CHAPTER XI
Don and a Pony
The day was unusually pleasant for the season, and the children as they journeyed along saw that they were not the only ones who had sought the country. Ahead of them were three boys who were going in the direction of Mr. Snyder's.
"One of those boys looks like Don," said Florence; "I wonder what he is doing out here. Do you know who the others are, Dimple?"
"No, I don't believe I do, though one of them looks like Joe Forrester."
"Is he the brother of the girl you told me about?"
"Yes, but I don't know him. See, they are turning off here and that is Mr. Snyder's house over there."
"I hope those boys aren't going there."
"I don't believe they are; the boys from town go wandering all about in the woods and places about here. I don't believe Don would want to go to Mr. Snyder's."
But in this she was mistaken, for, after they had spent a pleasant hour with Mrs. Snyder and had eaten a hearty and good dinner, they heard a great commotion outside whither Mr. Snyder had gone to bring up his pretty little colt to show the children.
"Mr. Snyder thinks as much of that colt as if it were a baby," Mrs. Snyder told them, "and it is a pretty creature. The land's sake! What's all that to do?"
They all ran out on the porch to see Mr. Snyder with a squirming boy firmly held by the collar, while Lem was leading off the colt which was limping and seemed in some way hurt.
"Ben, Ben, what's the matter?" cried Mrs. Snyder running down the steps.
"Matter enough," he answered, "just wait till I get this youngster settled and I'll tell you."
The children peeping over the balustrade of the porch, saw a very wrathful countenance, yet Eleanor's sympathies were about to go out to the captured boy when suddenly she exclaimed: "Oh, Florence! Oh, Rock! It is Don."
Sure enough, Don it was, and the angry man who held him prisoner brought the boy up on the porch saying: "Here's a fine fellow for you. He'll cost me a pretty penny, but I'll make him suffer."
"Why, Ben, what has he done?" inquired Mrs. Snyder.
"Done? Done enough. Him and a couple of other rascals that's got away, worse luck, have come near ruining my colt and have played havoc with your frames out there, mother."
"Not my violet frames?"
"Yes, that's right. You see, I let Dandy out into the back lot for a run, seeing that it was such a fine day, and them fellows thought it would be great fun to scare him to see him run, so they crept under the fence and shied something at him, and he ran and jumped the fence, or tried to, for he caught himself on that wire fence by the garden and after struggling a while he got loose and went crashing through the frames. I don't know how bad the colt's hurt, but I know how bad the boy's going to be." He gave Don a shake and the boy, white with terror, began to beg for mercy.
For all the wrongs she had suffered at Don's hands were still fresh in Eleanor's memory, she began to feel very sorry for the culprit, and she said softly, "Maybe it wasn't Don that did it, Mr. Snyder. Maybe it was one of the other boys, the ones who ran away."
"Don? Is that this fellow's name? Do you know him?"
"Why, yes, he is Donald Murdoch. Don't you remember Cousin Ellen Murdoch, who lived in our house? He is her son."
"Yes, yes," Mr. Snyder slightly loosened his grip upon Donald and appeared to be considering the matter. After a moment's pause he spoke again. "This is the youngster then, who caused you so much trouble I suppose."
"Ye-es," Eleanor answered reluctantly.
"Pestered the little darky so she had to leave and was the cause of her getting a broken arm?" He gave Donald a shake that made the boy's teeth chatter.
"Yes," spoke up Florence, for Eleanor was silent, "and he tried to hurt Bubbles again just a day or two ago." Mr. Snyder's grip on the boy's shoulder made the boy wince.
"Told lies about you; took your playhouse and helped himself to anything he wanted without so much as a 'by your leave,' didn't he?" Mr. Snyder kept up his remarks to Eleanor.
"Oh, yes," Eleanor found her voice again, "but his mother would feel so dreadfully about it if you send him to jail."
Mr. Snyder's face relaxed some of its grimness. "Come in here, all of you," he said, "and we'll have a little trial by jury. Here, boy, stand there. Don't you dare to budge one inch or it will be the worse for you. You and your companions have trespassed on my property, and have injured a valuable colt for me besides doing other damage. I am going to sift the matter to the very bottom, and if you don't tell the truth you'll get such a whipping as you never had. Now, sir, speak up; let's hear your story. Did you or didn't you throw stones at the colt?"
Don glanced around. He saw a set of stern faces, only in Eleanor's eyes was a pitying look. He began to cry softly and she took a step forward but Mr. Snyder waved her back. "Wait a minute. Tell me, boy, did you throw the stone that hit the colt?"
"The other fellows did, too," replied Don.
"Never mind about them. We'll settle their hash later on. I am dealing with you now. Did you?"
"Yes," Don admitted reluctantly.
"Well then, you are liable to one-third damages, supposing the others are equally guilty."
"Oh," Eleanor exclaimed, "Mr. Snyder, will it be a great deal?"
"A matter of fifty dollars without the colt; if he's not seriously hurt, but I'm afraid that, at the best, he is so scratched that he wouldn't bring the price I might have got for him. Now then, boy, I'm inclined to trounce you well. You need a whipping the worst kind."
Donald cried woefully, and Eleanor looked ready to cry, herself. "Oh, please, Mr. Snyder," she began.
He looked at her and smiled. "Then, Don, down on your knees and beg this young lady's pardon for treating her like a cub. Here before us all, down with you."
Donald did not hesitate, but began to mumble something. "Oh, no, no, please," Eleanor interrupted him, feeling the shame of it tingling to her very ears. "Never mind, now, Mr. Snyder. I don't care. It is all over and past and, please, never mind."
"All right. Get up, boy, you've Dimple to thank for being let off from a thrashing, but I'll march you to your mother and you will tell a straight story before her or I'll know the reason why." And Donald, cowed and miserable, was taken directly back to town, and was marched into his mother's presence.
Mr. Snyder told his tale curtly. "I've plenty of witnesses," he said, "and I know what I'm talking about. I've got to have this made right or I'll go to law about it."
"I am sure my boy never had a hand in it," returned Mrs. Murdoch stiffly.
"Your boy did, by his own confession. Here, sir, tell your mother all about it." And Mrs. Murdoch was an unwilling listener to an account of the disaster.
"I never would have believed it," she said in a distressed tone, "but Mr. Snyder, I am sure he didn't mean to hurt your horse, and besides those other boys led him on, I am sure."
"He threw the first stone and he was the ring-leader," persisted Mr. Snyder. "I've three witnesses to prove it."
"I know who they are," said Don, feeling safe under the shelter of his mother's wing; "it was Florence and Eleanor and that boy they call Rock."
"Oh," Mrs. Murdoch said significantly, "if they were concerned in it, the whole tale is probably a fabrication."
"Which it isn't," Mr. Snyder declared. "They never one of them saw it, all of them being in my house behind closed doors when it happened. The ones who saw it were two of my neighbors and my man, Lem Hawkins who shouted to them to stop and couldn't get there in time to prevent mischief. Ain't you a pretty sneaking little cur?" he said turning to Don. "I'd like to know who it was that begged you off. Tell your mother how it comes that you escaped a sound whipping. And that brings up another thing, ma'am. My wife and I are mighty fond of that little gal, Dimple Dallas, and we don't mean to stand by and have her blamed for others' bad actions. Just out with it, boy, and tell your mother how you plagued the life out of her and that little Bubbles, and don't forget to put in how she begged you off to-day. No shirking; a plain, straightforward story." He shook his head in a terrifying manner at Don who spluttered and stammered out a confession which satisfied his stern judge, but which his mother would fain have had left unsaid, for finally she stopped him with "That will do, Donald. I am sure you had some provocation. I don't excuse you altogether, of course, but there are always two sides to a question."
"Just so," said Mr. Snyder, "and it won't be my fault if every one doesn't hear both. Now, ma'am, are you ready to pay me twenty dollars for the damage this boy has caused? I'm letting you off easy at that."
Mrs. Murdoch looked aghast. "Pay twenty dollars! Why, I couldn't think of it. I am in very straitened circumstances, and oh, Mr. Snyder, you surely will not press such a claim for a mere piece of fun. Boys will be boys."
"And law's law. I'm going to have that made good."
"You'll not go to law about it."
"Perhaps."
Mrs. Murdoch was so evidently distressed that finally Mr. Snyder who was too good-hearted to insist upon ready money, made a proposition that Donald should work out the amount. "I have a pretty good patch of berries every year," he said, "and I always have to hire a few pickers. Now, I'll be easy with you, but it is only right that the boy should be made to do something about this, and I shall expect him to work out every dollar." This arrangement was finally agreed upon, for Donald thought he would rather enjoy a free time among the strawberry beds, and he was so relieved at getting off thus easily that he was ready to give Eleanor credit for all her influence in his behalf. So that Mrs. Murdoch began to think that, after all, she might have misjudged Eleanor.
This was the end of any trouble with Don, so far as Eleanor was concerned, and indeed, so far as it affected others, for he needed just such a lesson and after many days of wearisome, back-breaking work among the strawberry beds, work which Mr. Snyder made in no way easy for him, he realized that one must respect the property of others, and that in this world a person cannot be allowed his own way without regard to the rights of others.
But the rest of the winter passed happily enough. In the spring came Grandpa and Grandma Dallas, and thinking that his little granddaughter looked rather thin and pale, grandpa consulted his son with the result that Eleanor was told that her grandfather meant to buy her a little Shetland pony that she might spend the greater part of her time out in the fresh air without getting too tired.
"Do you hear? Oh, Rock! Oh, Florence, do you hear?" cried Eleanor, upon being told the news. "Oh, grandpa, when will you get it?"
"As soon as we can find one that is gentle and well-trained," he answered smiling. "Do you know of any one who has such a pony for sale?"
"No, not now. I did know a darling of a pony; it was Zula's, that little gipsy girl's. Oh, if the gipsies were here, perhaps they would have one to sell. They had one and Zula wanted me to buy it."
"I am afraid they would be rather unreliable people to buy from," her grandfather said.
"Oh, but they are really not so bad. Zula loved her brother dearly and her pony too, and they were very good to Bubbles."
"Oh, yes, Bubbles, to be sure. Bring her in and let us hear what she has to say of them. Perhaps they will be coming this way after a while and we can see what they have to sell. It must be about time for them to be getting up this way from the south."
"Yass, suh, dey fust-rate to me," said Bubbles, upon being questioned. "Dey had a mess o' hosses, an' a teenty little pony like de one Miss Dimple tell you-all about. Hit were a good one, too, 'cause I heered dat Marco, dey call him, when he fetch de pony in, an' he say to de little gal: 'I got a pony mos' as good as yo'n,' an' she say she don't believe it, an' he say 'sho.'"
"Well," said grandpa, "I'll look about and see what we can find, and if the gipsies come this way we'll hunt them up, and find out what they have."
It was lovely weather and the children had all so far recovered from their illness as to be able to return to school, since Miss Reese, too, was to take her place there after the Easter holidays. "I hope Miss Reese will stay," said Eleanor, "for I love her, mamma. Do you think she will teach at that school as long as I go there?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Why?"
"I don't think Dr. Sullivan will let her."
"Dr. Sullivan?" Eleanor looked puzzled, but presently it dawned upon her what her mother meant. "Oh, mamma, is that why he used to come every day about noon to take Miss Reese home? I thought how kind he was," she said in an aggrieved tone.
"Well, wasn't he kind?"
"Yes, to himself."
Mrs. Dallas laughed and said she must tell the doctor and Miss Reese that.
"Do you think Aunt Nellie will want Florence to come home after Easter?"
"No, I think she will be very glad to have her remain where she can be out of doors more than she could be in the city."
"And can she stay all summer?"
"Yes, if her mother doesn't find that she cannot be parted so long from her. You know you and I wanted to see each other very much after a two months' separation."
"Yes, but Aunt Nellie has such a lot of other children and you had only me."
"Yes, but Florence has but one mamma, you know."
"I hadn't thought of that," Eleanor returned. "Well, Florence can go home and stay a week and then come back again. Can't she do that?"
"Perhaps so."
Just then Florence came in with her doll Rubina in her arms. "Hurry up, Dimple," she said. "Get your hat; your grandpa is going to take us out to drive. The gipsies have come and are camping in the same place Bubbles says."
"Oh, I am so glad. Are you going to take Rubina?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll take Celestine. Ada, my dear, you must stay at home, for Celestine and Rubina are such friends, you know. Mamma, may Ada sit in your room with you? I am afraid she will get lonely without me."
"I shall be very pleased to have her company," Mrs. Dallas replied. "I have noticed that she is an extremely well-behaved child and never meddles with my things when you leave her in my room."
"Is grandpa here? Is the carriage waiting?" Eleanor asked Florence.
"No, not yet. Your grandpa and Rock have gone to get it."
"Oh, then we will have time to change the dolls' dresses. I want Zula to see them looking their best. What can I take Zula, mamma?"
"Are you sure you will see her?"
"Why yes, I suppose she is with these gipsies."
"Perhaps it is not the same company."
"Oh, well, I'll take something anyway. May I have some daffodils out of the garden? I can give them to some one else if Zula is not there."
"You may have some of them."
"Rock is going to take his camera and see if he can get some snap-shots of the gipsies," Florence told them.
"Won't that be fine? Good-bye dearest, loveliest mamma. I wish you were going too."
"I couldn't very well go this morning. I have several things to attend to at home."
Over the same way that Eleanor had traveled with weary feet that November day, they went this fair morning in April, and it was not long before they saw ahead of them the gaily painted wagons of the gipsies. "There they are!" cried Florence. "Can we drive up real close? I never saw a gipsy camp before. I think the people look very queer."
"I shouldn't mind traveling around the country in a wagon like that," Rock declared, as he caught sight of the odd little houses on wheels.
"Now we are going to stop," said Eleanor. "Grandpa, will you ask if Zula is here. I want to see her."
But grandpa was attracted by the sight of a little pony under a tree. He nodded to one of the men lounging near, and asked him: "Is that pony for sale?"
The man looked around uncertainly. "Marco is boss. I'll tell him," he said; and a grave-faced young man soon came up to the carriage.
"I'm inquiring about that little pony," said grandpa. "Is he for sale?"
"No, I don't sell him. He belonged to my little sister. I don't take a thousand dollars for him. My little sister's horse he was."
"Oh," Eleanor leaned forward. "Was it Zula's pony? Where is Zula?"
The young man looked down. "She has died this winter."
"Oh!" Eleanor drew back. "I wanted to see her. Are you Marco, her brother?"
"Her brother," he replied. "Where have you known my little sister?"
"I saw her here last fall. Don't you remember? And the little colored girl you took to the hospital? She is well now. You were very kind to Bubbles. Won't you have these flowers? I brought them to Zula." And she held out the yellow daffodils.
The young man took them. "Thank you. I am glad to see you. I would like to sell you the pony if I could sell him to any one, but I cannot. He was Zula's, but I have another one here as good. I sell him for one hundred twenty-five dollars." He turned to Mr. Dallas.
"That is a pretty good price, but let us see him," said grandpa.
"I am so sorry that Zula is not here," said Eleanor softly, "but, you know, she is up in heaven and she must be very happy."
The young man turned and looked at her. It seemed as if the tears were very near his eyes as he walked away.
Presently he returned leading a little shaggy pony which he declared he could recommend as being gentle and perfectly safe. "I would not wish to sell to Zula's friend a pony not good," he said earnestly. "Is it for the little girl here?"
"Yes, for her!" grandpa told him.
"He is one year older than the other, but he is perhaps no worse for that, for he is easy in harness and very gentle to ride. If you like him I sell him for one hundred and twenty dollars."
Mr. Dallas asked many questions, got out of the carriage, and examined the docile little creature very carefully, and finally offered one hundred dollars for the pony. "I will do this," said the young man. "We are here for three or four days. I will bring you the pony this evening, and you can keep him long enough to try him all you want, and if he does not prove all I say you can return him, but if he does I will sell him for one hundred and ten dollars."
This seemed so fair an offer that Mr. Dallas, at last accepted it, and that evening the little pony arrived to remain as Eleanor's very own, for he proved to be as tractable and good a little creature as could be desired.