NURSERY TILES. —APRIL SHOWERS AND APRIL SUNSHINE.
A RIDE ON A CENTAUR.
BY HAMILTON W. MABIE.
SID’S mother had a way of telling him stories just before he went to bed, and Sid loved bed-time more than any other hour in the day. I couldn’t begin to tell you all he had learned in this way nor all the places he had been to. When people travel in strange countries they have to have a guide who knows the fine roads and wonderful places to be seen in that part of the world. Now Sid was a little traveller just setting out on a very long journey and it was a very fortunate thing for him that he had his mother as a guide.
When night was coming on and it was getting dark out of doors, the open wood fire was lighted in the back parlor; and then in the glow which made everything in the room look so queer, with his hand in hers, Sid’s mother took him off to other lands and even to the Moon.
One night, not long ago, as Sid sat looking into the fire with his head against his mother’s knee, she said:
“Come, Sid, let’s go to Greece and take a ride on a Centaur.”
Nothing could have pleased Sid more. He hadn’t the slightest idea what a Centaur was, but he loved to ride, and it made very little difference to him what he rode on.
Besides he was tired to-night and didn’t feel like walking; so, with his eyes half shut, and feeling very, very comfortable, Sid waited for the Centaur to take him off.
“Well,” said his mother, in a voice that was always very sweet to him; “there’s a little country in Greece called Thessaly, and it’s full of caves, and beautiful valleys as well. In one of the caves lived a Centaur named Chiron. He had the body of a horse, but instead of a horse’s neck and head he had the head and shoulders and body of a man down to the waist. He was a very old and wise Centaur and although he lived in a cave he loved the open air on the high mountains.”
How much longer Sid’s mother talked I don’t know. Although she did not notice it, Sid was gone. He had been carried off by a Centaur. While he was looking into the fire and wondering what made the coals take such queer shapes he heard a strange noise outside. It wasn’t exactly the neighing of a horse and it was not exactly the voice of a man, but it was something between the two.
“That’s very funny,” said Sid to himself; “wonder what it is!”
In a moment or two he heard it again and it sounded a great deal nearer than before. Then there was a sharp canter down the road and the clatter of hoofs past the windows. Sid’s mother did not seem to pay any attention to the noise, but she had stopped talking—at least Sid thought she had, and he got up very quietly, stepped out into the hall and went to the side door. There wasn’t any moon but the stars were shining brightly and there, going round and round the circle of grass under the apple trees, Sid saw a splendid black horse. As it came round again to the place where he stood Sid saw that it was not a horse after all, for above its forelegs it had the head and body of a man.
It was a Centaur. Sid had never seen one before and he was sure nobody in that neighborhood owned one. Where it had come from he hadn’t the slightest idea, and if it hadn’t been for the apple trees and the great, dark church beyond he would have believed he was dreaming.
The Centaur cantered around two or three trees more and then, without saying a word, as he passed Sid, stretched out his arms, caught the boy, put him on his back and was off like a racer. No boy ever had such a ride before and I don’t know that any one ever will again.
No sooner had the Centaur struck the road than he broke into a gallop and went thundering along through the night as if a thousand witches or some other horrible creatures were chasing him. His hoofs rang on the hard ground and struck sparks of fire out of the stones along the way. On and on they flew, past houses and orchards and ponds over which a white mist lay like a soft night dress. They leaped the tall gates without so much as dropping a penny for the keeper who was fast asleep in the little house, and they rushed over bridges as if there were no notices about fast driving posted up at either end. Faster and faster they flew along until fences and trees and barns were all mixed up together and Sid couldn’t tell one from the other. He thought the Centaur couldn’t go any faster, but he was mistaken, for he broke into a dead run and then such going! It took Sid’s breath away. Every thing vanished and there wasn’t any thing left in the world but himself and the Centaur and the wind that was trying its best to blow him off. There wasn’t any noise either. It was just one tremendous rush. It was like the flight of an arrow that goes straight through the air from the moment it leaves the bow till the moment it strikes the mark and there’s hardly a breath between.
How long the ride was I don’t know for Sid never could tell, but after a time the Centaur began to slacken speed, broke into a gallop, then into a gentle trot and finally stopped short. His broad flanks were steaming and he was wet from hoof to hoof, but he did not seem to mind it.
Sid had been a little frightened at first, and you must admit that it was rather alarming to be picked up and carried off like the wind by a Centaur—but he was a brave boy and soon forgot every thing but the splendid ride he was taking. As soon as the Centaur stopped he slipped down and stood on the ground.
Although it was night the air was so soft and pure and the stars shone so brightly through it that he could see it was a strange country. There were hills every where but they were green and although it was wild it looked beautiful as far as he could see.
The Centaur stretched himself on the ground and Sid saw that although his face was very queer it was quite intelligent. He seemed to be waiting to rest himself. Sid wanted very much to talk with him but he wasn’t sure that he ought to and he didn’t know exactly what to say. There was so much of the horse about the Centaur that Sid couldn’t make up his mind whether he really was a horse or a man.
The Centaur paid no attention to the boy for a long time but finally he turned to him and said:
“Well, how did you like it?”
The voice was queer, there was no doubt about that. It made him think of a horse, but the words were human. The Centaur could speak good English, there was no doubt about that either.
“It was just splendid,” Sid answered. “What made you come for me?”
“Why,” replied the Centaur, speaking slowly as if it were not easy for him to talk; “I knew you could ride and I was sent for you.”
Sid couldn’t understand why he could ride easier than any other boy. “Can’t everybody ride?” he asked in a quick way he has when he is interested in anything.
“Oh, bless you, no,” said the Centaur; “very few indeed; it all depends on your mind. Most boys wouldn’t have seen me, much less kept on my back.”
Sid thought that was very queer, but he asked no more questions about it. He didn’t feel very well acquainted yet.
“Who sent you for me?” he continued at last.
“Chiron sent me,” answered the Centaur getting on his legs, “and we must be off.”
He put Sid on his back as before and started on a gentle canter. They were on the side of a mountain with here and there olive trees and pines.
“Where are we?” asked Sid after a moment.
“Is this Thes—Thes—?”
“Yes,” said the Centaur; “it’s Thessaly.”
“Where am I going?”
“You are going to school,” replied the Centaur.
That rather surprised Sid and didn’t entirely please him. He thought he had enough of school by daylight without going at night too, but he said nothing, thinking it certainly must be a new kind of school if they had to send so far for scholars, and wondering whether his father, who was a minister, would be able to pay the bills.
The road which the Centaur took led them around the mountain and presently they came out into a little level space in the side of the mountain and in front of a cave. In the middle of this grassy place a Centaur was lying on his side, and around him were ten or more young men stretched full length on the ground and leaning on their elbows, in a half circle.
Sid slid down to the ground and slipped into the little group without being noticed. The Centaur in the middle was very old, so old that he looked as if he had been alive for centuries; and he had a very wise and beautiful face.
The young men were the most splendid fellows Sid had ever seen. They had beautiful forms and noble heads and fine, bright faces, and they had magnificent arms and chests. They looked like heroes, and I think most of them were.
This was the school and a very queer school it certainly was. Sid was eight years old and went to a Kindergarten where he had books and blocks and all kinds of things and here they hadn’t so much as a scrap of paper. He was inclined to think it must be a poor affair, but he thought he would wait until he had heard some of the recitations before he made up his mind. That was the queerest thing of all—there weren’t any recitations. No books, no desks, no black-boards, no recitations! well, it certainly was a funny school. There wasn’t even a roll called. If there had been Sid would have heard some strange names. That great splendid fellow at the end of the line, with his curly hair all in confusion about his noble head, was called Hercules, and the next was Achilles and the next Theseus and then came Castor and Pollux, and Ulysses and Meleager and Æsculapius and others whose names I have forgotten.
While Sid was thinking about these things the old Centaur began to talk. His voice was very low and very sweet and somehow it made Sid feel that the teacher had seen everything there was to be seen in the world and knew everything there was to be known. School was evidently going to begin.
“I have told you,” said the Centaur, very slowly, “about the Gods and the old times when the world was young. I have told of heroes and of the great things they did. I have taught you music which the Gods love, and medicine which is useful for men. I have told you how to be strong and high-minded and noble. I have taught you to be brave and true that you may do great things for yourself and the world. By day I have made your bodies firm and sinewy, and at night I made you think of the Gods who live beyond the stars. What shall I tell you now?”
Nobody spoke for a minute and then Ulysses, who had a very wise face for one so young, said: “Tell us of yourself, oh, Chiron.”
This seemed to please everybody and all the scholars repeated the words:
“Tell us of yourself, oh, Chiron.”
“The Centaurs,” began Chiron after a little while, “were born long before men came into the world. It was a rough place then and needed somebody stronger than men to live in it. So the Gods made us with the strength and swiftness of the animals and yet with some of the thoughts and feelings of men. And we lived in caves and ran through the valleys, and leaped across the rushing streams and climbed the mountains. And we learned many things about the world and made it easier for men when they came. I think we were sent to do what animals couldn’t do and that now you are come and grown strong to conquer even the animals, our work is done and we must soon die.”
Just then a little bell rang. At first Sid thought school must be out, but the bell sounded very familiar to him. In fact it was the cuckoo clock in the front parlor striking nine.
“Bless me, Sid,” said his mother; “you ought to have been in bed an hour ago.”