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Bonnie Prince Fetlar: The Story of a Pony and His Friends

<h2>CHAPTER II THE MAN AND THE BOY</h2> I examined the boy carefully. Now I thought of it, though he was stylish, he was not handsomely dressed. His clothes were of good, but not fine material, his shoes were well-worn, his blue belted coat had odd buttons on it. He did not look to me like a rich man's child. He seemed more like the son of some professional man only moderately well off—what did he mean by the kidnapping story? His green eyes were flashing. "I don't know the reason for it, Pony-Boy, for my father never talks much to me, but he never lets me go out alone, and I'm not allowed to speak to strangers. He's a criminal lawyer you know, and perhaps some bad man he has sent to prison thinks he owes him a grudge." I was a bit uneasy about this boy. Before this I had had young creatures tell me the story of their lives and it was always because they had no sympathetic human ear turned toward them. So now I took on a thoughtful air as this lad went on. "Lend me your pony ears—I was born in the great big wonderful country of the United States of America and I'd lay down my life for Old Glory." [Pg 20] He scrambled to his feet as he spoke, saluted an imaginary flag and recited the pledge to it. I, too, got up pretty quick, for I am an American pony and have played many national games with children in which I always bow and scrape whenever the flag is mentioned. As I stepped gaily round and round doing a march step and whinnying with feeling, the boy fell into an ecstasy. "Do you mean to say you are a fellow-countryman," he cried, "an American pony citizen in this strange forest land?" and in his emotion he forgot his fear of me and throwing his arms round my neck gave me a good hug. I was thunderstruck. In all my life before and with all my experience with boys I had never felt the wet tears of any of them against my smooth neck. Poor lad! What could be the matter with him? He was crying in a queer way—quietly and as if he were afraid someone might hear him. Then in a flash he flung up his head and dashed the tears from his eyes. "Excuse me, Pony-Boy. You'll find me an utter coward. Let's think of our country. Hurrah for the Stars and Stripes. Let's sing a verse." Then he opened his young mouth, <div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <div>"My Country 'tis of thee</div> <div>Sweet land of liberty</div> <div class="i1">Of thee I sing."</div> </div></div> </div> In amazement, I stopped my processing round the rock. I never in my life had heard such a[Pg 21] sweet even flow of song from the mouth of any living being, and I had once belonged to the son of a famous concert singer and had in her home heard many beautiful voices—why! it was like the lovely upward gush of a fountain—clear, pure and exquisite. Even a catbird sitting near by in a maple put his head on one side to listen and then turned to a young goldfinch who was about to fly in terror from him and motioned him to remain. Cattie recognised the beauty of the boy's voice, and having no bird of his own kind near wanted to gossip with the goldfinch about it. As I stood entranced, I noticed that the boy as he sang the whole of this one of our national songs kept looking over his shoulder as if he were afraid someone might interrupt him. When he dropped on the rock again I went and stood over him. "Pony-Boy," he said, "I'm not allowed to do that at home. I can only whistle." Not allowed to sing with a voice like that, and I was just turning this over in my pony mind when my new friend sprang to his feet like a shot, his eyes wild and terrified. "Pony-Boy—what is that awful sound?" I rubbed my head against his shoulder. Poor lad! what nerves. "I know it must be some kind of a bird," he went on, "for the sound came from the lake, but what a yell. You'd think a child was being murdered." [Pg 22] I knew loons, for I had seen and heard them on lakes in our own country. Probably the boy had never been in very lonely places. How I wished I could tell him that those were merely two old gossipy daddy loons accompanying their mates to their respective home bays on the lake. They were shrieking the news of the day to each other. Some fish ducks had been trying to settle near them and they had been biting at them and trying to drive them away. Then one Mrs. Loon had lost one of her downy young loonies. She blamed Mr. Red Fox from Merry-Tongue River—and what a blessing it was that there were so few campers about. Their beloved lake was really quite quiet with the settlers only. They liked solitude, they did, and they yelled till the boy was nearly crazy and whipped his fingers in his ears. How queer! The average boy likes noise and he had better get his ears unstopped for the big man was coming up the hill. I tried to warn the boy, but he did not understand me and had to fly into another spasm of fright when the big man touched him on the shoulder. He was a strapping middle-aged man in corduroys and cowboy hat with holes punched in it. His face was brown and kind and his eyes were black and piercing. These eyes were fixed on the boy in an extraordinary manner. That boy meant something to him in a heart way. His eyes did not falter, but his[Pg 23] mouth trembled slightly. Suddenly he held out both hands, "Welcome to Devering Farm, my lad." My pale-eyed boy put both his slim white hands into the man's big brown ones. "You're Mr. Devering, of course—my father's friend." "And you are Dallas Duff—my boy, I have longed for this day." "That's very kind in you, Sir," said young Dallas, but the man had turned suddenly to me. His eyes were quite misty now and I am sure he could not see me very well, though he said feelingly, "And you, Pony, welcome too. I haven't seen you since the day of the Cobourg Races." Now I knew who he was—the kind man who had felt me all over and stroked me so kindly. So he had remembered me and had had me sent to this lovely cool summer place. I nuzzled his coat buttons, then I followed his gaze, which was riveted on the boy. "Sir," our young lad was saying excitedly, "my father told me I could tell you anything. That's the first time he ever said that to me about any living person." "I appreciate his confidence," said the big man, wrinkling his eyebrows in an amused way. "First of all, sir, please tell me why my father sent me here. I've never been allowed to leave home before unless John or Margie went with me." "Suppose you ask him when he comes up here later." The boy almost shouted. "Is my father coming here?" [Pg 24] "I hope so. He needs a rest. He sticks too closely to work." "That's so, sir. He often falls asleep when I'm sitting in the library with him evenings. He's a wonderful man." "Indeed he is—I knew him before you did." "Did you, sir—where?" "In Toronto—when he went there as a young man to study Canadian law." "So he's coming here," said the boy musingly. "Will John and Margie come, too?" "I dare say." "I don't think he could get on without them. He likes Margie's cooking and John looks after his clothes." "Well, I hope you'll see them all before autumn—— Now tell me how you used to amuse yourself in that big dreary town house of yours." "Of course I had my studies, sir." "Did you find them interesting?" "Some of them. I had a fine young tutor all these years—a girl tutor." "Did you never go to school?" "No, sir." "Then you don't know much about boys." "Not much—I know some on our street to nod to. Then John sometimes takes me to ball games, only when it is warm. When it's cold, he takes me to the movies." The big man frowned, then he asked, "Had you any pets?" "I always had a dog." [Pg 25] "Why didn't you bring him?" "My old Toby died last week." The boy's voice broke and the man changed the subject quickly. "You'll find it cooler here than in Boston." "Oh, very much. I'm almost shivering in this suit. Margie thought it would be warm enough. She's been like my mother, sir, since my own died." The man smiled. I thought this a strange thing when the boy spoke of such a sad thing as losing his mother, but later on I had an explanation. "Margie watches me as a cat would a mouse," said the boy. "She doesn't want that kidnapper to get me." The boy spoke proudly, and Mr. Devering said almost irritably, "Oh! forget that, my boy. There's nothing in it now." The boy looked surprised. "And may I go out alone now and speak to strangers?" "Certainly, certainly," said Mr. Devering hurriedly. "Then why," began Dallas, but Mr. Devering interrupted him. "All that is over. Nobody wants to carry you off. Please put it out of your mind. You are of no consequence to anyone except your family." The boy's face fell, and I saw that he was a bit disappointed. He had been making a little hero of himself. Now he had found out that he wasn't worth carrying away. I was sorry for him, and I saw that there was[Pg 26] some mystery here to be explained in the future. I have lived in many interesting families and I love mysteries and histories. I had something now to turn over in my pony mind. This place would be no longer dull to me, but I must listen to Mr. Devering, who was speaking again. "You have had a peculiar life up to this, but I think it will be more normal in future and I may say that I have for a long time wished you to come here." "Do you live here all the time?" asked the boy. "Yes, this is our home, though we travel a good deal. How do you like it?" The boy seemed to find it hard to answer. At last he said, "Do you wish me to speak politely or truthfully?" "Truthfully, by all means." "Well, sir—I find it ghostly and lonely." Mr. Devering repeated the words, "Ghostly and lonely." Then he broke into a hearty laugh. "And I'm lonely only when I'm in cities pushing my way among crowds of weary people who don't care a rap whether I'm dead or alive." "Do you love the trees, sir?" asked Dallas, "these startling green monsters?" "I worship them, boy. They come next the animals with me. This one here is Little Sister," and he threw his arm round a slender silver birch. "And that maple," said Mr. Devering, pointing to the one where the catbird was still sitting. "Doesn't it look like a slender young living thing swaying there in the wind? See how it bends its[Pg 27] pretty head and waves its green arms toward us. Can't you throw it a pleasant glance, boy?" I was amused with the play of the boy's brown eyebrows. "I might love a maple," he said, "but those big pines and stiff spruces——" and he shivered. "My soldier brothers," said Mr. Devering, "so straight and sturdy, guarding my property and reaching up their heads to heaven. Do you know what they are begging for, boy?" "No, sir." "Rain, rain and always more rain. Have you been told what happens in countries like China where foolish people have been allowed to cut down the trees?" "Oh, yes, yes," said the boy. "I remember now. My teacher used to tell me trees keep the soil moist and attract rainfalls. Oh! I don't mind a few, sir, but these endless forests appal me." "You'll get over that. I'll soon have you a regular backwoodsman. Come up Deer Trail with me now and help me look for a missing lamb." I had heard the boy say that he was lame from his long drive, but he did not tell this to the man, and prepared to follow him quite bravely. "May this little beastie go too, sir?" he asked, pointing to me. "Certainly, the more beasts the merrier for me." <hr /> [Pg 28] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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