Chapter VII

Pretty soon I began to hear talk about going into “winter quarters.” I didn’t know what this meant, but in time it was going to be understood. Through September we had mild, beautiful days, and the first part of the month the nights were not so bad, seeing I had the piece of carpeting to keep me warm. Business was still brisk during the evening, and our tramps were taken as usual.

But one night toward the last of the month there came a terrible rain storm. Oh, how the winds whistled through the piece of woods, and how the wet, brown leaves came twirling down! The big tent shook as if the stout poles and thole pins would not be strong enough to keep it erect.

Great sheets of rubber cloth were stretched and fastened outside, while a little charcoal stove made the inside comfortable. The wind sent whiffs laden with the scent of steeping tea across to where I stood, not half protected from mighty gusts of wind and rain.

The storm passed, but my joints were left stiff and sore from unkind exposure. Dancing was out of the question, neither could I journey forth at night laden with boxes and the weight of a child. My old enemy, asthma, returned, and after two nights the men had raised a rude shed in which I felt some approach to comfort.

This was doubtless felt to be a necessity, for I heard Rondo say to Nick: “We can’t afford to lose him, the best pony we ever had.”

I did not know in just what way he might “lose” me, but I confess to feeling that I didn’t much care what became of me. I had become nothing better than one of those “pack horses” I had heard talked of at Van Vim’s stable.

Yet even they were better off than I. For being naturally beasts of burden, did I not once hear Mr. Van Vim telling of a pair of short, hardy Percheron draught-horses, splendid creatures of style, strength and endurance, that could do their twelve hours of hauling day after day, and seem not a whit worn from month to month?

I was not cut out for a beast of burden, yet that was what I had become.

October came while I was still wheezing with asthma, although getting better from day to day. The stiffness also was getting out of my joints, but with that horse sense which often serves dumb animals well, I still pretended great stiffness, for I knew that once I appeared able to get about with anything like ease, I would have to do severe work in helping to move heavy loads, for now the tribe was all ready for winter quarters.

It was getting far too cold to pitch the flimsy tent at the outskirts of villages; even the young people now preferred indoor sports, and it was plain to see that gipsying was over for the season.

It was just at this time, when the camp was about to break up, that Nick, boy of all work, tent cleaner, pony tender and errand boy, was taken ill, and Rondo with great unwillingness declared that another boy must be hired for a few days. No time must be lost in moving, as the authorities had given notice that they must move on.

I had learned many things about gipsies during the nearly quarter of a year I had been with them. Above all, that they desire secrecy, seclusion, to be let alone by people from outside. To this end they avoid all help except such as their own company can furnish. The same few persons will keep together year after year, as it is deemed a misfortune to receive even new members to what is called “the tribe.”

Each one, even to the children, has his or her special work to do. They bought almost nothing in the way of wearing apparel at this camp. One woman begged such clothing as was needed, mended and kept it decent. Mother Hubbard cooked, washed dishes and told fortunes at night.

Nick’s duties have already been told. Now he was down with fever symptoms at a time when he was specially needed, and someone must be hired for a few days to help.

From all accounts it appeared that many miles distant was a broken down building, half house, half barn, where they managed to live for the winter. Their journey to this place must be taken within a few days.

Rondo was anxious and snappish, Mother Hubbard also vexed and disappointed at being obliged to wait, and to hire help in getting necessary preparations made.

“I shall get a raw hand, and get rid of him soon as possible,” was Rondo’s remark as out he started in quest of the “raw hand.” He did not return until near night, then all I could see was that he had someone with him.

Ah, but what was this? Why at the sound of the new voice did my sides suddenly quiver with excitement and my nostrils dilate with expectancy?

Surely I had heard that voice before! And strangely enough too, at a time when I was yearning for sympathy and aid.

There were duties claiming Rondo’s attention when he returned, and I had not been fed since early noon. So the new boy was sent to give me my dry, coarse food, fasten on my carpet blanket, and shut the loose door of the shed for the night.

Oh, oh! how like music came the familiar tones!

“Hulloo, hossy, how are you? Well, well, what’s got you? Been sick? Lame in the joints, hey?”

He lifted a lantern and eyed me at close range.

“Jolly! but you make me think of a gay little duck of a pony I knew once, a fine dashing little fellow, all spirit and fire, but you’re thinner than he was, much thinner; besides, he was a bay, and you’re black as Egypt.”

Could I but have cried out, how thankful would I have been! But, how happened it that this sunny-haired, sunny-tempered lad had wandered from Greenpoint, to this woodsy place, many miles distant as it was?

Ah, but did he not whisper to me that day when Perley Bolt had left me to myself: “Between you and me, pony dear, I don’t get the care I might have. But I’m going to work to take care of myself before long, then I’ll have a fair chance perhaps: may own a fine bit of a hossy myself some day.”

Hope was strong within me that when daylight came he would see things more clearly. But alas! so deeply ingrained had become the black stain completely covering me there seemed little likelihood of being able to make myself known. They called the boy “Archie,” and to my delight he was sent again to feed me in the morning. His habit of talking while working was a great comfort.

“Now, hossy,” he began, “you’re going to be well curried, for sadly you need it, but first you must be watered and given something to eat. You breathe better than you did last night, but these joints are pretty stiff yet, I see.”

“Phew! you ought to have hot mashes these brisk mornings, and your legs ought to be poulticed overnight. They haven’t half cared for you, have they, boy? Never mind, you’ll be better one of these days, only I sha’n’t be here to see. I’m on my own hook now, earning here a little, there a little. I’m going to be what they call a ‘vet,’ a veterinary doctor, able to take care of ailing horses and other animals. I love a nice hossy, as I do a nice man, and never a rough touch will any creature o’ God’s get at my hands.”

He was rapidly preparing my meagre breakfast as he talked, and while so busy Rondo came to the shed, saying he wished to comb me himself.

Oh, what a disappointment! For I had thought that the vigorous combing Archie would give me, might rub off some of that false colouring and set his quick wits working in a way to lead to a discovery.

Early in the afternoon it became necessary for Rondo to take a long tramp, seeking certain supplies from the distant village. Also there came a welcome call for Mother Hubbard to tell fortunes at a fair to be held in the village. Caring nothing for the walk of two miles and more, out set the pair, to be absent nearly the rest of the day.

Archie had been given orders to put fresh straw in my shaky stall, a thing greatly needed, also to nail on a few shingles where the rain could run in rather too freely.

Hope again rose within me as he promptly set about doing as he had been told. I learned that Nick was some better, but still confined to his mattress of straw in the chilly tent. As usual Archie began talking as he worked:—

“I should think it was high time something was done to this draughty place, Mister Pony. It needs more than about half a dozen shingles to make it fit for any kind of a creature to sleep in, but I’m going to get out of this as soon as I can: had to sleep last night rolled in a blanket, but thank fortune, ’twas my own! Carry it in a big roll wherever I go: that, and a comb, toothbrush and a couple of decent towels.”

“Lord Rondo offered me good pay to take another boy’s place for a few days, but the other boy must get well quick for I don’t think much of this crowd.”

He broke into a merry whistle, as out he thrust the old grass that had grown damp and musty in the miserable shed, then, still whistling blithely, he began bringing in a little straw, and such dry underbrush as he could find.