The King of Morocco used
to kick and bite like fun, but I could manage him first-rate.”
“Then you’d be able to drive cows to pasture, perhaps?”
“I’ve drove elephants and camels, ostriches and grizzly bears, and mules, and six yellow ponies all to oncet. Maybe I could
manage cows if I tried hard,” answered Ben, endeavoring to be meek and respectful when scorn filled his soul at the idea of
not being able to drive a cow.
The Squire liked him all the better for the droll mixture of indignation and amusement betrayed by the fire in his eyes and
the sly smile round his lips; and being rather tickled by Ben’s list of animals, he answered, gravely—
“We don’t raise elephants and camels much round here. Bears used to be plenty, but folks got tired of them. Mules are numerous,
but we have the two-legged kind; and as a general thing prefer Shanghai fowls to ostriches.”
He got no further, for Ben laughed out so infectiously that both the others joined him; and somehow that jolly laugh seemed
to settle matters better than words. As they stopped, the Squire tapped on the window behind him, saying, with an attempt
at the former gruffness—
“We’ll try you on cows awhile. My man will show you
where to drive them, and give you some odd jobs through the day. I’ll see what you are good for, and send you word tonight,
Mrs. Moss. The boy can sleep at your house, can’t he?”
“Yes, indeed, sir. He can go on doing it, and come up to his work just as well as not. I can see to him then, and he won’t
be a care to anyone,” said Mrs. Moss heartily.
“I’ll make inquiries concerning your father, boy; meantime mind what you are about, and have a good report to give when he
comes for you,” returned the Squire, with a warning wag of a stern forefinger.
“Thank y’, sir. I will, sir. Father’ll come just as soon as he can, if he isn’t sick or lost,” murmured Ben, inwardly thanking
his stars that he had not done anything to make him quake before that awful finger, and resolving that he never would.
Here a redheaded Irishman came to the door, and stood eyeing the boy with small favor while the Squire gave his orders.
“Pat, this lad wants work. He’s to take the cows and go for them. Give him any light jobs you have, and let me know if he’s
good for anything.”
“Yis, your honor. Come out o’ this, b’y, till I show ye the bastes,” responded Pat; and, with a hasty good-bye to Mrs. Moss,
Ben followed his new leader, sorely tempted to play some naughty trick upon him in return for his ungracious reception.
But in a moment he forgot that Pat existed, for in the yard stood the Duke of Wellington, so named in honor of his Roman nose.
If Ben had known anything about Shakespeare, he would have cried, “A horse, a horse!—my kingdom for a horse!” for the feeling
was in his heart, and he ran up to the stately animal without a fear. Duke put
back his ears and swished his tail as if displeased for a moment; but Ben looked straight in his eyes, gave a scientific stroke
to the iron-gray nose, and uttered a chirrup which made the ears prick up as if recognizing a familiar sound.
“He’ll nip ye, if ye go botherin’ that way. L’ave him alone, and attind to the cattle as his honor tould ye,” commanded Pat,
who made a great show of respect toward Duke in public, and kicked him brutally in private.
“I ain’t afraid! You won’t hurt me, will you, old feller? See there now! — he knows I’m a friend, and takes to me right off,”
said Ben, with an arm around Duke’s neck, and his own cheek confidingly laid against the animal’s; for the intelligent eyes
spoke to him as plainly as the little whinny which he understood and accepted as a welcome.
The Squire saw it all from the open window, and suspecting from Pat’s face that trouble was brewing, called out—
“Let the lad harness Duke, if he can. I’m going out directly, and he may as well try that as anything.”
Ben was delighted, and proved himself so brisk and handy that the roomy chaise stood at the door in a surprisingly short time,
with a smiling little ostler at Duke’s head when the Squire came out.
His affection for the horse pleased the old gentleman, and his neat way of harnessing suited as well; but Ben got no praise,
except a nod and a brief “All right, boy,” as the equipage went creaking and jogging away.
Four sleek cows filed out of the barnyard when Pat opened the gate, and Ben drove them down the road to a distant pasture
where the early grass awaited their eager cropping. By the school they went, and the boy looked pityingly at the black, brown,
and yellow heads bobbing past the windows as a class went up to recite; for it seemed a
hard thing to the liberty-loving lad to be shut up there so many hours on a morning like that.
But a little breeze that was playing truant round the steps did Ben a service without knowing it, for a sudden puff blew a
torn leaf to his feet, and seeing a picture he took it up. It evidently had fallen from some ill-used history, for the picture
showed some queer ships at anchor, some oddly-dressed men just landing, and a crowd of Indians dancing about on the shore.
Ben spelt out all he could about these interesting personages, but could not discover what it meant, because ink evidently
had deluged the page, to the new reader’s great disappointment.
“I’ll ask the girls; maybe they will know,” said Ben to himself as, after looking vainly for more stray leaves, he trudged
on, enjoying the bobolink’s song, the warm sunshine, and a comfortable sense of friendliness and safety, which soon set him
to whistling as gaily as any blackbird in the meadow.
After supper that night, Bab and Betty sat in the old porch playing with Josephus and Belinda, and discussing the events of
the day; for the appearance of the strange boy and his dog had been a most exciting occurrence in their quiet lives. They
had seen nothing of him since morning, as he took his meals at the Squire’s, and was at work with Pat in a distant field when
the children passed. Sancho had stuck closely to his master, evidently rather bewildered by the new order of things, and bound
to see that no harm happened to Ben.
“I wish they’d come. It’s sundown, and I heard the cows mooing, so I know they have gone home,” said Betty, impatiently, for
she regarded the newcomer in the light of an entertaining book, and wished to read on as fast as possible.
“I’m going to learn the signs he makes when he wants Sancho to dance; then we can have fun with him whenever we like. He’s
the dearest dog I ever saw!” answered Bab, who was fonder of animals than her sister.
“Ma said — Ow, what’s that?” cried Betty with a start, as something bumped against the gate outside; and in a moment Ben’s
head peeped over the top as he swung himself up to the iron arch, in the middle of which was the empty lantern frame.
“Please to locate, gentlemen; please to locate. The performance is about to begin with the great Flyin’ Coopid act, in which
Master Bloomsbury has appeared before the crowned heads of Europe. Pronounced by all beholders the most remarkable youthful
progidy agoin’. Hooray! here we are!”
Having rattled off the familiar speech in Mr.
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