The Happy Warrior Part 21

"Well he's come to the proper place for a little 'orse," announced the face in a very husky whisper and disappeared again.

"Why, just my very words!" declared Mr. Hannaford with high delight.

"Just my very words, bless my eighteen stun proper if it wasn't! Step out, Stingo. Lord Burdon, over from Burdon, with his young lords.h.i.+p and a--" Mr. Hannaford stopped and stared around him. "Why, wherever's that young Pocket Marvel got to?"

"I'm here!" Percival called excitedly. "I'm stroking this dear little black one and he knows me; so I should like to know what you think of that?" He came dancing out from the stall of the little black one, his face blazing with excitement, and simultaneously the replica of Mr.

Hannaford's face appeared again and a replica of Mr. Hannaford's figure advanced towards them.

"Proud!" declared the replica in a strained whisper, and raised his hat. "You're doing well," he whispered to Mr. Hannaford. "You're doing uncommon well." He extended his hand and the brothers shook hands, very solemnly on the part of the replica, with beaming delight on the part of Mr. Hannaford.

"Steady down, boy; steady down and join us," Mr. Hannaford earnestly entreated, holding Stingo's hand and gazing into his face with great fondness. But Stingo slowly shook his head, and turning to Lord Burdon again, raised his hat and after many severe throatings managed a husky repet.i.tion of "Proud!"

Mr. Hannaford heaved an astonis.h.i.+ngly loud sigh, pulled himself together with a leg-and-cane crack that caused all the little 'orses to start, and addressed himself to business. Little master, he declared, had a proper eye for a proper little 'orse. The little black 'orse that little master had stroked might have been specially born for his lords.h.i.+p's purpose; picked up at Bampton fair last spring, a trifle too stout and not quite the colouring for a circus little 'orse and trained to be the first of Stage Two: little gentlefolks' little 'orses.

Concluding this recommendation, Mr. Hannaford put his head outside the stable and roared "Jim!" in a voice that might have been heard at Little Letham; Stingo put his head out and throated "Jim!" in a husky whisper that n.o.body heard but himself; and presently there appeared a long, thin youth wearing a brimless straw hat that was in constant movement owing to an alarming habit of twitching his scalp.

"Fix him up and run him out," commanded Mr. Hannaford, jerking a thumb at the little black 'orse; "and keep your scalp steady, me lad, else you'll do yourself a ninjury." He glared very fiercely; and Jim, touching an eyebrow which a violent twitch had rushed up to the point that should have been covered by the brimless straw hat, took down a bridle and approached the little black 'orse with the air of one who antic.i.p.ates some embarra.s.sment.

Mr. Hannaford's stables looked on to a small enclosed paddock, much cut about with hoofs and marked in the centre by a deeply trodden ring, around which, as he explained, the little 'orses were put through their circus paces.

Rollo shyly held his father's hand; Stingo revolved slowly on his own axis the better to keep a surprised eye on Percival, who pranced and bounded with excitement; and presently the little black 'orse, with tossing head and delighted heels, was produced before them.

"Now!" said Mr. Hannaford, patting the little black 'orse with one hand and extending the other to Rollo. "Up you come, my little lords.h.i.+p.

Nothing to be afraid of. Only his fun that. Steady as a little lamb when you're on his back--perfectly safe, me lord," he a.s.sured Lord Burdon.

But Rollo hung back, nestling his hand deeper into his father's and flus.h.i.+ng with nervous appeal into Lord Burdon's face. His riding in the Park did not accommodate the natural timidity of his nature to the adventures of a strange mount, and less so to the doubtful prospects that the spirit of the little black 'orse appeared to offer. Lord Burdon understood, and patted Rollo's hand. "Not feeling quite up to it, old man? Well, we'll ask Mr. Hannaford to send the pony over to the Manor, and try him there, eh?"

"Blest if you ain't right, me young lords.h.i.+p," declared Mr. Hannaford tactfully. "Never be hurried into trying a new little 'orse. That's the way. Jim shall bring him round for you, me lord, first thing in the morning. Walk him up the field, Jim, to let his lords.h.i.+p see how he moves."

Jim clicked his tongue, the little black 'orse bounded amain, and Percival, who had been watching with burning eyes, could control himself no longer. "Oh, let me!" Percival cried. "Just one tiny little ride! Lord Burdon, _please_ let me! I _'treat_ you to let me!"

"Why, you can't ride," Lord Burdon objected playfully.

"I could ride him _anywhere_!" Percival implored. "He knows me. Just look how he's looking at me. Oh, please--_please_!" and he ended with a shout of delight, for Lord Burdon nodded to Mr. Hannaford and Mr.

Hannaford swung Percival from the ground into the saddle.

"Shorten up that stirrup-iron, Jim," said Mr. Hannaford, stuffing Percival's foot into the stirrup on his side. "Catch hold this way, little master. Stick in with your knees. That's the way. Run him out, Jim."

The straw-hatted youth made a clutch at the bridle, the little black 'orse jerked up its little black head, and Percival jerked up the bridle and cried: "Let go! let go!" and kicked a stirruped foot at the straw-hatted youth and cried: "He _knows_ me, I tell you!"

"Pocket Marvel," commented Stingo huskily, watching the struggle.

"Pocket Marvel, if ever I saw one."

"Why, that's just the very words that I called him, bless my eighteen stun proper if it isn't!" cried Mr. Hannaford in huge delight; and simultaneously the straw-hatted youth, with a terrible cry and a tremendous jerk of the scalp, received a pawing hoof on his foot and relaxed his hold on the bridle.

Away went the little black 'orse and away went the Pocket Marvel bounding in the saddle like an india-rubber ball; shouting with delight; losing a stirrup; clutching at the saddle; saving himself by a miraculous twist as the little black 'orse circled at the top of the field; b.u.mping higher and higher as the little black 'orse came gamely trotting back to them, and finally shooting headfirst into Mr.

Hannaford's arms, as Stingo caught the bridle and the little black 'orse came to a stop.

Mr. Hannaford placed Percival on his legs and he stood by the little black 'orse's side, breathless, flushed, the centre of general congratulations and laughter, from the deep "Ho! Ho!" and terrible leg-and-cane cracks of Mr. Hannaford to the silent signals of appreciation indicated by the rapid oscillation of the brimless straw hat on the astonis.h.i.+ng scalp movements of Jim.

"Well, I'm afraid I got off rather too quickly, you know," he announced.

"Not a bit of it!" Mr. Hannaford declared stoutly, rubbing that portion of his waistcoat into which Percival's head had cannoned. "You got off same as you stuck on; like a regular little Pocket Marvel, bless my eighteen stun proper if you didn't."

The Pocket Marvel went crimson with new pride and excitement. He made to turn eagerly to the little black 'orse again; and there occurred then an incident of which he thought nothing at the time, nor for many years, but which secreted itself in that strange storehouse of the brain where trivialities permanently root themselves and whence they stir, shake off the dust and emerge, when the impressions of far greater events are obliterated. As he stretched a hand to the bridle, he caught a glimpse of Rollo's face. Distress not far removed from tears was there. The boy was concealing himself behind his father.

His sensitive nature caused him to feel that the laughing group, when it turned attention to him, would to his detriment compare him with this bold young junior; he shrank from that moment.

Percival turned away from the little black 'orse and ran to him. "Now it's your turn, Rollo. You see, he knew me from the beginning, and that's why he liked me to ride him. Now you try. I promise you I shall run by his side and then, you see, he'll know you're a friend of mine."

He took Rollo's hand and drew him forward. "Sure you'd like to, old chap?" Lord Burdon asked, and Rollo said; "Oh, yes," and mounted by himself, as he had been taught in London.

"There you are!" cried Percival, beaming up at him and clapping his hands with delight. "There you are! Now, then!" And he set off running alongside as he had undertaken, as the little black 'orse broke into a trot. Once in the saddle, Rollo abandoned his fears and rode easily. The little black 'orse outpaced Percival's small legs, and Percival came running back and took Lord Burdon's hand and watched with eager eyes and squirmed with delight.

"He doesn't b.u.mp like I did, you see," he said. "Look how he turns him!" and he freed his hand and clapped and shouted: "Well done, Rollo!"

"'Pon my soul, Percival, you're a devilish good little beggar," said Lord Burdon; and a similar thought was in the minds of the brothers Hannaford when, the pony purchased, they watched the wagonette drive from the farm. "I shall save up and come with my Aunt Maggie and buy one too," Percival declared, giving his hand to Mr. Hannaford over the side of the trap. "In my money-box I've got three s.h.i.+llings already; so I should like to know what you think of that?"

"Pocket Marvel, that little master," commented Mr. Hannaford, as the wagonette turned out of sight.

Stingo made three husky attempts at speech and at length whispered: "Thought he was the young lords.h.i.+p when I first saw 'em."

Mr. Hannaford beamed with delight and extended his hand. "Why, that's just what I thought!" he declared; "bless my eighteen stun proper if it wasn't. Steady down, boy, steady down and join us."

But Stingo's handshake was limp, and he shook his head slowly.

II

Then there were the lessons with Miss Purdie. Very considerably less satisfactory, these, than the tearing excitements that the pony provided, yet having plenty of fun for Percival's eager young mind, and increasing along a new path the intimacy between the two boys. Rollo was the more advanced; but his grounding! "Your grounding," as Miss Purdie would cry, "is shoc-_king_! Grounding is _everything_! _Look_ at this sum! _What_ is seven times twelve, sir? ... then _why_ have you put down a six? How _dare_ you laugh, Percival? You are _worse_!

Rollo, it's _no_ good! You must begin at the _beginning_. Grounding is _everything_!"

Terribly frightening, Miss Purdie, when swept by her little storms.

Rather like a little bird, Miss Purdie, with her sharp little glances from behind her spectacles. "_Don't_ put your tongue out when you write, Percival! What would you think of me, if I moved my tongue from corner to corner every time I write, like that? _Don't_ laugh at me, sir!"

"Well, it comes out by itself," Percival expostulates, "and I don't even know that it is out, you know; so I should like to know what you think of that?"

"I don't think any thing _about_ it," says Miss Purdie, with a stamp of her little foot. "That _stu_-pid question of yours! _How_ often have I told you not to use it?"

Very like a little bird, Miss Purdie, with her sharp little glances, with her nimble little hops to and fro, and with her perky little c.o.c.kings of the head on this side and the other as she encourages an answer.

"Now the grammar lesson and I hope you've both prepared it. Gender of nouns. Masculine, Govern-_or_. Feminine?"

"Govern-_ess_," venture the boys, a trifle apprehensively.

"Good boys! Masculine, Sorcer-er. Feminine?"

"Sorcer-_ess_," says the chorus, gathering courage.

"Masculine, Cater-_er_. Feminine?"