CHARLIE & CO.
CHARLIE was distinctly a local character. I doubt if he could claim any special distinction even in his own town, and yet among his few friends he held an enviable place, for they loved and trusted him, and neither the love nor the trust was misplaced.
It is more than five years ago since we first met Charlie & Co., and even then neither of the partners was young nor handsome. But they commanded our attention.
It was in the summer of 1894 that I was sitting upon the piazza of a friend’s home in the pretty suburban town of Elton. It was about four o’clock, and as I sat drinking in the beauty of the sunshine and the shadow as they flickered upon the soft green lawn, I heard the measured pat-pat of a horse’s footfall. Alive to the slightest sound, either regular or irregular, in the footfall of the animal I love best of all my four-footed friends, I instantly recognized in this one an unfamiliar sound, as though the animal making it had a mode of navigation peculiar to itself.
As I glanced up the sound suddenly ceased, and I saw standing at the foot of the driveway a bay horse harnessed to a milk-wagon. It would have been difficult for me to tell what there was in the animal to distinguish him from a dozen others which might have stopped at the door, but there was an indefinable something, and I watched him, feeling instinctively that something interesting would develop. Nor did my instinct mislead me. The driver of the horse, an elderly man, whose kindly face and scrupulous neatness were in perfect harmony with the contented look worn by the animal he drove, and with its glossy, shining coat, which testified to the care given to it, stepped from his wagon and then turned to take from it a wire stand filled with jars of rich, creamy milk, and started with them toward the kitchen at the rear of the house.
As his driver left him the horse turned back one ear, but further than that gave no evidence that he was at all interested in the man’s movements. But directly the sound of his footfalls had ceased to be heard, the pretty bay head, with the softest of velvety white noses and big brown eyes, was turned quite around in order to have a good look into the wagon—for, happily, the headstall had no blinders. Evidently all was as it should be, and with a nod of his head, as though saying “yes,” the animal started off.
My first impulse was to call out “whoa,” but something in the wise, self-contained air of the creature compelled me to await developments.
Curving well outward, that the wheels of the wagon need not come in contact with the curbstone, the horse started down the street, crossing immediately to the right side in order to obey the rule of the highway which says, “Keep to the right.” Passing four or five houses, he stopped at one, and, bringing his wagon close to the curb, turned and looked around. A moment later his driver reappeared and followed his business partner across the street. Again the milk jars were taken from the wagon, and again the horse started on, this time to the second house. It was funny enough to watch him; he was as familiar with the route, and the time necessary for each delivery, as his master, and evidently felt as much responsibility.
Turning to my friend, who just then joined me upon the piazza, I asked:
“Who is the milkman whose horse seems as familiar with the milk route as he himself does?”
“Oh, it is Mr. Harris, and he is as kind as he looks. His horse Charlie is amusing, is he not? Yes, he knows the customers as well as Mr. Harris does, and we always speak of them as ‘Charlie & Co.’ I doubt if Mr. Harris could get on without his silent partner.”
“Does the horse always act as he has to-day?”
“Invariably. He is as punctual and methodical as his master is neat and kind-hearted. They have served me with milk for many years, and I should not be able to keep house without them, I believe.”
“I shall not forget them,” I replied, “and if I ever make Elton my home, I shall certainly give my order to ‘Charlie & Co.’”
A few months later we removed to Elton, and I lost no time in requesting Charlie & Co. to include our home in their daily rounds. It was at that period that I became well acquainted with Charlie and learned to appreciate his wonderful intelligence, and the clever ways which so endeared him to his master.
Twice daily did Charlie appear at my door, and it was not long before it became his favorite stopping-place, for at it he rarely failed to receive an apple, a biscuit, and at last, when he had acquired a taste for it, a lump of sugar. But this was distinctly a cultivated taste, and his efforts to learn to like the dainty were funny beyond words to express. My little daughter was the first to cultivate Charlie’s taste for sweets, and rarely a day passed that she did not watch for his coming and have ready the dainty.
Charlie had a peculiar gait, which was probably the result of having been used under the saddle in his younger days. It was neither a pace, nor yet a trot, but a sort of cross between the two, and when he desired to hasten it he broke into a distinct canter. Directly he left the nearest neighbor’s at whose house he was forced to stop before reaching his little friend’s home, Charlie, in the words of dear Lewis Carroll, would come “gallumping”—no other word will express it—for his dainty. The dear old head would be put close down to the arms waiting to caress him, and after a bit of affectionate demonstration on both sides, the proffered lump of sugar would be taken, toyed with a moment by the velvety lips, bitten in two, and held while Charlie seemed thinking the matter over, meantime looking at his little friend and shaking his head wisely.
“Eat it, Charlie; it’s delicious,” the little one would say. But Charlie had his own ideas on the subject, and was not to be hurried. It was not until he had thoroughly tested this new article of diet, turned it over upon his tongue, crunched it with his nippers, that he finally decided it was really intended to go the way of oats and hay.
“Ye jest spoil ’im, missie,” his master would say. “I can’t get ’im to stop ’alf a minute at the other ’ouses, ’e’s that crazy to get on to you and ’is sugar. Come on now, you old good-for-nothing, and get along to the other customers who’ll be wantin’ their milk!” And his master would climb into the wagon and slash at him with a whip whose length of lash was a mockery.
One of Charlie’s besetting sins was his determination to get a bite of grass whenever the opportunity offered. As a rule his check-rein, put on him for that very reason, prevented him from reaching the grass which grew beside the average curbstone, but just opposite our home was a terrace a foot or more high, and this was Charlie’s Mecca.
When there came a day which was too stormy for his little friend to meet him, the terrace at the opposite side of the street came into service. But don’t for a moment fancy that he ever started for it so long as he heard his master’s footfalls—ah, no! he was far too wise for that. But once Mr. Harris was safely disposed of in his customer’s kitchen, then Charlie would calmly start for the terrace, which the length of his check-rein just permitted him to reach, and for about three minutes enjoy unalloyed bliss. The instant he heard his master’s returning steps he was at once overwhelmed with business cares, and started off for his next customer’s house as hard as he could go.
I would that it lay in my power to convey to you some slight idea of Charlie’s “cuteness”—for only that Yankee word will express it. The intelligent eyes told how well he understood every word his master spoke to him, and their softness told his affection for that master who cared for him so faithfully.
In summer and winter, through sunshine and through storm, did Charlie bring us milk, and I wish I could tell those who read this simple little history that he still does so; but dear old Charlie, who so loved and was beloved by his master, gave his life to save that master from a frightful death.
In the spring of ’98 we removed to another house, and Charlie had few customers in the new street and had never stopped at that particular house. In order to test his memory our little daughter resolved to go out to the curbstone the first evening we spent in the new home, and, without saying a word, stand there and wait for Charlie to recognize her as he came along. A little before four o’clock she saw him trot-pacing toward her, and was instantly recognized by him and greeted with a soft “hoo-hoo-hoo,” as though he considered it undignified to whinny aloud while in harness. From that time Charlie needed no guiding, and after partaking of his sugar, went upon his way to a neighbor’s two doors beyond.
We two were his only customers in that street, and during the summer Mrs. Thompson’s house was closed for several weeks. At first Charlie was determined to go on to the closed house, and not until he had received most peremptory orders to “stand still, now, and wait till I come back; don’t you know those folks aren’t there now?” and had been summarily turned around and headed in the opposite direction did he grasp the situation; but once it was settled in the horse-mind, all was plain sailing for both horse and driver, and directly the jars of milk had vanished around the corner of our house, Charlie would turn his wagon carefully around and stand perfectly still to await his master’s return; for the next customer’s house was many blocks away, and Charlie had no notion of making Mr. Harris walk to it. We often wondered how he reasoned it all out, but he certainly did, and never by any chance missed a customer or gave his master an uncomfortably long walk.
Charlie’s place in this world was indeed a humble one, but the example he set might be followed with advantage by many a human being. At two o’clock each afternoon Charlie would watch his master as he milked his herd of sleek cows. He knew just how their turns came and exactly how long it would take to milk “Jinny” and “Bossy” and “Buttercup” and “Daffy,” and so on down the herd of ten or a dozen; and while they were milked Charlie poked about the barnyard. He appreciated a joke, and was never happier than when his master was the object of it. He would frequently come up softly behind Mr. Harris, who was very hard of hearing, and thrust his warm nose over his master’s shoulder as he sat upon a milking stool, and when Mr. Harris, giving a start which nearly proved fatal to the contents of the shining pail, turned about to shake his fist at the horse and cry “Get along out of the way, you scamp!” Charlie would seem as delighted over the prank as a child.
One day Charlie was unusually winsome, and, as Mr. Harris prepared to take his place in the wagon, he stopped to stroke the soft neck and say:
“Eh, Charlie, you’re a great plague, but it would be ’ard getting another like you,”—little dreaming how soon he would have to supply the faithful Charlie’s place. They started off for a customer whose house stood just a little beyond the railroad track. There were no gates at that crossing, and Mr. Harris was too hard of hearing to realize his danger from the approaching express train, already thundering around the curve above. But Charlie was not deaf, and he did his best to hold back from the track; but his master, impatient at his delay, which he could not understand, called sharply to him to go on. Obedient to the last, Charlie went, but he could not seem to make up his mind to bring the wagon behind him upon the track. Planting himself firmly between the rails, he stood fast and met his doom. An instant later the great iron monster came crashing upon him, tearing him out of the wagon, whose shafts snapped like pipe-stems, and hurling the poor creature a hundred feet beyond. When the train was brought to a standstill, and the frightened passengers and engineer hurried to the scene of disaster, all that was left of poor, faithful Charlie was a lifeless form lying upon the grass beside the track. But even in death he had testified to his affection and faithfulness, for had he not stood firm to receive the death blow rather than lead his master into danger? Is it to be wondered that tears filled that master’s eyes when he bent over the lifeless form of his faithful horse?
And so Charlie, kind, gentle, faithful, Charlie, came into and passed out of our lives. Faithful and true, he proved to us that even a dumb creature may teach beautiful lessons that we all will do well to remember.