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

<h2>CHAPTER VI THE BELOVED LIAR</h2> When we got near the house, we heard the supper horn sounding cheerily in our direction. Mr. Devering strode along more quickly than ever in the lovely late afternoon sunshine, and when we reached the snake fence he leaned over and put Lammie-noo on his own hoofs. Then he and Dallas just howled with laughter. Wasn't that sick lamb legging it for one of the back doors of the house. I found out later that it was the woodshed door. He had seen a young Japanese come and look out and then disappear. "Bingi gives Lammie-noo warm milk every night," said Mr. Devering. "Come and see him." In a few seconds we too were at the woodshed door. Lammie-noo had gone through to the kitchen and stood by the big stove bleating pitifully and occasionally butting the good Bingi who was as patient as a lamb himself. I had often seen Japanese servants before, but this one was particularly clean and intelligent, and I heard Mr. Devering tell Dallas in an undertone that he was a young man of good family, assistant editor of a Japanese newspaper and had come to Canada to perfect his English. [Pg 63] He was trying to pour some milk from a pail into a pot on the stove, but the lamb butted him so violently and persistently that he kept spilling the milk. "May I request you, honorable sir," he said to Mr. Devering, "to remove this quadruped for a season?" Mr. Devering soon made Lammie-noo come back to the woodshed and closed the door on him. Lammie immediately ran round to another door on the other side of the house. Bingi smiled amiably and said, "Let him remain, I beg. His portion is about complete. He will then follow me. He is strangely fastidious about the warmness of it." Two minutes later, the Jap ardently pursued by the lamb had carried a huge pan of milk outside. Young Dallas' eyes grew big as he watched the hungry lamb sucking greedily at the milk and bobbing his funny tail with each mouthful. When the young animal drew back at last with a satisfied air, some hens who had been waiting politely came forward, and leaning far over dipped their beaks in the pan to drink up Lammie-noo's leavings. "Those hens," said Bingi amiably, "never forget their habitude of milk waiting and afterward drinking." "Just like us, just like us," said Mr. Devering. "Don't we all run when the bugle or horn blows for meals—but we must go get ready for supper,[Pg 64] nephew," and he took my young master away from me. To my delight, no one had said, "Go to your stable," so I made a discreet circle of the house, which was pretty well spread out over the ground instead of being built away up in the air. I glanced in the different windows to see which ones belonged to the lad I was beginning to love so much. I counted four boys and two girls, brushing, washing, and taking off their overalls in six different rooms. How nice for them each to have a place. Even an animal likes to have a corner of his very own. They all called out a greeting to me, but I did not linger with any of them as I wished to find my own boy. He had a dear little room on the side of the house looking toward the barnyard and out-buildings. I was glad to see that for I could watch his light at night. "Hello Babe," he said, "I wish you were a valet or John or Margie," and his eyes went to his big wardrobe trunk standing open against the wall. "I haven't time to unpack now. I'll just give my hands and face a lick and a promise," and he went up to a wash basin and turned on the water. "Gee!" he exclaimed, "hot and cold water in the wilderness. Some farm this, Prince Fetlar." Then after giving his young poll a good rubbing down with two military brushes that he took out of a hand-bag, he turned to the door where some one was knocking. "Come in, please." [Pg 65] Mr. Devering stood in the hall, and putting a hand on his nephew's shoulder he came right across the room with him and out through the open French window, smiling at me as I bolted away under some seringa bushes. The dining place was not in the house but out on one of the wide verandas. A long table was set with plates for nine people, and wishing to see what went on at it I crept quietly around to the back of a clump of lilacs while my young master was being shown round the garden. "Well, if here isn't another beggar for crumbs," chattered an impudent little voice near me, and looking round I saw a chipmunk sitting on a sun dial and washing his face and paws for supper. "Don't be afraid," I said mildly, "I am no beggar. I am here because I love to watch human beings when they eat. I belong to the new boy, and I beg that you will not call attention to me by any unnecessary chattering." "All right," he said, winking a beautiful brown eye at me, "if you'll promise not to tease for scraps from the table. There are too many of us now. I'm always hungry, and there are about a dozen juncos, some hermit thrushes, a bluejay, a tame raccoon, a white rabbit, the cat and about a score of other creatures—we're the steadies but there are lots of chancers." "What do you mean by chancers?" "Ones who happen along like that Plymouth Rock hen there sneaking down from the hen-houses. She knows she's not allowed here—but to[Pg 66] come back to you. Of course you won't hurt any of us?" "Hurt you, my dear chipmunk," I replied. "I believe in the rights of all creatures—even deer mice. I have an arrangement with two already that they may come in my stable, but if they bring any more in or if they run over my food I'll drive them out." "You drive a mouse," he said. "A clumsy thing like you couldn't do it." "Couldn't I?" I remarked sarcastically. "How would you do it?" he asked. "Quickly, my friend. You ought to see the fancy play of my hoofs." "You think you're very smart," he said, and he hobbled slowly away to the veranda where he could be nearer the table. I looked after him wondering what was the matter with his paws, and reflecting that although I don't dislike chipmunks, I find them very disrespectful. Such a darling little junco called to me with his sharp kissing note. He was in the lilacs over me and he had been watching the chipmunk. "Chew, chew, Pony," he went on. "Supper's ready—I'm glad, aren't you?" I stared up at him and said, "Junco with the grey head and white tail feathers, I like you." "And I'll like you," he returned, "if you'll not get between me and the supper table. I'm hungry." "What's wrong with that chipmunk's feet?" I asked the junco. "He was a performing squirrel in a show. They[Pg 67] used to make him dance by turning on a gas flame under his cage." "Why didn't he cling to the bars?" I asked. "They were charged with electricity. Though I am only a country bird I have heard how cruelly animals are treated in cities." "How did the chipmunk get here?" I inquired. "Mr. Devering was at the show and rescued him. He had the showman fined heavily—but, Pony, here comes the human mother-bird." Such a fine matronly young woman with a grave sweet face was coming out of the house. Her hands were full of wild roses that she put in a bowl of water on the table. "Good gracious!" I said to the junco, "what is that furry brown creature curled up and clinging to the skirt of her gown?" "That is Black-Paws, the raccoon. He is a great pet of this house-mother's mother, a wee old lady who comes here in summer. When Grammie is not here, he follows her daughter about and slides along the floor holding on to her dress." "Mrs. Devering must be a very kind lady," I said. "That fat raccoon is heavy." "She is very patient with him, but see now she is shaking him off." "Go away, Black-Paws," the lady was saying, "You tire me. Here take this piece of cake," and she went to a side table. To my great amusement, the stout-bodied little creature with the funny black patches on his face held up his fore paws, took the cake, and when her[Pg 68] back was turned began to wash it in one of the glasses of water on the table. "He's the cleanest animal on the place," said the junco. "He nearly washes his food away." "If I had had that piece of cake," I said, "I should have eaten the icing instead of leaving it in the water. Junco, is this young looking woman the mother of all those children?" "Yes, yes, and a good one too." "But she looks so young, junco." "Northland air is good for human beings and good for animals. Look at her skin—just like a cherry. I could bite it—chew, chew. Oh! where is my mate, my mate? She's late, she's late. Supper's ready, chew, chew." "Here I be, dearie, dearie," and we heard another sweet twittering trill, and there was Mrs. Junco coming like the wind. "Oh! my dearie dearie," he said, and putting their heads close together, they sat talking in low bird notes in such a comfortable way that it made me feel quite lonely. I turned my head away, and saw two little gliding creatures slipping under the veranda steps. "Hello!" I said; "do I see snakes?" "Yes," said some one in a whisper close to me, and lowering my head I saw the Plymouth Rock hen right by my hoofs. "Aren't those snakes cute?" she said. "I love to see them, darting their heads out and in. They're the children's pets and are waiting for worms—[Pg 69]— Pony-Boy, don't call attention to me. Being grey I don't show up much. I'm the biggest girl's pet, and she is the only one that knows I'm here. By and by she'll sneak me a bit of something. I'm not afraid of your hoofs. I'm very light on my feet." "Yes and light in the head too," said a contemptuous voice, and glancing up we saw a blue jay sitting solitary and looking rather ugly on a bough just near us. "Nobody loves a jay," said Biddy in a hoarse whisper. "What about those eggs you broke yesterday? The master of the house will shoot you if he sees you." "Hold your tongue," said the jay impudently, and Biddy, turning away from him, said to me, "You know ponies are not allowed down here at meal times. You'd better back up a bit. Get your head behind those long purple blossoms. Now you won't show so much—— We were talking about snakes; those two pets belong to the younger of the two girls and she keeps a worm pit for them. She buries bones and meal, and these two come here every night for their after dinner feed. If you want to see lightning, just watch their tongues when they take the worms." "Biddy," I said, "I'll keep my eye on them, but I must watch my young master who is coming to the table." "I saw him walking about the garden," she said, "with the big master. Pony, I like your boy." Mr. Devering was guiding Dallas to the table.[Pg 70] "My wife," he said to the boy. Then he said to her, "Bretta, may I commend another young thing to your care?" He did not mention Dallas' name, but Mrs. Devering pronounced it very nicely when she took the boy's hand and gave him a long look. "And what do you think of your new aunt?" asked Mr. Devering jokingly. "She seems very young," said the boy slowly. "Margie is old." Such a look of compassion came over the lady's face. "I am very glad to be your aunt," she said softly. Dallas, with a gentle gesture, took the hand that was hanging by her side and raised it to his lips. She blushed with pleasure at this grown-up caress, and taking a rose from the bowl she fastened it in the lapel of the boy's coat. "Pretty, pretty," I heard the juncos say. "Very kind," observed Biddy, and then the whole family of boys and girls came trooping to the veranda. "Family," said Mrs. Devering, "come here and be introduced." I could see that their names made no impression on my young master. He was staring at their faces. These were his cousins, his real cousins, though they did not know it, and in spite of the cool wind blowing, a line of perspiration sprang to his upper lip. Would they like him, oh! would they like him? They all looked very smart, the girls in thick[Pg 71] white dresses, the boys in navy blue belted cloth suits like that of my young master. There was a family resemblance—I could see it, though these children were robust and rollicking, while my young master was refined and delicate in appearance. Their table manners were very good, but they were so full of life that they had hard work to keep still. It was a charming sight to see this happy, clean, and well-bred family sitting at this long table with no walls between them and the lovely lake that was shining and beautiful as the sides of the big silver soup tureen from which Mrs. Devering was ladling a delicious dark liquid that smelt like beans. I thought the Deverings' supper table was like a dinner table until I saw what a wonderful lot of things they gave those happy children to eat in the middle of the day. The soup course did not interest the creatures of the second table. Not a bird peeped or stirred, except to glare at a big white rabbit who came loping easily down the hill from the wood, and went noiselessly under the veranda. "Old Muffy," whispered Biddy hoarsely; "he has a bottomless appetite. We hate to see him come—there are the robins. They're late too." Four plump fat birds had just settled themselves over us with much shaking of wings and flirting of tails, though they did not speak. I looked back at the table. Everybody had finished their soup and to my surprise the eldest[Pg 72] girl, who had heavy black hair and a straight nose like her mother's, got up and piling all the empty soup plates on a tea-waggon rolled them along the veranda toward the kitchen. On the way Bingi crossed her with a big roast of cold lamb on a platter. Now there was a faint murmuring sound about me, and one of the boys called out, "Wait, robin babies, your turn will quickly come." "That boy," said Biddy, who had asked permission to fly up to my back in order to get a better view of the table, "that nice boy makes a specialty of robins, and often brings them up by hand when the parents are killed. This is not a very good worm country as the soil is stony, so he buys worms from his sister's pit and makes worm hash." "Worm hash," I repeated; "I never heard of such a thing." "He never loses a young robin from crop trouble," said Biddy, "though they sometimes bathe themselves to death, being great water-lovers. He makes his hash of worms, bread, oatmeal and a few drops of milk. If he can't get worms he takes raw meat, but when his robins are grown they eat almost anything. Hush! don't cackle nor cluck. Here comes something for me." "I'm not likely to do either," I said, then I eyed the black-haired girl who, before taking her seat at the table, had made a detour and with her left hand tossed Biddy a morsel of something. "She sneaked that from the cake course," gurgled the hen from my back. "My! how good it[Pg 73] tastes. It's raspberry shortcake. That Jap certainly knows how to cook. I hope I'll get something more." I paid little attention to Biddy, for I was eyeing Mr. Devering and grieving over something he had just said, "This is lamb, my boy. We are as bad as the wolf." The nice man was biting his lip now. He remembered how terribly my young master had felt about his cowardice, but who can recall the spoken word? Dallas was in a fine state of nerves. He had been so happy in coming to his own at last by being one of an interesting group of boys and girls. Now the charm was broken. He grew red and fussed about his seat, his appetite all gone. The children were all speaking at once, "Wolf! what wolf, Dad?" Mr. Devering struggled with the joint for a few seconds, then he said shortly, "Up Deer Trail." "What were you up there for, Dad? Is that where you went with Dallas? I wish you'd taken us. We love that trail." More questions and more remarks were showered upon the poor man, but he went on carving silently. My young master, instead of leaving matters to this clever man, was unfortunate enough to open his young mouth and put his foot in it. To please these dear cousins was his burning desire, therefore he thought he must create a sensation, so[Pg 74] with a heightened color he announced solemnly, "We were after the lamb." Mr. Devering rolled his eyes at him, but said nothing, while the children just shrieked, "Not Lammie-noo. He isn't alive, is he? Dad, you said he must be dead." "Sit down, sit down, children," said Mrs. Devering in a quiet voice. "Not another word, please, from anybody till every boy and girl is seated." The children were on fire. Their eyes flashed, their tongues were going, but they obeyed their mother. Biddy not liking my slippery back had shifted her position to a stick laid crosswise in the lilacs and she clucked in my ear, "Those children love their pets. They hate to see us go to the Good-Bye House." Struck by the name, I asked, "What is that?" "It's the place where hens walk in after tid-bits in somebody's hand and never walk out again. Nothing hurts them. They just stop eating and go to another poultry yard." I thought this over a minute. Probably the Deverings had some very merciful way of killing their stock; then I listened to Mrs. Devering, who was saying, "Is everybody still? Now you may go on, Dallas." However, Mr. Devering interrupted, "There's nothing much to tell. We found your Lammie-noo, bairns, and he is at present in the woodshed in his usual sleeping place." Another rain of questions fell on his devoted[Pg 75] head. "Where had he found Lammie-noo? Was he hungry? Why had he left the sheep?" "There you have me," said Mr. Devering with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "Why do human lambs and sheep and goats and kids do the queer things they do? He's home anyway—Mother, what have you been doing this afternoon?" The children turned to Dallas. They didn't wish to talk about anything but the lamb, and my young master, whose cheeks had been getting redder and redder, and whose eyes had been devouring the faces of these lively children, burst now into a flood of talk. Oh! how he wanted to impress them, and he certainly did. Their Dad was a second David. He had caught up a stick and half killed the wolf and wrenched his jaws from the trembling lamb. He, Dallas, had stood back in wonder at such heroism. I saw the children's faces falling, falling while these fiery words just flew from between my young master's thin beautiful lips. What fairy tale was this, and what kind of a boy was this pale city lad? "At last," cried Dallas, "the wolf ran away like a whipped cur." Oh! how I wanted to help my young master, and thrusting my head out from my hiding place I neighed shrilly. This brought young Dallas down from his high horse, and he stopped short, grew terribly pale, and his eyes ceased flashing and became dull. He hadn't been lying as some children lie. He[Pg 76] was a dreamer, and he really thought that what he was relating had taken place. He was trying to glorify this wonderful new relative of his—this dear, strong uncle. However, the children didn't understand this, and while the older ones were politely silent, the smallest boy of all piped up sweetly, while he pointed his cruel little fork at Dallas, "Wolfths don't bite peoplths, they runs." Dallas, trembling on the edge of his chair, let his eyes run up and down the rows of faces. Mr. and Mrs. Devering understood and were sorry for him. The children did not understand, and had him branded as a liar. His self-control was just giving way, when his uncle said kindly, "Look at that pony of yours—almost on the table. Suppose you take him up to his own quarters." Wasn't my young master grateful! He sprang up and went like a shot to my log cabin, I trotting after him. I imagined the grown people trying to keep the children from laughing at this queer way of taking a pony to a stable, then I forgot them all in my interest in my dear young master. <hr /> [Pg 77] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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