Dallas began to laugh merrily and said, "Uncle, I believe you are a magician. Already I feel myself beginning to like this place and even to look with a friendly eye upon the trees."
Mr. Devering showed every one of his strong white teeth in a pleased smile, then he said, "Come and see one of the most useful things on the farm."
"A vacuum cleaner for horses," exclaimed Dallas after we had crossed to the horses' side of the stable. "I never heard of such a thing."
"Let's try it on the Prince," said Mr. Devering. "I see by the look in the tail of his eye that he is acquainted with its use."
Then he passed over my back the soft rubber mouth with the high wind inside it.
I liked it and did not wince. Then I listened to Mr. Devering who was saying, "We use this cleaner for the work-horses only. I prefer that you children rub down your ponies. Now I see a man from the sawmill out there and you have had lesson enough for one morning. Let us go back to the house."
Arrived there, the children all swept young Dallas down to the wharf. I went along too, feeling as light as a feather after my good grooming and vacuum cleaning.
"Have you ever been in a canoe?" Cassowary inquired of my young master.
"Oh! yes," he said quickly.
Poor little lad. I knew by his face that he was not telling the truth. Oh! why would he lie? In the first place a pony or a child who lies is usually found out, and if you're not found out you feel so like a little fool that you lose self-respect.
Cassowary was doubtful and said shrewdly, "Where were you ever in a canoe—not on the pond on Boston Common surely."
"On beaches," said Dallas boldly, "with John and Margie."
Now she had already found out that John and Margie were two elderly city servants. It was most unlikely that they would entrust their old bones to such skittish things as canoes. However she said nothing, but got out her slim blue canoe, put a paddle in it, and casting a glance at Big Chief, who was launching a larger canoe and calling out directions to the younger children, who after all had been permitted to come.
"Champ, go to the bow," he was roaring. "I'll take the stern myself. Sojer sit down. Dovey, if you wriggle, I'll pitch you out. No you shan't take Sideways."
I turned around. Who was Sideways? Of all things—a common tortoiseshell cat. Why in the name of cat sense would she want to go on the water?
Later on I found out all about her. One cat after another had been electrocuted on this farm for hunting birds, and this was a case of the survival of the fittest. She loved birds; she told me afterward; it was perfectly delicious to feel a little feathery ball wiggling between your claws, but she said, "I wanted to live, so I gave them up and as I just had to hunt something, I got after the things that even my masters hunt, namely fishes. I assure you I enjoy curling my claws in the water and catching little silly minnows, and I have learned to wade, so I have no fear of the water. I like sitting by a good fire and licking myself dry!"
When I heard Cassowary speaking in a low voice to Dallas I turned from the cat. I think she dropped her voice so Big Chief would not hear. "You haven't been in a canoe before," she said. "You don't know how to get in. Give me your hand. Step in the middle of the road. Now fold yourself up like a jack-knife. So——"
Dallas looked confused, took her hand, stepped into the canoe, over-balanced and went ker-splash! into the water and down under the crib from which the canoes were being launched.
I waited two seconds, saw Cassowary drop like a loon after him, but she did not bring him up. Then I galloped to the beach and wading out swam carefully to the edge of the crib, thinking perhaps I could aid with teeth or tail, for one of my water stunts is to bring ashore children who pretend they are drowning.
Cassowary, who was almost as much at home under the water as on it, was plunging about like a seal, and just as I arrived had brought Dallas to the surface, and holding him by the collar with one hand and hanging on to the crib with the other she gravely watched Champ and Big Chief giving first aid to the drowning by putting my poor little master on his face and pressing the water out of his lungs.
Mr. Devering came springing down the path like a boy, and when he saw his dear lad, his face went white and he said irritably, "What does this mean?"
Dallas by this time was sitting up and spitting out last mouthfuls of water, so his uncle saw he was in no danger.
"Come here, Dad, please," said Cassowary.
Mr. Devering bent over his young daughter as she swayed herself idly to and fro in the water, only her head and shoulders visible.
"Do you remember the picture," she said, "in the comic paper about the six boys and girls going gaily to pick mushrooms and it was labelled, 'They thought they knew mushrooms'?"
"Yes, I remember it," he said impatiently.
She went on, "Then there was another picture of six little funerals marked, 'But they didn't.'"
"Yes, I remember that too," he said. "Now do come out of the water and go put on dry overalls."
"Dallas thought he knew canoes, but he didn't," she said as she accepted her father's hand and climbed meekly out of the lake. Then she added, "And Mother calls these frilly ankled things 'overettes,' not 'overalls.'"
I heard a sound of sly laughter in my ears as I stood shaking myself and looking round saw Sideways the cat.
"Girls are queer," she said. "Cassowary is jealous of the new boy. She has snubbed her father and praised her mother who does not pet the lad."
"You mind your own affairs," I said crossly. "There are too many animals and humans watching my young master."
As if he heard me Mr. Devering turned round. "You water-monkey," he said to me. "Champ, take him up to pony stall number 8 and dry and blanket him, and above all tie him."
Then he went on helping my young master walk slowly to the house.
So I was led away to my pony stall and Dallas was put in his room stall and kept there for some hours.
"Dad! Dad!" howled the younger children who were not at all impressed by this accident, "aren't we going to see Bolshy?"
"Another time," he called. "How would you like to have a picnic supper over there, and have Mother go?"
They made the welkin ring when they heard this proposal, and smiling kindly on the little flock this patient man went on his way up to the house.
I wondered what he would say to his nephew, but as it turned out he never mentioned the affair till days later. He just sat by the fire with Dallas, reading to him and trying to get his young mind off himself. The lesson came when they were both with me.
CHAPTER XII THE DRIVE TO THE GAME WARDEN'S
Mr. Devering kept Dallas quiet for several days. He saw that the boy had been under a great nervous strain in coming here and he had him lounge about the veranda while I was detained in my stall. It is not good for ponies and horses to be too much in cold water and I had had a chill.
I dozed and slept and had a fine petting from Cassowary, who was the one detailed to look after me. A friendship sprang up between us that will never die and often she would perch on my manger and talk to me at length about her beloved Indian pony Apache Girl.
This young girl was not much of a talker except in streaks. I saw she was not just like the other children, and later on I found out the reason.
One lovely warm day when the afternoon was half over I stood looking out the big window before me and to my joy saw Mr. Devering and Dallas coming up to the stable.
They walked in, and Dallas after petting me affectionately said shyly to his uncle, "Seeing Prince Fetlar again reminds me that you have not yet spoken to me about the other morning. I know you wish to do so."
I too was nervous. Ponies that are well brought up always worry when their young masters worry.
The man had an opportunity for a good lecture, but instead of beginning to scold he put us both at our ease by bursting into one of his ringing laughs.
It echoed all through the big empty stable where the western sun was streaming in on the pony stalls.
His laugh was the kind that makes one feel like joining in and soon young Dallas was giggling feebly. Then he too burst into a jolly peal. Tears ran down his cheeks. "Oh! Uncle," he said, getting out his handkerchief which was white and clean like a girl's, "I don't know what I'm laughing at."
"Neither do I," said his uncle, and then they both laughed harder than ever until at last I felt my own lips curling.
"You're such a funny lad," said the man after a time, wiping his eyes and then laying a hand kindly on the boy's head. "You take me back to the days of my youth when I used to play with your dear mother. There were just the two of us. Oh! you are like her, so much like her. Boy, she used to lie too in her young days, but never to me, only to persons she was afraid of."
"I don't lie to you," said Dallas seriously, "I don't want to."
"Are you afraid of my children that you tell stories to them?"
"N-no, not exactly. I want to please them."
"Oh!" said Mr. Devering, "that fatal wish to please. It has slain its millions."
"I love to see boys and girls comfortable in their minds," said Dallas wistfully.
"And if they expect you to know how to do a thing you lie to gratify them—but when they find you out—then they're not happy."
Dallas said nothing and his uncle went on, "When I was a boy there was a weak-minded lad living near us. The children all picked at him. The grown-ups were always after us for it. Do you catch my meaning?"
Dallas hung his head. "Yes, my Uncle. The weak go to the wall. I've read that in history."
"Now my children know you have weak points. They'll play on them. We must stop them. You want to be a decent man, don't you?"
"Oh! yes, I do indeed."
"Well! what are you going to do about it?"
"I've got to get a grip on myself," said Dallas. "If you knew how queer it seems to me to be here with all these kids——"
"I can guess. You see, boy, the trouble is that the first five years of a child's life are the ones in which he gets his mould. You had seclusion and shyness stamped on you. We've got to get a new imprint—and don't be too humble. You're just as bright as my children. You're too meek when you think you must tell stories to over-awe them. Plain truth will save you, lad, and you can do some things that my children can't do. Just wait till they find out how well you can sing. Now let me hear you promise to stop this fairy story business."
Dallas put up a slight hand, and said solemnly, "I promise to speak the truth and the truth only from this on."
Mr. Devering clapped him on the shoulder. Then he slipped his hand under my blanket, felt me to see whether I was warm, and folding the blanket backward drew it off in the proper way so as to leave my hair smooth.
Then he said, "Bonnie Prince Fetlar, I didn't understand your manœuvres the other morning. I ask your pardon."
Fancy a man asking a pony's pardon! I just loved him for it and tucked my muzzle in the pocket of his corduroy jacket as we went out of the stable.
"Stop your tickling, Prince," he said; "here's a bit of sugar for you. Now keep your soft old nose to yourself—let's go get the deer-hound. He'd enjoy an afternoon out."
We all went up to the kennel by the cow stable where Drunkard welcomed us frantically.
Mr. Devering unchained him and led him toward the house.
When we got near the veranda and I saw the joyful group on it my heart died within me. Preparations for a picnic were going on. Probably they would go by water and I should be left at home. However I could have a little fun before they went, in watching them.
They were well-drilled children. A list was hung on a veranda post, and each child kept consulting it while packing baskets. So many knives, forks, spoons, napkins, cups and saucers and plates must go in, also a huge frying-pan, a big pot for coffee which they were allowed on picnics. Bingi brought bacon, cold potatoes, an egg salad, jelly, chicken sandwiches, a chocolate cake, ginger snaps, two cream pies and lots of spread bread and butter. Oh! it was going to be a picnic that would warm a pony's heart—and I do so enjoy a picnic with nice boys and girls.
I stepped mournfully back under the lilacs and watched the closing of the baskets and the forming of the procession to the lake.
Everybody was smiling; even Big Chief who was a boy that was always cheered by the sight of food.
I paced slowly after the joyful children, my head drooping, my eyes on my young master who walked beside me, his gaze fixed apprehensively on the lake.
Suddenly that clever woman Mrs. Devering gave us an understanding glance over her shoulder.
"Daddy," she called in her clear voice to Mr. Devering, who was leading with the biggest baskets, "is this little pony broken to harness?"
"Oh! yes, he was for some years in Ohio, where one sees ponies hauling two or four persons in carts and small surreys."
"Good!" she exclaimed. "I'd like to drive to the warden's. It will be all right for me to put Pony in the small cart?"
"Certainly," he said. "Who will go with you?"
Childlike every boy and girl but Dallas cried out.
"Dallas goes," she said. "He is the only one who was politely silent. My darlings—you must not run after invitations. Let them run after you." And so speaking she was just about to drop out of the procession when Cassowary said pleadingly, "Mother, let me drive Dallas. You'd have to handle the harness and you know you cut your hand this morning."
"Thank you, girlie," said her mother, "I believe I will resign in your favor. Show your cousin how to help you."
Cassowary, who was ahead with Drunkard, passed his lead to Champ and my young master and I joyfully followed her to the carriage-house, where she wheeled out a two-seated cart.
"I suppose you know nothing about harnessing," she said to Dallas.
"Oh! yes," he began, then he checked himself and said over again, "Oh! yes, you are right. I know nothing about attaching an animal to a carriage."
"Come to the harness room," she said, and there she gave young Dallas quite a nice talk about four and two-wheelers for passengers and also about the even more important waggons for carrying loads. Then she explained the difference between work harness and light harness.
Dallas had a good memory and when she gave him a brief examination she found he had forgotten nothing, but he stood staring at me.
"All very fine," he remarked. "I understand about the bridle, collar, traces, breeching, hip-strap and so on, but how do you get harness and cart together?"
Cassowary did not smile. She was as sober as a judge.
"Back up, Pony," she said, and she showed Dallas how to lift the shafts and buckle straps until I and my smart tan harness were firmly attached to the cart.
"Now, jump in," she said, "box seat. Take the reins or as you, I suppose, would call them, the lines. Not that way. Here change your fingers—reins held in left hand, right free for take-back or whip."
"And would you whip this beautiful little creature?" asked Dallas in a shocked voice.
"Not I—I'm merely teaching you form—near rein over your forefinger, off rein between middle and ring fingers. Grip reins by edges, not by flat sides."
"Am I really driving?" asked Dallas in an astonished voice as I turned them smoothly out to the road.
"Looks like it," she said.
Happy in having no blinds I could cast a glance back toward the proud and delighted boy.
"Don't look so nervous," said Cassowary. "That pony could go it alone. Tighten your reins though. If he were a stumbler down he would go. It's hard lines you couldn't have had this fun sooner. If I were Queen I'd give every boy and girl a pony and a dog."
"I feel as if I were in heaven," said Dallas in an awed voice.
"Wait till you ride," said Cassowary, "then you'll be in the seventh heaven."
"Cousin," said Dallas, "it's mighty good in you to take so much trouble with an awkward boy like me."
"Dad told me," she said sheepishly. "Then I know everyone has to learn. Hello! there's Happy Harry—want to go to a picnic, Harry?"
The lame young man was going slowly on his crutches along the road under the poplars. "No, thank you," he said with a brilliant smile. "I'm going to walk over to Neighbour Detover's with Mother."
"Nice boy," she said as we spun along. "My! I'm glad I haven't lost my feet—look out, you're heading the Prince for those cows. Give them a bit of the road. Cows have rights."
The cows politely stepped into the bushes as we went by. Soon I could tell by the movement of the hand on the lines that my young master was getting calmer. By the time we reached the head of the lake Cassowary began to praise him.
"I'm glad you haven't too many impulses," she said.
"I don't know what that means," said Dallas.
"How are you telling Prince Fetlar the way to go?"
"By these lines, I suppose."
"Which lead to the bit in Pony's soft mouth. Your feelings run along the lines to the bit. Pony feels them and his mind and yours keep working together. This fellow is bright enough to do things himself. If you don't approve you will check him by flashing a counter order along the lines. You must always keep your animal in hand."
"I wouldn't like to hurt his nice mouth," said Dallas.
"You'll never hurt him. You'll be too gentle probably."
"I'm glad we're meeting no one," said Dallas.
"We'll just pretend we are," she said promptly. "Now I'll show you how to turn out on a narrow road."
"Why do automobiles not come up here on this fine road?" asked Dallas.
"They do, but they can't come just now because the government is repairing the new road. It's a beauty, and where the big flat rocks are too dreadful overhead bridges are made. You came the old bad road."
"It was certainly bad," said Dallas feelingly.
"Dad is tremendously keen on road-making," said the girl. "He's never so happy as when he's laying out a new one. Roads spell progress he says."
"Ah! here we are at the top of the lake," said Dallas, "and entering quite thick deep woods. How lovely the air is. I can smell the nice damp earth and the breath of the pines—and there is a meadow in the distance," he went on.
"That is Beaver Meadow," said Cassowary, "and that lazy little river poking through it as if looking for the shortest way to the lake is Fawn River."
"What pretty little islands those are at the river mouth," said Dallas.
"That's the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe—you've heard of her?"
"Oh! yes, quite often."
"Well! there she is on that biggest island which is shaped like a green shoe. See her head sticking up from behind that high rock."
"Do you mean the silver birch broken off short?" asked Dallas; "that one with the queer bunch on its head?"
"Yes, that's her bonnet," said Cassowary. "One day we paddled over and nailed a big coalscuttle bonnet on her. See those birds on that tiniest island of all. What are they?"
"You're a born school-teacher," said Dallas admiringly. Then he added, "They are gulls—herring gulls, I think."
"Yes, don't they look wise? They sit there and ponder, ponder, then they fly away and come back and ponder some more. They're not a bit afraid of us. Hear me call them," and she gave a very good gull yell, "Cack, cack, ker-ack, ker-ack, ker-ack."
"Cack, cack, hah, hah, hah!" came back from one of the gulls who raised himself on his brownish black wings and circled over our heads.
"If it isn't my dear old friend Buffy!" cried Cassowary, rising up in her seat in her excitement. "Where have you been, my angel gull?"
"Kay-auk, kay-ow," squawked the gull, then he gave a kind of groan.
"Been having adventures, my darling?" she shrieked up at him. "Come and tell your old girl all about them. Did you go to Cuba or Lower California last winter?"
"Cow-ow," he responded with a long deep harsh sob.
"This boy won't hurt you, my pet," she shrilled up in the air. "Quick, Dallas, tell him you wouldn't shoot a gull to save your life."
My young master not knowing what to do with one creature on earth and another in the air, tightened the reins until he nearly sawed my tender mouth in two, while he threw up his young head and cried in his sweet voice, "I wouldn't shoot a gull, for I'm frightened to death of a gun!"
The gull brayed like a donkey, "Ha, ha ha!"
"He doesn't trust you," said Cassowary; "hunters must have been shooting at him. Good-bye, my angel. Come play with me when I'm bathing in the morning. Bah! my neck aches," and she dropped down on the seat of the cart. "Drive on, boy! For mercy sake!—the Prince is most on his hind legs. Do you want to choke him?"
"Tell me about that gull, will you?" asked Dallas as he gave me more liberty. "He's following us."
"He'd be down on my lap if it weren't for you. When he was a baby gull a strange bad boy out in a boat on this lake shot at him and wounded his wing. I was out in my canoe Bluebird, and didn't I pick up that poor gull baby pretty quick as he lay flopping in the water, then I overhauled the boat, trounced the boy who was quite astonished to find that a girl had fists, swam to my canoe, paddled home, mothered Gullie who made his home with the hens, and revelled in bread and milk. When he grew old, he flew away to Old Woman's Islands but whenever I went in the water he came and played with me. He wouldn't go near the boys. He thinks you're all bad."
"How would he play with you?" asked Dallas.
"Oh! he flaps round me in the water—strikes me with his wings. He's very rough but I give him as good as he gives me—slap for slap. He knows I like him. Hurry up, Prince, and don't try to listen to every word we say. The others will get there before us, although they have to go down the lake for fish."
"Does someone there get fish for them?" asked Dallas.
"Yes—the fire warden. He lives by the dam and catches fine big bass. Hush! Now, maybe well see Mr. Beaver."
"Who is he?" asked Dallas.
"Such a naughty little man. He and Mrs. Beaver are making a dam across the river and soon they'll have to be checked for they would stop up the water and make it so deep that the cows would drown when crossing from one meadow to another. Mr. Beaver is Dad's pet, though they don't have anything much to do with each other now. They just love each other apart."
"Then how does your Dad pet him?"
"It was in the past. He got him in Toronto. You know we have two rivers down there, one each side of the city, the Humber and the dear dirty little Don which is not clear till you get out into the country. Well, on the banks of the Don is our Zoo. We youngsters never go to it now for we either get mad or cry when we see beloved wild animals cooped up in small quarters. I always used to pray hard for them all to drop dead. One night a couple of years ago Dad was walking through the park by the Zoo when he came to a huge bank of earth with a hole in it. One of the park men was staring at it and Dad asked what had happened. He said a water main had burst and had carried away a part of the bank and some animal cages. They had got every creature back but one beaver and goodness only knew where he was.
"Dad said he hoped Mr. Beaver had gone to his animal heaven, then he went on down the hill to the river. Just as he was going to cross one of the bridges he saw a poor forlorn little animal sitting looking at the muddy Don. Dad said it was queer to see a wild thing sitting there in the electric light of a city of half a million people.
"Dad went softly up to him and the poor little creature whose head had been hurt let him take him up.
"'The river is too dirty to plunge into, eh!' said Dad. 'Well! I know a river where clean waters flow, and the cardinal flowers grow. Come, weary little man, and we'll put you in it."
"Then Dad took him to Aunt Laura Secord Hume's house in Rosedale and put him in his bath-room. Then he went to sleep.
"In the morning Aunt Laura came tapping along the hall with her cane and opened the bath-room door to peep through and see if Dad was still sleeping. Then she saw the beaver and didn't she give a scream. The beaver skedaddled under Dad's bed, and he woke up very sorry to have Aunt Laura frightened but glad to see Mr. Beaver had recovered his faculties.
"He felt sober though when he saw the brushes in his bath-room and the wood work all bitten and gnawed. However Aunt Laura said, 'Never mind—he felt grateful and was trying to make a dam for you. The room has to be done over anyway.'
"Then Dad put Mr. Beaver in a box and brought him here and he chose him a mate and they're going to live happy ever after."
"Splendid for the beaver," said Dallas, "but what about the park people?"
"Oh! they didn't care—his mate had been killed. Dad paid them for him anyway."
"When your father goes to heaven," said Dallas, "I believe he'll have all his pet animals sitting round him."
Cassowary smiled in her sober way. "You're like mother. She says as soon as Saint Peter lets dear Dad through the pearly gates, a little junco will fly up and say, 'I've been waiting for you. Here are my young ones with me that you saved from the bad squirrels. I love you and am going to keep near you,' and a squirrel will say, 'You gave me nuts and kept me from eating the little birds,' and a fox will say, 'You caught me in a merciful trap that did not wound my tender paw but it killed me at once and sent me to a place where I learned how to be a better fox.' Then a deer will say, 'You found me in the woods alone where a cruel sportsman had taken my mother, and you brought me up and petted me,' and a nice black bear with a brown muzzle will say, 'Give us a paw, old man, you shot me through the brain, you didn't let me stagger away to die by inches.'"
Dallas was delighted with this talk, and drew me up so that I stood quite still.
"Oh! get on, get on, you funny boy," said Cassowary; "but whist! Here we are at the dam. See Daddy Beaver beyond that point sticking out in the river? That's his dam. Hasn't he arranged the saplings and brushwood nicely? There he comes downstream trailing a baby tree. Can you see him? Mrs. Beaver is just selecting a billet of wood from that heap for afternoon tea, or is she going to take it down below to her water pantry?"
My young master was overjoyed. I don't think he had ever seen beavers before. He stood up, and with shining eyes fixed on the river listened breathlessly to Cassowary.
The beavers did not hear us. The road here was grassy and the cart had slipped along so noiselessly that it was some minutes before the beaver's roving eye caught sight of the alarming spectacle of a pony and a cart and two young persons. Then didn't he give the river a thwack with his broad tail as a signal to his wife, and down they both went.
"Mr. Beaver! Mr. Beaver!" called Cassowary, "it's the Good Man's daughter. I wouldn't hurt you for a million dollars. I wouldn't wear a beaver skin coat. Come back and get your sapling. It's a dandy one, your favorite poplar, and it's floating down stream."
"He can't hear you," said Dallas.
She wagged her black head. "The fishes will tell him. You know fishes weren't always fishes."
"Now what new thing is that?" asked my young master.
"It's something some people believe in another Dominion of our Empire."
"What Dominion?"
"Australia—the blacks there say that one day when fishes lived on land they were all gathered together around a fire near a river. A dreadful wind arose and blew them and the fire into the water. The fire was a nice fire and went on burning and the fishes gathered round it and it never goes out. That's why you are always warmer under water on a cold day than you are on land."
"I believe it, I believe it," said my young master. "I believe anything about animals. I never think fish are stupid."
"And speaking of winds," said Cassowary, "old Mrs. Petpeswick at the head of the lake had her flock of twenty-three geese blown off the land by a wild gale, and they came ashore on our beach, and we took them back to her, and she said, 'Praise the Lord. I just wanted to see some of you to borrow a little money. I was too ill to get down to you.' Now, cousin, let me take the reins, we are coming to a wild wild road that leads to a wild wild house."
It was a wild side road that led from this main one up to a slight hill above the river, and the tree branches brushed the cart as we went along it.
"The warden goes everywhere by canoe," said Cassowary, "or by skates and snowshoes in winter for everything here freezes over. That's his house on the crown of this hill. He calls it the Last House, because there isn't another one till you get 'way up the river past three sets of falls and into Algonquin Park. Now, Pony lamb, we'll not leave you here alone," and to my joy, she sprang out of the cart and began to take off all my harness.
"Don't throw it on the ground, Dallas," she said. "Put it in the cart, and hand me that halter under the seat. Now excelsior!"
We climbed the hill after her to the green cottage. "Not a soul about," she said. "Let's go in," and she dropped the halter shank and left me outside.
As I had not been forbidden, I ventured to go carefully after them.
"What a jolly big fireplace," said Dallas, when we entered a small living-room with a fire all laid.
"The warden is as neat as a woman," said Cassowary. "Poor fellow! his wife is dead. He's here all alone in winter, and he reads a lot. See the books in those cases, and his nice reading lamp on the table. He's as snug as a wood-louse, he says."
Young Dallas touched admiringly a rack with guns and fishing rods.
"Come through to the kitchen," said Cassowary.
"Will he mind?" asked Dallas, tiptoeing after her.
"Oh! you green city boy," she said. "In the backwoods we're neighbours. We know who lives next door to us. Let's see what he's got in his cupboard. High bush cranberry jam! That's delicious! Let's have some on bread, and wouldn't a cup of tea be nice? We're on holiday. Here are lemons for it. He doesn't keep a cow."
"Some tea would be great," cried Dallas. "I'll help you make a fire in this nice clean kitchen stove," and he seized a big stick of wood from the box.
"Go get the water, you duffer," she said, handing him a pail. "Paper goes first, then kindling, in making a fire. I'll do it—spring is first turn to the left."
I followed my master to a lovely little spring gushing from a rock bed, and falling down so conveniently that all the boy had to do was to hold the pail under it.
When we came back, Cassowary said, "Pony, you just step out-of-doors. Your hoofs are muddy. Dallas, go up and see the nice bed-rooms in the attic while I'm making the tea."
The lad ran up the flight of steps leading from the living room. Then he called to her to come and tell him what kind of a bird's nest that was under the eaves.
Hearing their fresh young voices exclaiming, I ventured to go up the stairway too.
There were several swallows' nests under the eaves with young ones in them, and Cassowary was calmly ruffling up the feathers of the fledglings.
"Parasites in their dear little ears," she said. "Here, hold this birdie, while I pick them out."
"Do wild birds have lice on them?" asked Dallas.
"Wild birds and wild animals, and tame birds and tame animals. You ought to see Grammie rubbing the fur of her pet raccoon the wrong way. Everything that lives gets dirty. You have to keep cleaning, cleaning. No use in making a fuss about it. There's nothing dirty about cleaning up—— Bless my heart and soul! look at that little beast of yours."
She had seen my head appearing at the top of the stairway.
"No flies on him," she went on. "I believe that animal would walk a tight rope if you stretched it out before him. Back, back, my beauty—there's death on your track."
Death wasn't on my track if I practised safety first, and feeling cautiously with my hoofs and minding my step I went down quite nicely.
When the children followed me, Cassowary found some white bread as well baked as if a woman had done it, and she and Dallas had quite a nice afternoon tea on the white scoured kitchen table. Then they washed the dishes and Cassowary handed me through the window all the bread and butter that was left. Finally she said, "Come down to the river—that is where the warden has his out-door sitting-room. Oh! isn't the air delicious!" and she sniffed energetically. "There are many spruces and balsam firs about here. I just feel 'intossicated', as Dovey says when she goes in the woods."
Stepping lightly along the narrow path, she went down to the road and across it, till we could see the pretty river shining through the tree branches ahead of us.
Suddenly she stopped and said, "There he is—Bolshy the Russian."
CHAPTER XIII BOLSHY THE RUSSIAN
My young master crouched his head down to stare through the underbrush, and I stared over his shoulders.
What a sitting room! Enormous elms were the door-posts, climbing bittersweet flinging itself from one lofty branch to another was the ceiling; fallen logs and twisted tree limbs were the arm-chairs; delicate river grass cut short was the carpet, and a huge wisp of rushes hanging down into the river was the hearth-rug.
"I love this sitting-room, Prince," murmured my master in my ear. "Oh! how can boys play on dusty streets?"
"Ho, ho, my little master," I whispered back. "You are coming on. Soon you will be embracing these beloved trees."
But he did not understand me, and turned to gaze at the two men sitting on two of the rustic arm-chairs, and staring at the river highway with as much interest as if it had been a city street.
Opposite them was a wide green meadow where some red cows were grazing. A brown canoe was drawn up among the white water lilies, and a woman was feeding salt to some of the cows.
Occasionally ducks and big bluish cranes flew overhead, their funny feet sticking out behind, and once in a while a boat went gliding by.
One of the men was a big heavy low-browed creature. I knew he must be the Russian. He was smoking stolidly, and sometimes took his pipe from his mouth and, wrinkling his brow like a monkey, looked as if he were thinking about something that puzzled him.
His companion was a slender dark young man in khaki-coloured knickerbockers, and a green woollen shirt, and he sat quite still, his eyes sad and dreamy, his hands on his knees.
"That's Denty, the warden's son," whispered Cassowary. "He was wounded at Vimy Ridge and has had shell-shock. His father has to be away from home a good deal, and one reason he keeps the Russian is to give Denty something to do."
"Is the warden French?" asked Dallas.
"Half—his mother was Ontario born, his father came from Quebec. His name is Dentais but we call his son Denty."
Like all woodsmen, the young man had good ears, and at this moment he turned his head, got up slowly and came to greet us.
His sad face became quite bright at sight of Cassowary, "Glad to see you, Mademoiselle," he said, taking off his cap, and holding it in his hand.
"How are you to-day?" she asked.
"Better—my head is almost all right now, thanks to him," and he pointed to the Russian who was staring at us.
"Is he much trouble now?" asked Cassowary in a low voice.
"No, not now, he is getting into line—what's the matter, Bolshy?"
The Russian, pawing the air with one big hand, was shaking his loose cotton shirt with the other. "He's thanking you for it," said Denty.
"Oh! that's nothing," remarked Cassowary shyly. "I was glad to make it for him. I'm afraid the stitches are pretty big though. I hate to sew."
"He wouldn't notice that—but what's he doing?"
The Russian, after gazing intently at my young master, had begun to pace round him like a big bear.
He did not give me one glance. Evidently he did not care for ponies.
"Bolshy," said the soldier, "what's biting you?"
The Russian stopped short, made a most imploring noise in his throat, and seemed to fairly drink in the light from my young master's eyes.
I put myself between him and Dallas, for I felt that the boy was rather nervous about this big fellow tramping round him.
The Russian was moaning now, and putting his big feet down more and more heavily. He had dropped his pipe, and both hands were clutching his thatch of shaggy hair.
"He's thinking of his home," said Denty kindly.
"How well you understand him," observed Cassowary.
"We're together all day, and I've got so I can read his thoughts. At first I didn't know a word of Russian, but he's taught me a lot."
"Do you ever have to shut him up?"
"Hardly ever. He made a bit of a fuss over his bath a few days ago, because I wanted him to learn to swim. I suppose you heard him howling. Hey! Bolshy, old top—what's got you?"
The Russian was plucking the soldier by the sleeve. He had straightened out something in his bewildered brain, for his face was contented and he was clicking his teeth comfortably. The soldier watched his gestures. "He's seen someone with eyes like this boy's somewhere overseas."
"That reminds me," said Cassowary. "I didn't introduce my cousin. His name is Dallas Duff and he is visiting us."
The soldier nodded, then he turned again to the Russian. "He says he was very very sick in a hospital in France. He had been hurt in a great battle. He did not know what it was about. A beautiful woman nursed him. She had peculiar eyes like faint stars on a dark night, but they warmed one, and her hair was shining and very sleek and bound round her head in waves."
Cassowary's lips parted, and she fairly hung on the soldier's words.
Bolshy was now fumbling at his shirt that hung quite loose outside his trousers.
"He's going fishing," said the soldier. "I'll bet it's for some souvenir the lady gave him."
We all pressed forward. The Russian's big paw was trembling as he brought to light a dirty little bag on a dirty little string around his neck. Fumbling at it, he managed to extract an American nickel.
We were all intensely interested in his movements, and the soldier remarked, "The lady was not French, he says, nor English, but everybody loved her. He wants to know whether the boy has a mother or an older sister."
Dallas shook his head sadly, but Cassowary said nothing.
The Russian snatched his treasure from the soldier who was examining it too closely to suit him. Then picking up his pipe he relighted it and smoked furiously for a few minutes. However, something was still worrying him, for every few seconds he turned to Dallas and wrinkled his heavy eye-brows.
"I believe," said the soldier, "that Bolshy is all mixed up in his mind. He was brought up to humble himself before rich people. Then men came who told him that his mud-walled hut and his starving wife and children were due to the rich who had taken his money. Finally his wife and children starved to death. He was angry, and went into the army, and tried to kill, kill, kill—but instead of killing he was nearly killed himself. Then the beautiful lady saved his life. And now he loves the boy because he has her eyes. But the beautiful lady could not read. He never saw her with a book in her hand—look at him."
Bolshy, snarling disagreeably, was making a face at his idol, and coming toward him in an ungainly way, pulled something from his pocket.
The soldier's hand was on the Russian's wrist. He must have hurt him, for Bolshy cried out and dropped the little paper-covered volume.
"My riddle-book!" exclaimed Dallas. "I brought it to amuse the children."
The soldier returned it to him, and said, "Bolshy began to throw all our books in the river till I made him play water-dog and retrieve them—Bolshy, apologise to Miss Cassowary's cousin for your impudence."
The Russian became angry and with rude gestures threatened the soldier until he saw his hand go to his side.
There was a holster there, and Mr. Bolshy soon became civil and uttered some queer-sounding words that we all knew meant that he was not sorry but he said he was.
"Try kindness," said Cassowary softly. "Treat him as the beautiful lady did. You sing, don't you, Dallas? Do you know any French songs? They might appeal to him, for Russian society people use that language so much."
Dallas hesitated, then he said, "I will, if you wish it. I can sing a little sad song about a young man who was going to die and be buried in the cold ground, and he begged his dear young sweetheart to walk among the rustling leaves over his grave, and think about him."
Cassowary nodded encouragingly, and the boy threw back his young head and in his sweet pathetic voice begged and prayed some dear French girl to remember him.
"Rappelle-moi, rappelle-moi," he sang, and the sound was so sweet and piercing that it affected my ears sadly. I twitched and twitched them and finally had to rub them against the bark of a young elm. Ponies and dogs too can hear so much more acutely than human beings, that music is sometimes like needle points to our ears.
However, my emotion was nothing to the Russian's. He trembled on his strong legs, his mouth gaped, he took off his cap and threw it on the grass. When the boy's voice was at last still, the Russian lifted his head. Tears were running down his cheeks, and he poured out a lot of talk to the soldier, who smiled and said with an apologetic glance at the young girl,
"Bolshy thinks that the boy sings as well as a man—much better than the beautiful lady did, though she had a voice like a bird's."
"That's because they have men's singing only in the Greek churches," remarked Cassowary. "I don't believe the boy would sing better than——" Then she stopped suddenly and pointed to Bolshy.
The big man was coming slowly over the grass, and reaching my young master he took the hem of his coat and pressed it to his lips.
"Glory be!" said the soldier. "That's what we've been working for. Something to break his crust. I'll bet he's thinking of home and mother."
Poor creature! he evidently was, for he was pointing away to the east, and pouring forth a most troubled account of something to Dallas, who nodded sympathetically.
The soldier turned to Dallas. "You'll help me a lot if you tell him to trust me. I mean well by him."
My young master's face was lighted by a charming smile. He reached up, put his hand on the shaggy head of the subdued man, and patted it as if he had been a big dog, then he signed to him to follow, and leading him over to the soldier he said, "Maître!"
At the French word, Bolshy trembled, and when Dallas began jabbering in that language he was in a transport of delight. He didn't understand a word of it, but the sound was comforting as he had heard it in his native land. He shook his head a great many times, and when Dallas finished he went and stood humbly in front of the soldier.
"Gee!" said the young man, "this is fine; sit down. Bolshy," and he pointed to a log.
The Russian did as he was told, and the soldier heaved a sigh. "Usually there's an argument about everything he's to do—thank you, young man," he said gratefully to Dallas.
Dallas was exploring his pockets, and after bringing out a bar of chocolate he went over and put it between Bolshy's teeth.
This capped the climax, and the poor Russian sat munching the sweet stuff and laughing with delight in a funny jerky way.
"Here comes the launch" exclaimed Cassowary, and we all turned to the water.
Their big motor-boat, the Heron of Fawn Lake, was rounding the Old Woman's Islands, and came in with a flourish through a bed of yellow and white water lilies to the warden's crib.
Mr. Devering was running it, and smiling as he saw us, his white teeth gleaming against the brown of his skin.
As the Heron grazed the landing, the children swarmed ashore, dragging Drunkard after them. Like a flock of wild ducks they spread over the place, fluttering about the soldier and the Russian who surveyed them kindly, but not in the worshipful way in which he had greeted my young master. Not one of the children touched his fancy as Dallas did.
"We're starving—can't we have our picnic, Mother?" they cried, and Mrs. Devering said to her husband, "You've kept them too long on the lake; they're more quicksilvery than ever."
"Who'll boss about the fire?" called Champ shrilly. "Speak, Mother, quick, please."
"Is thy servant a dog?" she asked good-naturedly, then she added, "Big Chief, with Cassowary for first assistant."
Didn't those children scurry about in search of firewood, though the soldier motioned them politely to his wood-pile!
Dallas and I trotted after them. The bush was full of broken branches and trees lying across each other.
"Oh! the poor people in the big cities," I thought, "if they could only have some of these nice dry sticks."
Back of the green sitting-room was a huge rock with a kind of natural fireplace. Here Big Chief started the fire with birch bark and dry twigs, and soon there was a roaring blaze tearing up the stone chimney.
When the coals were nice and red, Big Chief sent Champ to dip in the river the sticks from which the water kettle was to be suspended, then Cassowary got out the frying-pan and began doing the bacon.
How it sizzled and snapped as she turned it with her long-handled fork! Her face got redder and redder, but she would yield her place to no one, although poor little Dovey begged humbly for permission to roast her young self.
"That's right, my daughter," said Mr. Devering to Cassowary, "stick to whatever you undertake, no matter how much smoke you breathe, but give Dovey a share. Great generals always leave details to subordinates."
"Set the two tables," ordered Cassowary full of importance. "You know how to put the food on one, and the dishes on the other. Let Sojer and Big Wig bring cushions and rugs from the boat and arrange in a semi-circle."
Dovey went away quite happy, and Cassowary and Big Chief, managing the fire-place, found when the food was all cooked that plates and cups and saucers were ready for it.
Bolshy was tremendously interested in this, evidently his first picnic in Canada, for as Mr. Devering said in a low voice to his wife, "Probably in the internment camp there were few diversions."
The big fellow strolled about, his small eyes twinkling, his hands working nervously. The soldier grinning cheerfully had to keep tapping him with the end of a long stick to remind him to get out of the way of the hurrying children, and not to hang too lovingly over the tables.
Finally Mr. Devering gently pushed the poor fellow to a seat on a rug, and gave him a plate and knife and fork to hold.
Bolshy beat a tune with the fork on his plate, just like a happy hungry child, then when everybody sat down and he was offered bacon he grunted like a pig, saying, "No! No!" then pointing with his knife to the cold chicken flapped his arms like wings and said, "Yes! Yes!"
The children shrieked with laughter, and the soldier said, "Bolshy doesn't get much chicken here, for we don't keep them. I guess he's tired of bacon."
"He's like a child," said Mrs. Devering, "he wants a change of diet, and our dishes are new to him. Are you as good a cook as your Father, Denty?"
"No, ma'am," said the soldier, "not by a long shot—I say, Bolshy, stop stirring your coffee with that chicken leg. We use spoons in this country."
It was quite impossible to offend the beaming Bolshy, and cheerfully licking the chicken leg he threw it over his shoulder into the river, then getting up took his plate in both hands and going humbly to Mrs. Devering begged for more chicken, pointing to the breast of one that she was just beginning to carve.
"Nothing modest about you, old bear," said Denty. "I say, come back—you've had enough," and he motioned to the rug.
This second plateful disappeared with the rapidity of the first, and as the children were so convulsed with Bolshy's antics that they could not eat, Mr. Devering got up, took a platter with two carcasses on it, and leading Bolshy to the bush, left him there crunching the bones and enjoying himself hugely.
The soldier did not eat much and Mr. and Mrs. Devering looked at him anxiously. Presently, blinking at the sun, he said, "It is most time for the White Phantom. If you'll excuse me, I'll go meet her."
How I pricked up my ears. Now I should learn who the creature was that had been mentioned in such affectionate dying tones by the expiring stick of wood.
CHAPTER XIV THE WHITE PHANTOM
"Who is the White Phantom?" asked my young master eagerly.
He sat on a rug beside Mrs. Devering. I was just behind under some alders and occasionally I thrust my head through the curtain of Virginia creeper and my young master handed me a bit of whatever he was eating.
"She is that rare thing, a white doe," said Mrs. Devering. "Hunters shot her mother, and the warden brought her up. She is like a beautiful dog and comes home every night. You must see the hurdles the warden taught her to jump over."
"Why can't the soldier stay here and finish his supper?" said Dallas. "Can't he hear her coming?"
Big Chief, who sat the other side of his mother, had his mouth stuffed with egg salad, but he managed to open it long enough to say scornfully, "Hear a deer!"
"No, he couldn't hear her," said Mrs. Devering. "Wild creatures, no matter how tame, don't care for strangers. She would not like our being here and would stay in the bush until we left."
My young master had given me so many tid-bits and also having nibbled some grass on my own account, I was no longer hungry, so I backed into the sweet green undergrowth and then slipped softly after the soldier when he went languidly up the path to the road and over it back of the house.
He was whistling at intervals as he went. First a low musical chuck, then a liquid "Puit-puit," a song that was both flute-like and bell-like, and so natural that a hermit-thrush, thinking it was her mate, began to pipe back to him.
When we got on the hill back of the house, I saw a little brushwood shelter, and beyond it the warden's wide grass belt that in case of a forest fire would prevent the flames from reaching his pretty house.
At intervals along the grassy clearing, were placed high movable frames made of interlaced twigs and sticks. This was evidently the doe's race-track. They were pretty high hurdles and absolutely beyond a Shetland-Arabian pony. How I wished I might see her take them.
I saw her attempt it, though the young man Denty did his best to turn me back.
He was not easily deceived, and hearing the slight rustling of branches as I came along behind him, he looked back and said irritably, "Return, Mr. Curiosity—I don't want you."
Then he turned his head quickly, for there was another rustling sound beyond him.
We both looked toward the spot where the sound had been made, and there, gazing at us from a wild raspberry thicket was the most beautiful animal I have ever seen. Only the head was visible. The eyes were soft and lovely, but clouded by a mist of suffering. She was in pain, but though I saw this plainly the soldier did not.
"Ma belle!" he called as he pointed to the hurdles, "thy duty, then thy supper."
It seems the beautiful creature was usually addressed in French, which language I know a little, as so many of my owners have spoken it.
She came slowly, drawing her slender legs along and showing her exquisite white body stained alas! by red spots.
The soldier, his languor all gone, started forward in dismay, then he called, "Stop! my beauty. I did not know thy condition."
The beloved animal was actually trying to jump over the hurdles, but in a heavy and stupid manner, not with the usual graceful and bird-like agility of her family.
At his words she fell and could not rise.
He ran frantically to her, tore at his clothing, pulled off his green woollen shirt and taking off quite a nice fine white one under it, began to staunch the blood flow.
"Pony," he called to me over his shoulder, "Va donc—cherche ton maître." I knew what he meant, and for once I sprang like a deer myself and dashing down that hill landed in the midst of the picnic party and had Mr. Devering by the coat sleeve.
He looked down at my teeth biting the cloth as I endeavoured to pull him along.
"I'm coming," he said, and he gave a bound to the motor-boat, then came springing up the hill after me.
It seems that whenever anyone called him in a hurry he sprang for his black bag. So many people die in the backwoods for lack of first aid.
All the children wished to sweep up the hill. I could hear them crying out, but Mrs. Devering kept them back.
Her clear voice rose above the clamour. "Wait till we are called. Your father will let us know if we are wanted."
However, she could not keep Bolshy back. It would have taken a squad of soldiers to do that. Snorting and blowing, he rushed like a tornado up the hill beside me as I led the way. He was afraid something had happened to his soldier friend.
When he saw it was only the doe he fell back beside me and, throwing his arm over my neck, caressed me. I remembered that caress later when he was in disgrace and needed a friend himself. A pony never forgets a blow nor a kind word.
Well! that splendid man, Mr. Devering, who had the quick deft fingers and active brain that would have made him a first-class surgeon if he had remained in the city, was handling that beautiful doe's wounds as delicately as if she had been a human being.
Bolshy and I could not see exactly what he and the soldier were doing as they bent so closely over the doe, but before I left I pressed forward and spoke to her in our animal language.
"Beautiful creature," I said as she lay on the grass very weak and exhausted, "I heard of you one morning after I came from a dying stick of birch wood. It was sorry for you."
Her glazed eyes brightened. "The trees of the wood are all good to me," she murmured, "they will mourn that I die. They were my play-fellows—the wild deer shunned me."
"You must not die, beautiful one," I said decidedly. "You will grieve the warden and his fine son."
"The cruel hunters," she gasped, "they hunted so long and so hard. Why did they not shoot and kill? I am so weary."
"Rouse yourself, dear one," I said. "Sleep and rest. Do not die, I beg of you. It would be wrong."
"I will try," she just breathed, and I was about to leave her to rest when something made me turn back.
"Oh, why," I said, "did you try to leap when you were so weary?"
"To please my master, whom I love. Could I die a better death?" she said, but so faintly that I could scarcely hear her.
Then I went on, "If you die, you will break the young Denty's heart. He will say that he killed you."
Some strength seemed to come to her at that.
"I will live then," she said quite distinctly, "I will, indeed. Thank you, little Pony friend." Then she laid her lovely white head on the green grass and closed her dim eyes.
"You are too beautiful to die," I whinnied ever so softly, then I looked at the human beings. They didn't know I had spoken a word to her. Bless their dear hearts!—clever, so clever, but some things they don't know.
Mr. Devering and I were just leaving the doe, when a man suddenly stood beside us. I don't know whether he came from the east, west, north or south. He just seemed to drop down among us, and at his heels was an equally gliding bloodhound.
The warden was like his son, but more French. He was dark, slender, silent, and had short grizzled hair and black eyes more piercing even than Mr. Devering's.
He never said a word, he just bent down and touched the doe's head. She opened her eyes and fixed them on him with a wonderful expression. They were talking to each other without a word being said. Then she closed her eyes, and he rose.
"My Father," said Denty in French, "they've got her at last!"
The warden said nothing. He just stared at his son in such a painful way that it made me shudder.
I spoke to the dog, but he paid no attention to me whatever. He just pressed forward a little in front of his master, and in a tender way began licking the red spots from the doe's white coat. She was his playmate and friend.
"Father," said Denty again, "you have not been long away this time."
"I came," began the older man, then he stopped. "I came because I heard a shot," and he pointed to the doe. "Now I go again."
"For what, Father?" asked the young man.
The man said a few ugly French words under his breath, then he spoke to the dog, "Come! Ravaud."
"But you will have something to eat?"
"I stop for nothing," said the father irritably.
"You are going after the poachers?" said Mr. Devering.
"Yes. I found the ashes of their last night's fire."
Mr. Devering never said a word. He went scampering down the hill like a boy, and I tore after him.
Didn't he break up that picnic party in the twinkling of an eye, and didn't his fine little wife help him! The slow eaters were just at the cake and pie stage of the affair. She bundled them into the boat, promising more good things on the water, and after them went rugs, cushions, baskets, pots and pans.
It wasn't five minutes before they were all seated, and when the warden came stepping down the bank in his quiet way and he and the hound prepared to get into the green canoe, Mr. Devering called out, "We'll give you a lift across the lake, Dentais. Here, sit by me. One of the boys will trail your canoe."
"Thank you, Monsieur," he said. "I trust my canoe to no one."
"I want him in the stern," cried Mrs. Devering. "I'm going to give him his supper," and the dear woman, as the Heron slowly started, was handing a cup of coffee to the saddened man, who took it in an absent way, while the children stuffed the dog with bread and meat, and Drunkard pressed closely beside him as if to say, "Be comforted. Your lovely doe is not going to die."
We stood on the bank—Cassowary, my master and Bolshy. The soldier had stayed with the White Phantom.
On the clear air came back Mr. Devering's voice, heard even above the dreadful noise made by the engine, "Do you know what your Christmas present this year is to be, Dentais?"
Then without waiting for an answer, he bawled to the stern, "I'm going to install a wireless in the Last House. It would have saved you a long paddle to-night, for the next warden is nearer those fellows than you are—and you're going to have someone live with you this winter. I'll come myself if you don't get another man!"
I could see the warden flash him a glance almost of adoration, and then the boat swung round Old Woman's Islands, the evening breeze bringing to us the song the children suddenly began to sing to cheer their friend in his distress,