“BILLEE TAYLOR”
THE rays of the afternoon sunshine came peeping across the high hedge to fall aslant the closely cut lawn which sloped to the beautiful river flowing so peacefully beyond. The hedge and the great trees cast long shadows upon the soft green grass, making a marked contrast to the brilliant patches of sunshine lying between.
Crickets hopped about, singing their monotonous little songs, and insects floated in the sun’s warm rays, as though enjoying a golden shower bath. Under one of the great trees and comfortably resting in a big East India lawn chair, with its back drawn close to the hedge, sat, or rather half reclined, a small person of about fifteen summers; while upon the grass beside her lay an atom of a black and tan terrier.
The afternoon was very warm and still, and the drowsy, dreamy atmosphere had evidently had its influence upon little maid and little dog, for both had slipped away into dreamland.
Four strokes rang out from the distant town clock, the distance causing the sound to be wonderfully mellowed, and, as though it were the signal for a new actor to appear upon the scene, the branches of the hedge just above the chair were pushed aside and a great head, with wonderfully soft eyes, peered through at the sleepers. It was followed by a long, gracefully arched sorrel neck, and “Billee” had introduced himself.
So gently had the hedge been parted that it scarcely rustled, and the young girl slept on undisturbed.
But the owner of the great head had his own ideas regarding the hours which should be devoted to slumber, and four o’clock, on a beautiful summer afternoon, was not one of them; so he proceeded to rouse the sleepers.
“Hoo-hoo; hoo-hoo-hoo,” came the soft, unspellable sound a horse makes when he greets you. But it only resulted in rousing the little terrier, who raised his head lazily and regarded the intruder with a rather surprised air.
But the horse had no notion of failing in his undertaking, and at once proceeded to adopt more energetic measures. Stretching his long neck still further through the opening in the hedge, he reached toward the sleeper, and taking very gentle hold of a stray lock of hair which fell across the back of the chair, gave it a slight pull with his soft, velvety lips, and then, as though terrified at the liberty he had taken, plunged back with a loud snort.
The pull, the snort, and the wild barking of the enraged little terrier produced such an instantaneous effect that he should have been highly gratified, for the girl bounded out of her chair and stood staring at the hedge in astonishment. But that looked innocent enough, and she would have turned elsewhere to learn the cause of her fright had she not caught sight of a shining pair of eyes which looked at her through the opening in the branches.
She darted forward with a laugh, and parting the branches, she said:
“You scamp! What do you mean by playing me such a trick? I’ve tried to coax you to come close to me time and time again when I’ve been wide awake, but you choose to take me at a disadvantage while I am in the land of Nod,” and she wagged her finger at him admonishingly.
Down went his head and up went his heels and tail; for a few minutes it was difficult to tell which end of him touched the ground; and no boy ever gave more pronounced demonstrations of wild delight at the success of some prank than he gave of his, as, with a final and most abandoned kick-up, he went careering over the big field. Marion, for such was the girl’s name, made no attempt to coax him to come back; well knowing that he must have his fling before settling down to more serious matters, and enjoying the spectacle most thoroughly; for the horse was a beauty and never showed to greater advantage than when enjoying his freedom in the pasture.
The superb head, with its splendid eyes, delicate, pointed ears and sensitive nostrils, was held high in the air; the gracefully arched neck, with its silky, flowing mane and full throbbing veins; the dainty hoofs and slender limbs which supported the lithe, active body, appearing scarcely to touch the grass, and the long tail waving behind like a triumphal banner, all were superbly beautiful.
But, masculine member of society as he was, he was somewhat of a coquette, and soon tried new fascinations. Stopping suddenly in the midst of his wild career, he walked over to the hedge with his head lowered as demurely as a young miss. When within about ten feet of it he stopped, threw up his head, and gave a loud neigh.
“Now you know you are only doing that for effect,” said Marion, “and I believe you just know how beautiful you look with the sun shining on your silky, sorrel coat as you stand there trying to make me believe you’re afraid, when you know perfectly well you’re not one bit. Come here, this minute; for this time I’m determined to touch you if I have to crawl through the hedge to do it,” and in another moment the girl stood in the field.
One dainty hoof pawed the ground and the head went up and down as though answering “yes,” but he did not advance a step.
“Are you coming?”
“Hoo-hoo; hoo-hoo-hoo!”
“Now does that mean ‘yes’ or ‘no’?”
Down went the head again.
“It means ‘yes,’ does it? Well, come on, then,” and she held out her hand coaxingly. Without a sign of warning he gave a bound which landed him beside her so suddenly that it was a marvel she did not make some demonstration of fear. But she did not, and the horse, who had a novel way of doing things, instantly made up his mind that this young lady was not easily frightened; consequently he decided to behave himself, and with a soft little whinny he put his silky head into her outstretched arms and stood as quiet as a lamb.
Marion’s joy was unbounded, for, time and again during the summer she had tried to make friends with the beautiful animal, only to find herself baffled at each attempt; and now he stood beside her and let her fondle and caress him as unreservedly as she would have caressed the little terrier, who stood beside her regarding the whole proceeding with a questioning look.
“What do you think of him, Jingles?” she asked, and the terrier gave a little bark, which set jingling the tiny silver bells upon the collar, which had given him his name.
Marion stood there caressing the horse for some time, enjoying his pranks and indulging in subdued rapture over his affectionate little demonstrations, for, once won over, he seemed determined to make amends for former shortcomings and licked her hand, nibbled at her ruffles, laid his head across her shoulder and showed in every possible way that he had taken her for his friend; when suddenly he raised his head and laid back his ears.
“What is it, old fellow? What has disturbed you?” she asked, well knowing that she was not the cause of the half-frightened, half-angry look which had come into his eyes.
Whatever it was he evidently regarded it with distinct disfavor, for his whole attitude changed and one would hardly have recognized in him the same animal which a moment before had so captivated Marion.
Up went the head and a still more frightened look crept into his eyes as a tall, heavily-built man, with a stupid face and features which spoke only of coarseness and brutality, came into view.
“Hi! do yer want ter be killed?” he shouted in a harsh voice. “Yer’d better keep away from that brute if yer don’t. He’s a perfect devil.”
In an instant all the indignation and resentment in the young girl’s nature was aroused by this unjust accusation, for her love for horses was so intense that she seemed to hold almost magical power over them, and her friends used often to say that they believed she possessed some secret means of communicating to them her own thoughts and reading theirs.
However that might be, certain it was that they all loved her, from her own beautiful little pony to the greatest forlornity that ever bore harness, and her word rarely failed to win a response of some sort.
Ever since her father had rented their pretty summer home in May, she had watched the beautiful young animal driven by the owner of the adjoining property, and, during the horse’s occasional days of freedom in the pasture separated from her home by a high hedge, had striven to coax him to her. But with her keen intuitions she made up her mind that the animal was not kindly treated, and consequently lacked confidence in human beings.
“But I shall yet win him over; see if I don’t,” she had said to her father as she sat at breakfast that very morning, “and I’ll find out the cause of his distrust as well; or my name is not Marion.”
“I won’t try to dispute that, sweetheart, since I gave you the name myself,” replied her father as he rose from the table and came for his good-by kiss before leaving for town, “so I dare say I shall soon have our four-footed neighbor’s biography.”
“You needn’t tease me,” she said, with a wag of her pretty head, “I’m going to do it.”
So now she stood confronting the owner of the unpleasant voice and more unpleasant personality, and her own voice quivered with indignation as she answered:
“Do you see anything very fiendish in him just at present? Perhaps you might find the angelic side of his nature, just as I have, if you would take pains to try.”
All this time, although quivering with apprehension, the horse had stood perfectly still with the girl’s arm resting protectingly across his withers.
“Is he your horse?” she continued, for the man had stopped stock-still to regard the great animal’s intrepid little defender with amazement.
“Naw! he aint that; and I don’t want him neither. He belongs to the boss up yander. But I’ve got to take care of him, and if he don’t look out I’ll kill him some day, if he don’t get a lick at me first. Here, come on out o’ that, the boss wants ye,” and he made a grab at the horse’s forelock.
Up flew the nervous creature’s head as though to avoid a blow, to which, undoubtedly, he was only too well accustomed, and in so doing he hit the hard bridge of his nose against the man’s chin, causing him to bite his tongue. With a furious oath he drew back his huge fist and dealt the horse a cruel blow upon his soft muzzle.
With the pathetic cry a wounded horse gives, the poor creature fell almost upon his haunches, and then, with a superb bound, leaped clear and clean over the man’s head.
It had all happened in a few seconds, but those few seconds had been sufficient to arouse within the girl’s soul all the fury of righteous anger, and with a wild cry of, “Oh, how dare you do such a cruel thing! How dare you, when you know he did not mean to hurt you!” she caught hold of the man by both his arms and shook him till his teeth fairly chattered. Then, pushing him from her, she cried: “Now go! You are not fit to have the care of a wild bull, let alone such a splendid creature as that, and you shall never, never touch him again if I can prevent it.”
Never probably in all his life had this great, strong man encountered such a little fury as now confronted him with flashing eyes and crimson cheeks. The girl’s whole nature rose in wrath against such injustice, and for the time being she was beside herself, and all thoughts of “Mrs. Grundy” flew to the four winds.
Too astonished to speak, he stood like a wooden image staring straight at her, then, as she stamped her pretty little foot and pointed toward the gate, he turned and slunk off toward the distant stables; for once, at least, dealt with as he deserved, although it had fallen to the lot of a girl of fifteen to administer justice.
“Oh, Jingles,” she cried, now almost in tears, “wasn’t it awful! Come quick and we will look after the dear fellow,” and she ran swiftly to the far end of the field in which the frightened horse had taken refuge.
There he stood with his poor head hanging dejectedly down, and the blood dripping from the cut nostril. Marion approached him very quietly, fearing that his recent cruel treatment might have undone all she had striven so patiently to gain, but the intelligent animal had learned more than one lesson that day, and the girl had won his confidence forever.
Taking the poor, smarting muzzle in her soft, white hands, she examined it closely and found the cut to be a bad one. “If I only had some water,” she said to herself, “I could bathe it. I know, I’ll lead him to that spring down at the edge of the field,” and untying the pretty Roman sash from her waist, she placed it very gently around the horse’s neck, and, saying in her sweet voice, “Come along, dear,” she led him quietly beside her.
Her dainty linen handkerchief served to bathe the injured nose, and when the bleeding was stanched she turned toward the gate, intending to lead her patient home, little realizing what a pretty picture she made as she came across the fields with the afternoon sunlight falling upon her beautiful brown hair and pretty white gown, with one hand leading the handsome sorrel horse by his gay silken leader, while the other was laid caressingly across his neck.
To the gentleman standing concealed behind a clump of evergreens just beyond the gate it seemed the prettiest sight he had ever looked upon, and a pleasing ending to the harrowing one to which he had been an unseen witness.
Slipping from his hiding-place as the girl approached, he advanced with outstretched hand, saying: “Little neighbor, I have more than one thing for which to thank you this afternoon, but the greatest is for your heroic defense of my horse. Don’t try to tell me anything about it,” as Marion gave a slight start and opened her lips to speak,—“I saw the whole occurrence from beginning to end, and now I know why one of my most valuable animals has thus far in his career been pronounced vicious.”
“Oh, he isn’t! I know he isn’t,” exclaimed his champion.
“So do I,—now, but I have been a long time learning it, and, but for you, I should probably never have done so; since that man, upon whom you wreaked your vengeance,” and here a rather amused smile curved the corners of Mr. Ryder’s lips, “was cunning enough to conceal his true disposition when in my presence.”
Marion colored slightly, and said: “I know it was a dreadful thing to do, and I don’t know what papa will say when I tell him about it, but I was so angry that I just couldn’t keep still.”
“It is fortunate for Billy that you did not, or his future might have been a miserable one; might it not, old fellow?” he answered as he reached out to take the horse’s leader. But Billy’s faith in mankind had been sorely shaken, and he started aside. “Tut, tut!” said Mr. Ryder, “this is a bad business, and I think I shall have to impose upon your friendship for Billy by asking you to lead him to the stable for me, since he seems so fearful of ill-treatment. What is your name, little maid? We have been neighbors six weeks, but I am so rarely home that I am almost a stranger here.”
“Marion Taylor,” was the reply. “Come, Billy,” she added, “I didn’t know your name before, but we got acquainted, didn’t we, dear?” and she laid her flushed face against the warm, silky neck. “Have you more horses?” she asked as they walked along together.
“Yes, a large number, for I raise them. Billy, here, is one of my handsomest, and, but for his unfortunate disposition, he would be the most valuable. I understand him better now, I think.”
“Oh, I hope so! He is so beautiful, and I am sure he would love me dearly if I could see him every day. May I?”
“You certainly may, and tell your father that Mr. Ryder will give himself the pleasure of calling upon him this evening,” he said, as he shook hands with her and said good-by at the stable door.
Marion, with Jingles at her heels, ran swiftly home across the field, while Mr. Ryder went in quest of the delinquent Sam, with whom he had an interview—brief, but very much to the point. A few hours later he was seated on Mr. Taylor’s delightful piazza enjoying with him an after-dinner cigar as they talked, for they soon discovered that theirs was really an old acquaintance rather than a new one, since both had been students at the same university years before.
When Mr. Ryder said good-night at eleven o’clock, Billy had become Mr. Taylor’s property, for the latter had long been in search of a well-trained saddle-horse for Marion, and was glad to find such a desirable one.
“Marion will cure any peculiarities of disposition he may possess,” he said; “the child loves horses better than she loves people, I believe; at all events, she understands them better and they her.”
“You missed a good deal by not seeing her this afternoon,” replied Mr. Ryder. “By Jove! she gave it to Sam in good, round, set terms. I don’t believe the fellow has recovered yet,” and he laughed as he recalled the little girl’s righteous wrath.
As Marion stood upon the piazza next morning she was surprised to see Billy led in at the gate.
“Why, papa,” she called to her father, who sat in the dining room behind her, “they are bringing Billy in here; what does it mean?”
“It means, little daughter,” said her father, as he joined her, “that Mr. Ryder and I have decided that you are to be Billy’s future mistress, since you have evidently won his confidence and love. You need a saddle-horse, and he is perfectly trained. Add this pet to your many others, for I dare say your heart is large enough to hold even Billy.”
A note addressed to Miss Marion Taylor was handed to her by the groom, and contained the following message: “For Billy’s champion, with whom I hope he may dwell long and serve faithfully, and henceforth be known, not as Billy Ryder, but as ‘Billee Taylor.’” From that moment “Billee’s” life was revolutionized, and he was as happy as his days were long.
Marion tended him herself until the poor nose was quite healed. Billee’s gratitude was boundless, and he showed it in every possible way. Could he have done so he would have followed his beloved young mistress straight into the house, and very often, indeed, he did follow her on to the piazza.
Her pony was rather small for the saddle, so Billee was always used for riding; and many a delightful canter they had; the beautiful animal fully realizing how precious was the burden he carried, and swinging along as smoothly as a rocking-chair.
Long after the sore nose was entirely well Billee remembered the cruel blow, and when Marion said, “Poor Billee, where did he get hurt?” the comical fellow would lift up his head and raise his upper lip to show the scar, which he still carried upon it and his nostril. In a wonderfully short time his nervousness, and what had seemed to be a sort of resentment toward mankind in general, entirely vanished, and he became the sweetest-tempered animal one could wish for, and as full of pranks and mischief as a kitten.
Marion could always control him with a word, and even in the midst of one of his wildest pranks, her voice was sufficient to bring him back to his senses.
He and Toddles, the pony, became fast friends, and it was a common thing for the neighbors to see Marion seated upon the lawn with Billee, Toddles, Jingles, and the two kittens, Blink and Wink, lying or standing beside her. No matter where she went, whether it was for a stroll by the river, a walk to the post office, or a drive behind little Toddles, if Billee caught sight of her he was determined to follow her, and, if prevented by his groom from so doing, would neigh to her as long as she was in sight.
While prowling about his stable yard one afternoon he somehow managed to pick up a nail and, as though he were sure that his beloved mistress would help him, he whinnied and whinnied until his groom came to learn the cause. Seeing the horse limp, the man tried to take up his foot to examine it, but Billee preferred selecting his own surgeon, and although he could scarcely hobble, he pushed past his groom, who let him go, and limped to the front of the house, where he felt certain of finding his mistress. She was seated in her favorite chair near the hedge, and with a glad neigh he hobbled up to her and held up the lame foot.
“Why, Billee dear! what is the matter?” she cried, and, jumping up, she took the poor foot into her hands. Billee poked his nose down and made a queer grunting sort of sound, as though trying to tell her his trouble.
“Yes, dear, I see what it is; we will soon have it out,” she said, and Thomas was summoned and the nail removed.
“Now come with me, Billee, and we will fix it all comfortable,” and she led him back to his stall.
She soon had the feverish foot standing in a tub of oil meal, and, bidding him “be a good horse and not take his foot out of the tub till she gave him leave,” she left him. A dozen times a day during the four or five that followed, she went out to pour cold water on the ankle and see that the foot was properly cared for, and each time she appeared Billee’s joy was boundless, and he would hold up his foot to have it dressed.
Such constant care could not fail to effect a prompt cure, and in a week’s time Billee was as frisky as ever. But he never forgot his lame foot, and ever after, when he felt particularly in need of sympathy, would put on a make-believe limp, and if Marion said “Poor Billee Taylor, he has such a lame foot,” the rogue would hold it up, put his nose down to it, and give voice to a low snicker, as though trying to tell the story all over again.
Billee’s life was like the good prince’s in the fairy tales: “He lived long and happily, and died at a ripe old age.”