care of you that no great harm has come to you, I think.”
“Oh! I fell off when Ned kicked at that horrid little dog, didn’t
I? But I am not hurt a bit, although I feel sort of all shaken up
and tossed about,” said Denise, as she got upon her feet and began
settling her dusty habit. Ned scrooched close up to her, as though
striving to apologize, and Denise put her arm about his neck.
“Poor little Ned Toodles, did you think you had killed your missie?”
she asked, as she rested her still dizzy head upon his shaggy mane.
“No, I’m not a bit dead, and when I get my wits we will go home and
tell mamma all about it before some one else has a chance to do it, and
frighten her half to death. Thank you ever so much for helping me,” she
said to the lady.
“We are more than glad that we came along just as we did, even though
you seem to have a very efficient protector in your pony. It was
the most wonderful thing I have ever seen. Won’t you get into the
carriage with me and tell me something about yourself and him? I am a
stranger in Springdale, but I am sure I have stumbled upon one of its
attractions.”
“Ned is considered quite remarkable,” answered Denise, never for a
moment appropriating even a portion of the compliment. “We have been so
much together since I got him two years ago that I half believe he has
grown to be just like folks. But I don’t believe that I would better
get into the carriage. I feel nearly all right now, and if mamma were
to see me coming home in the carriage and Ned following it, she might
be frightened. Ned won’t spill me again, and it wasn’t so much his
fault anyway; if I had been thinking what I was about I never would
have fallen, for he often jumps a fence or ditch and I never think
of spilling off. But that puppy drove all my wits out of my head, I
believe; the horrid little thing!”
“Well, we will drive along beside you, at all events, and if you do not
feel just right you can dismount and come into the carriage with me.”
“Thank you very much, but I don’t think that I shall have to,” and,
turning to Ned, she cuddled and stroked him before mounting him again.
Ned met her more than half-way, and the lady smiled at the pretty
bit of by-play she was watching, although the actors were entirely
unconscious that they were doing anything out of the ordinary.
Leading Ned to the stepping-stone beside the road, Denise settled
herself upon his back, although, ordinarily, she would not have
required any aid in mounting. But her head was still unsteady, and the
usual spring to her seat did not seem as easy a thing as it ordinarily
would have seemed.
They walked along side by side, the lady keeping a watchful eye upon
Denise, and feeling greatly entertained by her. As though to make
full amends for his temporary lapse from good behavior, Ned Toodles
pattered along beside the carriage as sedately as any old stager might
have done, and when they came to Denise’s home stopped for her to bid
her friend farewell. But Mrs. Lombard was walking about the grounds,
and only one glance from _that_ mother’s eye was needed to discover
that something had happened to that very precious little daughter,
and she hastened to the gate. Then followed explanations, and began an
acquaintance which, ere long, ripened into a very warm friendship, and
Ned’s first misdemeanor resulted in something very delightful for his
little mistress and her mother.
CHAPTER XVIII
A BIRTHDAY FROLIC AND WHAT CAME OF IT
“Oh, what fun! Are we all going? And way down to Summit Ridge? Who
planned it? Are we to stay all day long?” were the questions which
poured rapidly from Denise’s lips one bright October morning when Hart
came rushing over to ask if she might accompany a party of young people
upon an outing planned for the coming week. He had been away from
Springdale for several weeks, reveling in the delights of the seashore,
but his family had now returned for the winter, and his studies, as
well as Denise’s, had commenced.
Mrs. Lombard stood beside them listening, and smiling at the eager
faces before her. Presently she said:
“Which day next week have you chosen?”
“We had to choose Saturday, you know, on account of school. We aren’t
all so lucky as Denise, having a governess who will let us off at a
pinch,” and Hart looked mischievously up into Mrs. Lombard’s face.
She reached over to give a tweak to his curly “forelock,” and reply:
“Don’t be so sure of that. She is not let off so easily as you seem to
think. After such a long holiday we expect even more wonderful things.
So the frolic is planned for Saturday next. Was it prearranged?”
“Why no; what do you mean?”
“Oh, oh! I know! It will the thirteenth, and my birthday! Isn’t that
just splendid?”
“Honest? Oh, I say, that’s just dandy, isn’t it? No, I didn’t know a
thing about it, and I don’t believe the others did, either. At any
rate, they didn’t say a word about it. But it’s great luck. Say, we
sort of stumble on each other’s festive days, don’t we? Do you remember
how you hit upon mine last spring? Then I’ll tell them you will go, of
course?”
“Of course I’ll go; won’t I, Moddie?”
“First a positive assertion, and then a doubt; ‘he who hesitates is
lost,’” quoted Mrs. Lombard, laughing.
“Then I won’t hesitate; I’ll _go_,” and Denise ran prancing off to the
Birds’ Nest, followed by Hart, for they had many things to talk over
after a separation of six weeks, and much to plan for the coming picnic.
The Saturday named dawned clear and frosty, promising in the form of
many hickory nuts and chestnuts, an extra treat for the party gathering
so merrily at Hart’s home. Not that they literally gathered at dawn,
but it was not long after eight o’clock when the first horseman was
seen coming along the road to the meeting-place. There were to be
fourteen in the party, besides the older people who went along to guard
against accidents, but who, as it later proved, did not succeed in so
doing after all.
Mrs. Murray and Mrs. Lombard drove in the former’s carriage, and
carried a good portion of the refreshments, but each boy and girl
rode their own beastie, whether it was a pony or a horse, for
Springdale’s young folk were pretty well supplied with mounts of one
sort or another, and could, when occasion called for it, turn out
quite a brave array of equestrians. There were horses and ponies of
all sorts and kinds gathered in Mrs. Murray’s driveway that beautiful
October morning, and they possessed as varied dispositions as the
boys and girls mounted upon them. Ned and Pinto were, of course,
special cronies, and rubbed noses, and whispered secrets as only old
cronies can. They tolerated the other horses, but did not encourage
familiarities, and when one overgrown specimen of horsedom, noted
especially for his pronounced Roman nose, and monstrous feet, undertook
to force his way between them while they were comparing notes about
the flavor of their morning oats, they promptly united forces and
administered justice, thereby creating a wholesome respect for small
horses in that misguided animal’s brains, and a lively diversion for
their respective owners, who rushed to settle the disagreement.
[Illustration:
_Denise._
“THEY HAD MANY THINGS TO TALK OVER.”]
But all was ready in the course of half an hour, and away they went,
as merry a party as ever set forth for Summit Ridge, a plateau upon
the summit of South Mountain, where many years before a gentleman
had erected a beautiful home and planted extensive orchards. It was
an ideal spot for such an orchard, and the trees had flourished
marvelously, bearing pears, plums, and apples, such as were not to
be found for miles around. The gentleman had lived there until the
death of his wife several years before, and then left the place
abruptly, never to return. Its remoteness from all other dwellings,
and the difficulty of reaching it, kept most people from visiting
the place, and it was only at long intervals that the residents of
Springdale plucked heart of grace and clambered up the rough, neglected
mountain-road which led to it.
During October the winter pippins and several other varieties of winter
apples proved a strong inducement to the young people, and hardly an
autumn passed without a party being made up to form a raid upon Mr.
Powell’s orchard, and carry off apples enough to keep them supplied for
months.
Up the mountain scrambled the riders, the horses harnessed to the
carriage scrambling along behind, and doing their best not to get left
altogether. Denise, Hart, and one of their young friends, who had
recently become the possessor of a little mustang, sent her by her
uncle, who had a ranch in the West, and who assured her that Comanche
was all that she could wish for, were leading the party, scrambling up
the steep places, racing along the level ones, and picking their way
down the descents. Flossy Bennett was a bright, pretty girl, but one
wonderfully fond of her own way, and, once having taken it into her
head to do a certain thing, it was no easy matter to persuade her to do
differently.
Two hours’ hard scrambling and picking their way at last brought them
to the old house high up upon the mountain, and all dismounted to
unsaddle their mounts, and tether them to the rustic fence which ran
all about the neglected grounds, separating them from the orchards
beyond. Then came the preparation of their luncheon, and rigging up a
tripod to swing the kettle. After the merry feast ended, all repaired
to the orchard to fill every sort and size of bag with the bright and
luscious apples, which were almost breaking the branches with their
weight.
But October days are short ones, and, when three o’clock came, the
preparations for the homeward journey were begun. Most of the boys
and girls put their bags in the carriage, although some of them tied
them in the middle and placed them across their saddle-bows. This plan
worked well enough where the horses, or ponies, were accustomed to such
liberties, but in some cases it was an entirely new experience, and
the mountain-road was not a wise place upon which to make experiments.
Flossy Bennett’s little mustang, although apparently as gentle as a
kitten, seemed strongly disinclined to have her bag of apples strapped
upon his withers, as his mistress wished to have it strapped, and
fussed and fidgeted when one of the boys undertook to fasten it there.
There was no one with the girl who was in a position to say either yea
or nay, for she had joined the party just as many of the others had
joined it, with the understanding that Mrs. Murray was, for the time
being, both hostess and chaperon.
Seeing how restless the pony seemed, Mrs. Murray came over to where
the children were, and suggested that Flossy put her bag of apples in
the carriage with the others, but Flossy did not care to act upon the
suggestion, and Mrs. Murray, who did not possess Mrs. Lombard’s quiet
dignity, and the power to control with a firm, though a gentle word,
had rather an animated discussion with the young lady.
“You must not try to carry those apples in that way, Flossy. It is
dangerous, and I cannot allow it,” she said rather warmly, when
suggestions failed to dissuade Flossy from having her own way.
“He has just _got_ to carry them that way, Mrs. Murray. It is all
nonsense. The other ponies are carrying the bags, so why shouldn’t he?
Uncle Frank said that he was thoroughly broken, and if he is, he will
do what I wish him to do.”
“But this is neither the time nor the place to make him, and I insist
upon your putting that bag into my carriage at once. I am astonished
that you presume to argue the point with some one older than yourself.
Give me that bag at once. You are keeping the entire party waiting. Do
you hear me?”
Now Flossy’s disposition was one which had never encountered, and never
could brook, downright opposition. Her mother had died when she was a
tiny child, and her father had either indulged or neglected her, as
the occasion prompted. Having been left to the care of the maids, and
a long-suffering, rather weak governess, it was no wonder that at the
age of fourteen Flossy Bennett had pretty strong ideas of her own, and
carried them out whenever she could.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Murray, but I think it is, and I shall carry the bag
right here. Comanche may as well submit at once, and, as you see, he is
behaving properly now;” and, with a defiant toss of her golden head,
Miss Flossy braced herself in her side-saddle with an air of, “How do
you intend to stop me if I choose to do it?”
Meantime, the other members of the party were gathered about listening
to the controversy with varying emotions. Mrs. Lombard had seen and
heard it all, but had not, of course, taken any part in it. Now Mrs.
Murray turned to her and said impatiently:
“Emilie, will you come here and see if you can dissuade this
headstrong child from taking her life in her hands, as she seems
determined to do? I am out of all patience to think that she will
insist upon having her own way about such a trifle when it is so liable
to prove disastrous to her. I am surprised at you, Flossy.”
Now if there was one person upon earth for whom Flossy entertained a
warm regard, and whose good opinion she valued, it was Mrs. Lombard’s.
Had fate ordained that she should have been placed under such a wise
training as that lady would have exercised over her, a very different
girl would have sat upon Comanche’s back than the one who sat there
at that moment, and whose face was the very picture of perversity and
defiance. Deep down in the girl’s heart was a strong desire to do as
she felt sure Mrs. Lombard, as well as Mrs. Murray, wished to have her,
and had the first word been spoken by the former, there would never
have been a sign of discord. Now, however, the first misstep had been
taken, and she felt that she would lose prestige if she drew back.
Mrs. Lombard walked over to where the disputants were standing, and,
laying her hand gently upon Flossy’s, which grasped her reins, said, in
her sweet, gentle voice:
“Will you not oblige Mrs. Murray by yielding this point to her wishes?
I should be much gratified if you would do so, as it will spare us all
much uneasiness.”
“I should be sorry to cause any one uneasiness, Mrs. Lombard, and would
hate to make you anxious, but there really isn’t the least danger.
Uncle Frank said that I could do anything with Comanche, and all he
needed was firmness. I shall ride slowly, and you know that I have
ridden all my life.”
Mrs. Lombard did not say another word, but looked steadily into the
girl’s eyes for just one moment, with a look which she remembered for
a long time after, and never ceased to wish she had heeded. Then,
returning to Mrs. Murray’s carriage, she took her seat in it, saying
to that lady:
“I think that we would better start without more delay. It is growing
late.”
CHAPTER XIX
DENISE TO THE RESCUE
Down the rough mountain-road wound the party, Hart, as usual, well in
the lead, for Pinto hated to travel behind the others, but this time
Denise kept close by the carriage, and, for some reason best understood
by herself, Flossy chose to remain beside her.
The greater part of the journey had been accomplished without mishap,
and, even though he had from time to time demonstrated his dislike
of the bumping bag of apples by tossing his head from side to side,
Comanche had behaved far better than the older members of the party had
expected he would, and they were beginning to breathe freer. But, alas!
it is never safe to feel too sanguine, for the “slip” comes when we
least look for it.
“Who’s for a race?” cried one of the boys, when the last plateau was
reached, and a long stretch of smooth, inviting wood-road stretched out
before them. They were barely two miles from home, and the horses knew
that stables and oats were not far away.
“We are! we are!” was quickly shouted from all sides, and, before a
word of remonstrance could be spoken by the occupants of the carriage,
away dashed the riders, hot upon the track of the leader. As the other
ponies and horses sprang forward, Comanche gave a plunge which caused
the bag of apples upon his withers to shift dangerously to one side,
and nearly fall to the ground. Flossy quickly changed her reins to one
hand and with her free one made a wild grasp to steady the bag, just as
Mrs. Lombard cried in a tone very unlike that generally used by her:
“Flossy, stop! That bag must be put into the surrey!”
Too late. Comanche was off like the wind, the bag pounding and banging
upon his sides, and his young rider tugging with all her might to
hold him in. The other boys and girls were not aware of the serious
situation just behind them, and the cry of alarm which rose from the
carriage as the pony sped forward was entirely drowned in the shouts of
laughter and the challenges called from one to another of the racers.
Denise gave one terrified look at her mother, and then there settled
upon her face the look which showed her Lombard determination once she
recognized the necessity for prompt and decisive action.
Comanche was larger by at least two hands than Ned, but nothing like
so sure-footed, for Ned had come straight from the mountains of Wales,
where for generations his ancestors had scrambled over the wild
mountain-passes and kept their footing like goats. Comanche had spent
his entire life upon the grassy plains, and until within the past three
months had never seen a mountain, much less scrambled over one.
What Denise meant to do she could not have told, but she felt that
she must keep beside that fleeing pony as long as Ned Toodles could
run. For a pony of his size, Ned was wonderfully fleet of foot, and
their perfect mutual understanding made many things possible for them
which would have been quite impossible for an animal and rider less in
sympathy.
“Go!” said Denise in a low, tense voice, and “go” Ned did, bounding
along the mountain-road like a roebuck, and keeping neck and neck with
the wild little gray, which seemed to have lost his senses altogether.
As they drew near the end of the level road the other riders began
to check their horses, and prepare for the last short but very steep
descent, leading into the town. But, even though Flossy tugged with the
strength of desperation upon his reins, she failed to lessen the speed
with which he was nearing that dangerous hit of road. Had she held the
curb rein her chances would have been greater, but she had let it fall
when she steadied her apples, and had not been able to regain it. Ned
instinctively slackened his pace as he drew near the down grade, but
Flossy’s pony was less wise, and tore ahead.
“Oh, Ned, Ned!” cried Denise, as she bent over the shaggy neck, and
poured her fears into the ears which seemed to have almost human
understanding, “he will kill her! he will kill her! Please, please,
let me catch him!” and as though he realized the peril, Ned gathered
himself together for a mighty effort. By this time the others had
awakened to the situation, and some were urging their horses forward,
some were stopping stock-still in dismay, and others calling orders
which fell upon unheeding ears, while those in the carriage were
hastening after the runaway as rapidly as a well-laden carriage could
travel over such a road. Mrs. Murray was shrieking aloud, but Mrs.
Lombard, white to the very lips, sat rigid and with hands clasped as
though asking the only aid which could help her in such a crisis. She
had not called to Denise, for she understood all too well the resolute
spirit which was urging the girl forward, and could not censure her for
the very act which she herself would have been the first to perform.
The brink was reached, and down it tore Comanche, with Ned sweeping
behind him, bent upon bringing that lunatic horse to his senses if one
well-conducted beast could compass it. Once upon the down grade the
plains-bred pony began to flounder and swerve from one side of the road
to the other, and that gave Ned his chance. Clatter, clatter! Click,
click! went the flying hoofs, and with Ned’s next bound Denise reached
forward and caught the dangling curb rein. How that bag of apples had
remained upon the saddle until that moment was a mystery to all who
saw its wild bumps and bounds, and had it only fallen off sooner it
would have been far better for all concerned. But stick it did until
Denise caught the rein, and then, with a jerk given to Comanche, down
it fell, straight beneath his feet, to nearly throw him down, and cause
the saddle to shift dangerously to his left side. Wild before, he was
simply frantic now, and began to plunge and rear, Denise guiding Ned
with one hand and jerking upon Comanche’s curb for dear life with
the other. Ned never swerved, but seemed to understand that he had a
duty to perform, and did it nobly. But neither Ned nor his mistress
were equal to the terrified mustang, and, with one wild plunge, up he
reared, swerved sidewise, sending his rider out of her saddle, and
jerking the reins from Denise’s hand, to go tearing down the mountain
at a rate which threatened instant destruction.
At his last plunge a piercing cry came from Flossy’s lips, and she lay
helpless in the ditch at the roadside, for Comanche’s flying hoofs had
struck one final and crushing blow as he rushed off, shattering the arm
which had been vainly striving to control him.
Ned’s impetus made it impossible for him to come to a sudden
standstill, and before Denise could stop entirely she had gotten nearly
twenty yards beyond Flossy. Meanwhile, the rest of the party had
hurried to her, and were doing all within their power for the suffering
girl. But the moment had come when the mother in Mrs. Lombard cried out
for her own, and as Denise came rushing back, a pair of outstretched
arms awaited her and a tense voice cried: “My darling! Thank God you
are unharmed, my brave little daughter!” as Denise dropped her reins
and almost fell into the beloved arms awaiting her, for the tension was
removed and she began to realize the situation as she had not been able
to realize it earlier. “Oh, mamma, mamma! Is she killed?”
Flossy was not killed, but was suffering keenly, and it would be many
days before she recovered from that wilful ride. Willing hands helped
to remove the baskets from the carriage, and make it ready for her,
and a very subdued party of boys and girls made their way down the
mountain. Comanche had rushed home as fast as he could go, and, when
he arrived there, his saddle, or what was left of it, was dangling
beneath his stomach. Mrs. Murray was too unnerved to do anything but go
straight to her home, but Mrs. Lombard remained in the carriage to take
Flossy to hers. Some of the party had already gone on ahead to secure a
physician, and by the time he arrived at Mr. Bennett’s home poor Flossy
had been placed in bed, and all was in readiness for the trying ordeal
of setting the fractured arm. Feeling that Denise had experienced
enough of a strain already, Mrs. Lombard had left her at their own
home, where grandma came promptly forward with soothing words, and
comforting ministrations, while John gave Ned the best rub-down and
feed a small horse could wish for, to say nothing of praise enough to
have turned his head had it not been a very “level” one indeed.
Two hours later Flossy was lying weak and wretched upon her bed, and
Mrs. Lombard was giving directions to the distraught governess before
taking her departure for home and the rest of which she was sorely
in need herself, for she had stayed to give all possible assistance,
and, with two inexperienced maids, and a governess but little better
qualified to meet an emergency, she had found her hands full. The
girl had borne her suffering bravely, but had scarcely spoken a word
to any one. After a few final words, Mrs. Lombard, with the governess
following closely upon her heels, came to say good-by, and, taking
Flossy’s hand, bent over to kiss her.
“Send her out of the room. I want to speak to _you_,” were the words
which came faintly from the girl’s white lips.
“Oh, I must not leave you! I will do anything you wish!” was the none
too wise answer made by the governess.
“Please go and leave us together for a few moments,” said Mrs. Lombard,
quick to understand that she could be helpful in a way which the
governess never suspected, but ought to have fully understood if she
would fill such a position as the one she held.
“What can I do for you, dear?” she said very gently, as she sat upon
the bedside, and smoothed back the tousled golden hair with a touch
which was wonderfully soothing and quieting.
Flossy reached up and rested her own hand upon the one upon her
forehead, and looked into Mrs. Lombard’s eyes with the hungry, yearning
look sometimes seen in a young girl’s eyes when the strongest of all
ties--mother love--is wanting. Mrs. Lombard smiled encouragingly at her
and waited.
“Denise might have been killed,” Flossy whispered.
“Let us thank the dear Father that you both escaped,” replied Mrs.
Lombard gently.
“But how can you forgive me?” continued the whisper.
“Because you have no mother to help you exercise the one thing we all
need to exercise at times--self-control. We have both had a trying
experience to-day, and one we shall not soon forget. Let us strive to
profit by it, dear. I know how hard it must be for you at times, but
you can conquer the desire to carry your point if you will only believe
it.”
“I can’t; I just can’t, and I never shall because I am rubbed the wrong
way all the time. I hate it, and almost wish Comanche had killed me and
ended it all outright.”
Mrs. Lombard laid her finger ever so gently upon the lips which were
forming the bitter words, and said:
“Don’t try to talk any more to-night. You are sorely unnerved.
To-morrow you will feel differently, and then we will have what Denise
calls one of our ‘comforting talks,’ and the world will look less
dismal, I know.”
“If I could have some one to talk to as she does I wouldn’t be so
hateful. Somehow, I seem to need setting straight about a dozen times a
day, and there is no one to set me.”
“Will you let me try?” asked Mrs. Lombard very tenderly.
“If you only would, oh! if you _only_ would,” wailed such a despairing
voice that Mrs. Lombard’s heart ached to hear such a tone from one
only a little older than her own sunny daughter, whose life was so
well ordered from one day’s end to the next that very little “setting
straight” was ever needed.
“Then I shall have to call you my adopted daughter, and shall expect
you to come to me with all the little vexations which come to young
people at times, and which older people were made to smooth out. Do you
think that you can do this, dear, and let me feel that I am helping
another girl just as I would wish to have Denise helped if I had
slipped from her life when she was a little child? Try, Sweetheart,
and meantime we will see how we can make less trying the weeks which
must bring some suffering and some weary hours to you. I will come
to see you in the morning, and Denise will come also, if you would
like to have her. I hope your night may not be a very trying one, but
know that you will do your best to bear the pain bravely. Good-night,
adopted daughter mine,” and, with a final motherly caress, Mrs. Lombard
took her departure, leaving behind her the beginning of a far happier
condition of things in that misdirected home, and the developing of a
character which only needed the union of wisdom and affection to make
it a very lovely thing indeed.
CHAPTER XX
A COASTING EPISODE
Winter had come in earnest. November was drawing to a close, and
leaving behind convincing evidence that it had claimed the right to be
classed as a winter, rather than as a fall, month, for snow lay thick
upon the ground, and coasting and sleighing made life gay for the young
people of Springdale. Directly lessons were ended for the day, a merry
party of girls and boys gathered upon the hill leading down from the
chapel, and thick and fast sped the sleds down the steep descent. Given
to original performances, it was no wonder that even coasting held a
novel feature as indulged in by Denise, or that Ned Toodles had to
share the fun in some way. Outsiders might have been of the opinion
that there was but little fun in his share of it, but to judge from
the manner in which he took part in it, there was far more than they
suspected. Accustomed to following Denise as a dog would have followed
her, he had trotted along one day when she started off with her sled
for a spin, and had watched her with those wise eyes of his as she
settled herself upon the sled and went whizzing down the hill. Then,
with one grand, hilarious kick-up, off he pelted after her, and reached
the bottom of the hill very nearly as soon as the sled reached it. That
he felt immensely proud of his achievement was evinced by the sort of
hurrah he cut up as she got up from the sled and started up the hill
for another coast, for he pranced and curveted and was as gay and giddy
as possible. Then, apparently grasping the situation, he trotted along
beside Denise until he reached the top, and the whole performance was
repeated. There were several other children coasting at the time, and
Hart among them.
“Oh, say! What’s the matter with making him draw you up if he is so
anxious to be in the fun?” he shouted, and thus it came about. The
little Dutch collar and an old bridle were promptly brought from the
Birds’ Nest, and, in far less time than it has taken to tell you about
it, a whiffletree was rigged up, and fastened to the front of the sled
and Ned harnessed to it. Then away he went up the hill dragging his
little mistress to the top as easily as winking, and sometimes another
sled “cutting” behind hers. After one or two trips he understood
exactly what was expected of him, and the moment Denise’s sled started
down the hill he was off after it like a shot. Reins and traces were
carefully fastened so that he could not trip over them, and he usually
managed to bring up at the foot of the hill very nearly as soon as
Denise. That he was often borrowed by some of the other children need
hardly be added.
The coasting was at its very best when one morning on his way to school
Hart stopped to give the signal whistle, which promptly brought Denise
upon the piazza.
“Are you coming out on the hill this afternoon?” he asked.
“You would better believe I am! This is the finest day we have had yet.
I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” Denise replied.
“Well, you’ll see a show if you do. Charlie and Archie are coming out
on the two o’clock train, and they are going to bring Lionel Algenon
Montgomery with them, ha! ha! I say, that fellow is a piece of work,
and if we don’t have a regular circus before this day is over then my
name isn’t Hart Murray. Of all the Miss Nancys you ever saw he is just
the greatest, and I dare say he will pad himself all up with cotton
wool before he risks his precious bones upon anything so dangerous as
a sled. Just wait until you see him, that’s all,” and Hart laughed as
though the very thought of Lionel Algenon was enough to stir up any
right-minded boy.
“Who is he, any way?” asked Denise, her eyes already twinkling.
“The greatest chump you ever heard tell of. He lives next door to
Archie and Charlie, and is his mamma’s precious only son. How she ever
made up her mind to let him come out here with my cousins I’m sure I
don’t know, for he never stirs ten steps without either her or his
tutor. Maybe she thinks that he is coming among such models that no
harm can come to him. We’ll see,” and, with a farewell wave of his
school-bag, Hart went tearing across the lawn.
When two o’clock came, Hart and his guests came with it. All extra
sleds to be obtained by either borrowing or begging had been pressed
into service, and yet the supply was one short, but turn about was fair
play, and so no great harm threatened.
“Hullo, Denise!” called out the boys, for they had often visited Hart
before, and looked upon her as one of themselves. “This is our friend,
Lionel Montgomery. Denise Lombard, Lionel,” was the boyish, off-hand
introduction.
Now Lionel Algenon Montgomery had been taught that it was highly
reprehensible to address a strange young lady by her Christian name,
even though she were but twelve years of age and he fourteen, so,
making his very best dancing-school bow, he lisped politely:
“Charmed to meet you, Miss Lombard,” and then stood waiting for that
young lady to take up the conversation. But Denise was far from being
the society young lady he imagined, and nearly laughed in his face as
she said:
“I am afraid that I shall have to wait a few years before I can be
called Miss Lombard, and meantime I’ll be just Denise, if you don’t
mind. I guess we can have lots more fun coasting and snowballing if we
don’t have to think that we may bang off Mr. Murray’s cap, or upset
Miss Lombard in the snow.”
“Oh, I shall be charmed if you will allow me,” was the stilted,
unnatural reply.
“I am afraid I shouldn’t know who you were talking to if you didn’t,”
was the laughing answer. “But let’s begin our coasting before this
lovely day is all gone,” and off she started for the “Birds’ Nest,”
the boys tearing after her. At least, three of them “tore;” the fourth
one paced along behind them as though he were promenading down Fifth
Avenue. Presently Ned was brought from his stall, the bridle and collar
put upon him, and off they started.
Now, Chapel hill had one peculiarity, and that peculiarity needed to
be studied. In the first place, it was a steep hill, and at the foot
of it ran a road at right angles to the descent. During the summer the
hill was covered with a luxuriant growth of clover, from which Mr.
Lombard harvested a fine supply of hay for his horses. Where the fields
bordered the road, a steep terrace, fully five feet high, made it
impossible for a hay-wagon to enter it, but, to overcome that obstacle,
the men had dug the terrace away in one place and made a gradual
incline about ten feet wide, through which they could drive in and out
without taking a flying leap into the roadway with their load. It was
through this incline that the coasters guided their sleds, whizzing
through it and out upon the smooth road, to make a sharp turn and go
bounding on to the very edge of Mr. Lombard’s grounds, where they had
thrown up a great pile of snow for a bumper.
“Clear the track!” shouted Hart, flinging himself upon his sled, to go
spinning down the hill, through the hay-wagon’s entranceway, and on
pell-mell to the bottom, the other boys hard after him, leaving Lionel
to do the gallant for Denise if she felt disposed to accept it.
“Here, take my sled and have a spin,” she said. “The boys will be back
in a minute, and I can have one of theirs.”
“Oh, no! I couldn’t think of depriving you. Besides, I don’t know that
I shall coast. It seems so dangerous.”
“Mercy, me! No, it isn’t. You couldn’t get hurt if you wanted to. All
you have got to do is steer straight down where we have gone, and you
will come out all right. Go on! It’s great fun, and Ned will pull you
up,” and she held her sled-rope toward him.
“I will watch you go first. I am not accustomed to very violent
exercise. Mamma does not approve of it.”
“I guess she wouldn’t call coasting such violent exercise,” said
Denise, as she settled herself upon the sled, gave the necessary hitch
forward, and spun off over the icy hill, whistling for Ned to follow.
By this time the boys were coming up, and became conscious of their own
shortcomings.
“Say, fellows, we need to be thumped,” cried Charlie, in contrition.
“Look at Lionel standing up there. He hasn’t got so much as a shingle
to coast down on.”
“Bet five cents he won’t coast anyway. If he did he would want to roll
himself up in a bearskin to keep warm,” was Archie’s comment.
“I’m the one who ought to be thrashed. Wonder what sort of a host
mother would say I am. Say, Lionel, we’ll be up in a minute, and then
you can have a go! Awful sorry I didn’t think of my manners sooner.
There you are,” and Hart brought his sled up with a flourish.
“Thanks, awfully, but I don’t think that I care to go down. I’ll just
watch you fellows. It’s pretty steep, don’t you know.”
“Why, it’s the finest you ever saw! Not a bit steep. Just try it, and
see if it isn’t just O. K. Take any sled you like, but mine’s a hummer.”
“It is a very low one, don’t you think so?” asked Lionel, eying askance
the rakish little sled built for speed and endurance, as a boy’s sled
has need to be.
“Why you can’t do a thing with them if they are high!” was the rather
derisive comment.
“Denise seems to manage hers very well,” replied Lionel, as Denise came
up, Ned supplying the motive power.
“Oh, she coasts girl fashion, of course. No fun in _that_! Got to go a
whopper if you want to have fun,” cried Archie.
“Seems to me I would prefer sitting up straight. Really, I should not
like to have my head get there _first_,” was the remark which caused
Charlie to cry:
“You want to ‘get in with both feet,’ do you?”
“Well, it would not hurt so much if one met with an accident, don’t you
know,” was the reply, given in all seriousness.
“Will you go down on my sled?” asked Denise.
“Why, I hate to deprive you of it, but, really,--well, I think that,
perhaps, I could manage that one better than the others, if you will
let me take it.”
“Of course you may take it, and Ned will be at the bottom of the hill
nearly as quick as you are,” cried Denise.
“Really? Will he follow me as he follows you? What a remarkable pony,”
said Lionel, reaching toward Ned to stroke him, whereat Ned gave a
comical bounce and evaded him.
“Well, let’s do something beside standing here and freezing,” added
Ned’s mistress, for she was accustomed to going up and down in hot
pursuit of the other sleds, and found this polite parleying rather cold
work.
With many adjustings and false starts, questions as to whether it would
not be wiser to keep to one side of the well-beaten slide, lest he
lose control of the sled where the descent was so glassy, and if he
should put down his left or his right heel if he wished to go to the
right, Lionel Algenon, at last, got started amidst a hurrah of shouts
at the send-off. It may have been the hurrah, and it may have been the
sight of the long stretch of gleaming snow which spread before him like
ground glass, or it may have been wicked Ned Toodles careering along
just behind him, that caused him to become disconcerted long before the
bottom of the hill was reached. Whatever it was, the climax came very
speedily.
“Keep in the track! Oh, keep in the track!” shouted those following
close behind him. “You’ll jump the terrace if you steer way over to
that side. Go through the opening where we went! You’ll smash the sled
to bits if you go over the bank!”
But their warnings fell upon deaf ears. Lionel felt that sled spinning
along beneath him at a rate which struck terror to his very soul, and
turned instinctively into the softer snow at the side of the beaten
path. But that snow was treacherous, for it was merely a light coating
of new-fallen snow upon a hard crust underneath, and his speed was
hardly a particle lessened. On sped the sled with a perfect shower
of fine, dry snow plowing up in front of it, and nearly blinding the
bewildered boy. Through the opening whizzed the other two boys,
landing in the road safe and right side up just in time to see Denise’s
sled, with Lionel clinging to it with both hands, come bounding over
the terrace with one wild, flying leap, and land in front of them.
Whatever saved them from piling on top of it was a miracle. Then came
the end, and when they finally got their sleds stopped, and made their
way back to the spot, there sat Lionel, still clinging to the side
bars, the sled beneath him, which was flattened out as though it had
been put beneath a letterpress.
“I really think that I prefer not coasting any more,” he remarked, as
they assisted him to his feet.
“Well, until Denise gets another sled I don’t believe you will. What
the dickens made you do such a fool thing as try to jump that terrace,
anyway?” demanded Archie, with some spirit, for he was growing just a
trifle tired of “taking care of a sissy,” as he dubbed Lionel, and his
own day was being spoiled by this boy’s affectations.
“I did not see the terrace, and the other path was very slippery.”
“You don’t expect to coast on _sandpaper_, do you?” demanded Charlie.
“Well, I think it would be nicer to coast on _level_ ground. Then there
would be no real danger.”
“Oh, go get an automobile,” was the natural, boyish retort.
“Yes, really, I think that I shall ask mamma to get me one. One can
keep so comfortable, don’t you know.”
CHAPTER XXI
ANOTHER CHRISTMAS DAY DRAWS NEAR
Once November passes, Christmas seems very near at hand, and, before
we know it, the day dearest to all young people, with its plans, its
secrets, and its surprises, is with us. But before that day arrived, a
great sorrow came to Denise, and she felt that not even Christmas joys
could entirely dispel her sadness.
Since early winter Tan had been ailing, and as the weather grew colder
and colder, the rheumatism which had caused him so much suffering the
previous winter, and which the veterinary had said he feared he could
not survive if it attacked him again, made life almost a burden for the
dear old pet, and sometimes, when she saw how wretched he was, Denise
almost wished that his suffering might be ended forever. But then came
the thought of never seeing him again, and his long years of devotion
to her; for eight years seem a very great number when one is young. And
it really was a great number in Denise’s life; it was two-thirds of all
she, herself, had lived.
Tan still had his warm stall in the Birds’ Nest, and John cared for him
very tenderly, but it was Denise alone who could soothe him and comfort
him when the poor bones ached past endurance. Seated upon some fresh
straw in his stall, she would hold the poor weary old head in her lap,
rubbing and “pooring” it, and rambling on in the crooning voice she had
always used when holding her little love-talks with her pets, and which
they all understood and responded to, each in his own particular manner.
December opened with a wild, driving snow, the sort that soon buries
everything from sight, and creeps into every crevice. A high wind sent
the snow scurrying before it, and the cold penetrated the very marrow
of one’s bones.
“I think I’ll stop in the Birds’ Nest the night, sir. The poor old
goat can’t hold out through it, I’m afraid, and it sort of goes agin
the grain of me fer me to lave him to give up the fight all by himself
afther the years I’ve tuck care of him,” said John to Mr. Lombard, when
he brought him home from the station that night.
“Is it really so? Poor old Tan! If he is only a goat, he has certainly
been a faithful creature, and I’ve known many a human being give less
proof of affection and appreciation of kindness than he has given,”
replied Mr. Lombard.
“’Tis right ye are, sir, and the way he do be looking for Miss Denise
and a listenin’ for her voice would clean break the heart of ye. Faith,
he can hear her no matter where she is, I belave, and give his queer
blaat av an answer. And the eyes av him whin she comes into the Nest
are just fair human.”
“I’ll go right out to the Nest with you,” replied Mr. Lombard, and John
drove on through the grounds.
A dim light was burning, shedding its rays upon the occupants of the
tiny stalls, and the kittens curled up in their box in the corner
of the stable. In the larger stall, well blanketed in his gay plaid
blanket, stood Ned Toodles, peeping through the little slot in the
door. The other stall did not have a door, and in it, lying upon a
thick bed of fresh, clean straw, and swathed almost from head to foot
in flannel bandages, lay Tan, no longer able to get upon his feet.
As Mr. Lombard stooped down to stroke him he gave his usual friendly
blaat, although not in the same vigorous tone.
“Poor old pet,” said Mr. Lombard, “is the story of your devoted life
almost told? Your little mistress will grieve long and sorely for you,
I fear. No, he cannot last much longer, John, and, perhaps, we should
be thankful, for he suffers cruelly. I’ll leave him to your care, for
he could not be in better hands.”
“Sure, he is Miss Denise’s, and that’s all that anny wan nade know,”
answered John.
Dawn was just breaking when John came up to the house to ask for Miss
Denise. The good fellow had spent the entire night ministering to the
pet he had cared for for eight years, and, as the night waned, the
tender-hearted fellow felt that he could not see him suffer as he was
without at least trying to do something more for his comfort. Nothing
had soothed him as Denise’s stroking, and John felt that since it could
only be for a few hours at most he would call the little mistress.
It was not yet seven o’clock, but Denise and her father hurried into
their clothing and hastened to the Nest.
“Poor, dear old Tanny-boy,” called Denise, as she went toward the
stall, and a weak, quavering blaat answered her as Tan strove to raise
his head. But the head had been raised for the last time. Without a
word, but with brimming eyes, Denise sat down upon the straw and lifted
the weary head into her lap, crooning over it in the old, familiar way.
For hours during that long night John had striven in vain to quiet
Tan’s piteous moans by bathing him with hot lotions, but all to no
purpose. But who shall say that love may not compass what skill cannot?
No sooner did Tan feel that beloved little mistress’s gentle strokes
than the moans ceased, and the sigh almost of a tired child testified
that so far as human comfort could minister to him and bring relief, he
had found it. The snow had ceased falling in the night, and when the
sun arose it shone upon a gleaming white world--a world which seemed
too beautiful to hold any sorrow. Breakfast-hour came and passed, but
Denise did not give it a thought, and neither Mr. nor Mrs. Lombard
would disturb her. Mr. Lombard deferred his departure for town, and
waited for Denise to end her watch, which he felt sure must end very
soon. It was not long past nine o’clock when Tan gave a sudden start,
looked up into Denise’s face with the look of loving devotion she had
known so long, gave one of the old familiar blaats, and dropped his
head upon her lap again, to give one long, weary sigh, and close the
great topaz eyes forever.
“I just can’t believe it is so,” said Denise an hour later, when her
sobs were subsiding and she was nestling in the arms which never failed
her in any sorrow. “I have had him so long that it seems as though I
couldn’t get on without seeing him every day. What will be done with
him, mamma?”
“Will you leave that entirely to papa and me, darling?” asked Mrs.
Lombard, as she stroked back the rumpled locks from the hot forehead.
“Yes; I don’t want to even see him again, for unless I could see him
standing as he used to be, and his great eyes looking right at me, I
just couldn’t stand it, mamma.”
“Well, try not to think about it any more just now, dear, but have Ned
put to the cutter and take me for a drive to the village. I wish to do
some errands, and the roads are pretty well broken now. It will do us
both good,” and so it happened that all that was left of Tan had passed
from sight before Denise and her mother came home, both the happier for
the drive in the crisp, keen air.
Denise’s holiday began the week before Christmas, for Miss Meredith
lived a long way from Springdale, and three days were required to
make her journey home. Then came trips to the city, and one of them
resulted in a funny enough addition to the family of pets, for, while
passing through one of the streets in the lower part of the city with
her father and mother, a forlorn, wretched dog, a tin saucepan tied to
its tail, frightened nearly to death, and hotly pursued by a mob of
howling, yelling boys, came tearing toward them. Denise was walking a
few steps in advance of her father and mother, and, before she could
gather herself together to resist the onslaught, the dog, as though
he had instinctively recognized in her a protector of his kind and all
helpless creatures, had sprung straight at her, knocking her flat upon
the sidewalk. With never a thought for self, she instantly clasped her
arms around the dirty, miserable beast, and clung to him for dear life
and justice. Her father and mother had sprung toward her, as had one or
two passers-by, each one feeling sure that they would find the dog’s
teeth firmly buried in some part of her.
But that dog had been wise in his choice of a protector, and was also
wise enough not to abuse his good fortune.
Now the sight of a handsomely dressed twelve-year-old girl sitting in
the middle of the sidewalk and holding in her arms a dirty, forlorn dog
with a tin pan securely fastened to the end of his tail, and trembling
with fright, is certainly not a common one, and in just one brief
little minute about one hundred people of all sorts and conditions, to
say nothing of the boys who had been in hot chase after the dog, and a
big policeman, who felt that he had, at least, the right to make a few
polite inquiries, were surrounding her.
“Denise, my darling!” was all Mrs. Lombard could exclaim, while Mr.
Lombard endeavored to get the young lady and her dog upon their own
legs. Close at hand was a large wholesale store, where fruits and
vegetables of all sorts and kinds were piled in crates and barrels, and
just behind some bouncing pumpkins loomed a fat, ruddy face, so like
them that it might have been mistaken for one of them.
This animated pumpkin had been standing in the door of the store, and
had witnessed the whole scene, and, just as Mr. Lombard got Denise
right side up, and the big policeman was shooing off the crowd, he
waddled out of his store and, beckoning with one fat, pudgy hand,
said:--
“Yow prings dat yung lady und dat dog straightavay into mine store.
She vas one fine trump already. Dat dog, he find himself in one great
big luck, if he himself know. You git soom mud? Chust so. I take it
you all off, and you pretty soon don’t know you got some bimeby.” As
he talked, he took hold of Denise’s arm and led her into the store,
Mr. and Mrs. Lombard being only too glad to follow and get away from
the all-too-curious crowd. Into the store they hurried, and it was not
until Denise was put into some sort of shape, and made fit to appear
in public once more that they all realized that they had become the
owners, willy-nilly, of about as forlorn a specimen of a dog as any one
could have thrust upon them. Then arose the question of what in this
world to do with him, and it _was_ a poser.
CHAPTER XXII
CHRISTMAS FOR ALL THE PETS
“Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!” was the cry which sounded from one
end of the house to the other when Christmas morning dawned, bright and
beautiful, as we always love to picture it, upon Denise’s home. Denise
was wide awake long before there was any dawn at all, and scurrying
about the house to get the others awake.
As usual, Pokey was upon the scene, for Christmas day would hardly have
seemed Christmas day without her. Ever since they were tiny children
she and Denise had passed it together. Christmas eve had been filled
with its usual merrymaking and secrets, and the constant ringing of
the door-bell and delivering of packages by the belated expressmen
had kept things wildly exciting. Among the last things delivered was a
huge box, standing fully as high as Denise’s head, and so broad that
it required the two men upon the wagon and John to carry it into the
Birds’ Nest.
“What can it be? Where did it come from? Who do you suppose sent it?”
were the questions which greeted it.
“St. Nick, of course,” said Mr. Lombard, laughing. “Who else sends
mysterious boxes and bundles at this season of the year?”
“It says New York on the cover, if that _is_ the cover,” said Pokey, as
she walked around and around it, and touched it as though that might
reveal the secret of what it contained.
“Did you have that Christmas fun out in the Birds’ Nest because you
knew that this big box was coming, papa?” asked Denise, with a twinkle
in her eyes.
“Who said that I knew it was coming, Miss Paulina Pry?”
“He didn’t take that bait worth a straw, did he?” asked Denise,
laughing, as she turned to Pokey.
“Did you think that your old daddy was to be taken in so easily? I
guess not,” and Mr. Lombard wagged a finger at her.
The entire family had gathered in the Birds’ Nest on Christmas eve, and
had decked the little house from end to end with greens. In one corner
stood the tree laden with all manner of shining trifles to catch and
reflect the light, while beneath it lay the almost endless number of
parcels which had come from all directions. During the dressing of the
tree, Ned Toodles, the dogs, and the cats, had roamed about at will,
and more than once, in the midst of the gayety, Denise had peeped
through the door leading into the little stable to look with saddened
eyes at Tan’s empty stall, for Tan would have been in the midst of the
merrymaking. When all had been arranged for the grand distribution
next day, the big box was placed in the very middle of the little
dining-room, thereby very nearly filling it up, and sending curiosity
up to fever heat. So it was no wonder that Denise and Pokey were astir
at an early hour, and leaving no stone unturned to get the other
members of the family astir, too.
The Birds’ Nest was not to be visited until after breakfast, for the
maids and John were to be present when the gifts were distributed, and
that meant more bottled up patience.
But at last even domestic affairs came to an end, and the signal to
start for the Nest was given, and pell-mell rushed the girls, with the
older members of the family not very far behind.
A brighter, prettier, more novel Christmas setting it would have been
hard to picture, for John had been early astir, and all about the
little playhouse everything was in spandy order for the reception of
its young mistress and her friends, while within, the tall Christmas
tree, and bright-green decorations, with the gleaming red berries
of the holly, and pearly white ones of the mistletoe, proclaimed it
Christmas day beyond all question. Nor was this all. There stood the
pets, Ned, Sailor, Beauty Buttons, and “Charity Jack,” as the dog
rescued in New York had been named. For Denise had begged so hard to
have him sent to Springdale, “where,” she urged, “he could have such
good care, and never again be in danger of being so misused, and where
she, herself, could train him properly,” that consent had finally been
given, and now, marvel of marvels that he knew himself at all, there he
stood with the other respectable members of dog society. A “bra’ brass
collar” was upon his neck, although, strictly speaking, it was not
brass at all, but leather, with a nickel plate with “Charity Jack” and
Denise’s name upon it, to say nothing of a small bell, for, even though
filled to repletion with the best food that dog ever had, poor Charity
Jack could never overcome his early habits, and would go straying
off from a dinner such as he could never have dreamed of, even when
imminent starvation quickened his dreams, to forage in every can and
barrel for miles around, and return home triumphant with a bone which
made his friends flee from his presence, until he had carefully buried
it for future emergencies.
The cats, too, were there, and each pet had a sprig of holly tied
upon his collar or fastened on the gay ribbon about his neck. Whether
they were fully alive to their honors was somewhat of a question, for
now and again a holly prickle would prod them a trifle, and produce a
demonstration of some sort or another, according to the animal which
wore it.
But what did Denise’s startled eyes behold? Had dear old Tan come to
life again? Surely that beautiful creature standing in the midst of
the other pets, although grown strangely tall, and so gayly decked
with holly, must be Tan. The head was held in the same attitude he
had always held it when listening for Denise’s voice, the ears were
pricked forward as he had always turned them when listening for her
footsteps, the splendid horns gleamed as they had always gleamed when
John varnished them, and, most wonderful of all, the beautiful topaz
eyes looked at her just as Tan had always looked. John had posed him
well, and the taxidermist’s art had not omitted a single detail of
those supplied by the fine photograph Mr. Lombard had shown him of Tan
as the goat had looked in life; for the pets, with Tan among them,
had been photographed again and again, in all possible, and sometimes
almost impossible, attitudes.
At Denise’s entrance the pets had greeted her in their usual manner,
Ned neighing, the dogs barking, and the cats mewing, but for once
their greetings were almost ignored, as Denise, with a cry of--“Oh,
Tanny-boy! Tanny-boy! have you really come back?” rushed toward the
great creature standing there upon his wheeled platform in such a
lifelike attitude that it was hard to realize that it was not the true
Tan once more among the mates of whom he was so fond.
Denise forgot all else as she clasped her arms about the figure beside
her, and if anything could have assuaged her grief at Tan’s loss,
this came nearest doing so. After many questions had been answered,
and the other pets had come in for their share of petting from all
present, for they had no notion of being slighted, the distribution
of the gifts took place, and fun ran riot. Last of all came the gifts
for the pets--a funny enough collection. Ned had a box of chocolate
cream drops, his favorite delicacy, with which he would have promptly
made himself ill had he been permitted to do so; Sailor a huge Bologna
sausage tied up with a scarlet ribbon, and when it was handed to him,
he took it and paraded thither and yonder with the sausage sticking out
one side of his mouth and the red bow waving at the other. Beauty’s
present was a monstrous chocolate rat, from which he bit and bolted the
head the very instant it was given to him, and was severely reproved
for his greediness. Then, realizing the error of his ways, he followed
Sailor about, the rat in his mouth, and the tail, the longest rat
ever boasted, dragging upon the floor. Charity Jack made a wild grab
for the huge bone offered him, and fled with it to some well-known
hiding-place. Hero, the cat, had a dainty piece of fried liver neatly
done up in paraffine paper, and created considerable diversion in her
efforts to remove the paper, while Leander caused no little amusement
by striving to remove the paper from his package of catnip, and at the
same time roll upon it.
And so we will leave them, these happy, well-cared-for pets, only
stopping long enough to take a peep at the birds up in Denise’s
bedroom, which were enjoying their Christmas gifts of celery and hemp
seeds, and the bunnies reveling in a feast of parsley and carrots.
Some day you will, perhaps, wish to learn more of their pranks, but
now, since the story ends at the blessed Christmas season, I must wish
you all a Merry Christmas, and let you bid farewell to this second
story of Denise and her pets.
[THE END]
* * * * *
Transcriber’s note
Minor punctuation errors have been changed without notice. Hyphenation
has been standardized.
Spelling was retained as in the original except for the following
changes:
Page 19: “are simply inrepressible” “are simply irrepressible”
Page 29: “Denise was in depair” “Denise was in despair”
Page 142: “gure upon the couch” “figure upon the couch”
Page 174: “MIRANDA COMES FROM TOWN” “MIRANDA COMES TO TOWN”
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANOTHER YEAR WITH DENISE AND NED TOODLES ***
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may
do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
license, especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™
electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when
you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work
on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the
phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws
of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg™ License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format
other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
provided that:
• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has
agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation.”
• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™
License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™
works.
• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.
• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™
Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.
The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,
Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website
and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread
public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state
visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.
Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org.
This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
