CHAPTER IV
HIS STORY
"I ran away from a circus," began Ben, but got no further, for Bab andBetty gave a simultaneous bounce of delight, and both cried out at once,--
"We've been to one! It was splendid!"
"You wouldn't think so if you knew as much about it as I do," answeredBen, with a sudden frown and wriggle, as if he still felt the smart ofthe blows he had received. "We don't call it splendid; do we, Sancho?"he added, making a queer noise, which caused the poodle to growl andbang the floor irefully with his tail, as he lay close to his master'sfeet, getting acquainted with the new shoes they wore.
"How came you there?" asked Mrs. Moss, rather disturbed at the news.
"Why, my father was the 'Wild Hunter of the Plains.' Didn't you ever seeor hear of him?" said Ben, as if surprised at her ignorance.
"Bless your heart, child, I haven't been to a circus this ten years, andI'm sure I don't remember what or who I saw then," answered Mrs. Moss,amused, yet touched by the son's evident admiration for his father.
"Didn't you see him?" demanded Ben, turning to the little girls.
"We saw Indians and tumbling men, and the Bounding Brothers of Borneo,and a clown and monkeys, and a little mite of a pony with blue eyes. Washe any of them?" answered Betty, innocently.
"Pooh! he didn't belong to that lot. He always rode two, four, six,eight horses to oncet, and I used to ride with him till I got too big.My father was A No. 1, and didn't do any thing but break horses and ride'em," said Ben, with as much pride as if his parent had been aPresident.
"Is he dead?" asked Mrs. Moss.
"I don't know. Wish I did,"--and poor Ben gave a gulp as if somethingrose in his throat and choked him.
"Tell us all about it, dear, and may be we can find out where he is,"said Mrs. Moss, leaning forward to pat the shiny dark head that wassuddenly bent over the dog.
"Yes, ma'am. I will, thank y'," and with an effort the boy steadied hisvoice and plunged into the middle of his story.
"Father was always good to me, and I liked bein' with him after grannydied. I lived with her till I was seven; then father took me, and I wastrained for rider. You jest oughter have seen me when I was a littlefeller all in white tights, and a gold belt, and pink riggin', standing'on father's shoulder, or hangin' on to old General's tail, and himgallopin' full pelt; or father ridin' three horses with me on his headwavin' flags, and every one clapping like fun."
"Oh, weren't you scared to pieces?" asked Betty, quaking at the merethought.
"Not a bit. I liked it."
"So should I!" cried Bab enthusiastically.
"Then I drove the four ponies in the little chariot, when we paraded,"continued Ben, "and I sat on the great ball up top of the grand cardrawed by Hannibal and Nero. But I didn't like that, 'cause it was awfulhigh and shaky, and the sun was hot, and the trees slapped my face, andmy legs ached holdin' on."
"What's hanny bells and neroes?" demanded Betty.
"Big elephants. Father never let 'em put me up there, and they didn'tdarst till he was gone; then I had to, else they'd 'a' thrashed me."
"Didn't any one take your part?" asked Mrs. Moss.
"Yes, 'm, 'most all the ladies did; they were very good to me,'specially 'Melia. She vowed she wouldn't go on in the Tunnymunt act ifthey didn't stop knockin' me round when I wouldn't help old Buck withthe bears. So they had to stop it, 'cause she led first rate, and noneof the other ladies rode half as well as 'Melia."
"Bears! oh, do tell about them!" exclaimed Bab, in great excitement,for at the only circus she had seen the animals were her delight.
"Buck had five of 'em, cross old fellers, and he showed 'em off. Iplayed with 'em once, jest for fun, and he thought it would make a hitto have me show off instead of him. But they had a way of clawin' andhuggin' that wasn't nice, and you couldn't never tell whether they weregood-natured or ready to bite your head off. Buck was all over scarswhere they'd scratched and bit him, and I wasn't going to do it; and Ididn't have to, owin' to Miss St. John's standin' by me like a goodone."
"Who was Miss St. John?" asked Mrs. Moss, rather confused by the suddenintroduction of new names and people.
"Why she was 'Melia,--Mrs. Smithers, the ringmaster's wife. His namewasn't Montgomery any more'n hers was St. John. They all change 'em tosomething fine on the bills, you know. Father used to be Senor JoseMontebello; and I was Master Adolphus Bloomsbury, after I stopped bein'a flyin' Coopid and a infant Progidy."
Mrs. Moss leaned back in her chair to laugh at that, greatly to thesurprise of the little girls, who were much impressed with the eleganceof these high-sounding names.
"Go on with your story, Ben, and tell why you ran away and what becameof your Pa," she said, composing herself to listen, really interested inthe child.
"Well, you see, father had a quarrel with old Smithers, and went offsudden last fall, just before tenting season' was over. He told me hewas goin' to a great ridin' school in New York and when he was fixedhe'd send for me. I was to stay in the museum and help Pedro with thetrick business. He was a nice man and I liked him, and 'Melia was goin'to see to me, and I didn't mind for awhile. But father didn't send forme, and I began to have horrid times. If it hadn't been for 'Melia andSancho I would have cut away long before I did."
"What did you have to do?"
"Lots of things, for times was dull and I was smart. Smithers said so,any way, and I had to tumble up lively when he gave the word. I didn'tmind doin' tricks or showin' off Sancho, for father trained him, and healways did well with me. But they wanted me to drink gin to keep mesmall, and I wouldn't, 'cause father didn't like that kind of thing. Iused to ride tip-top, and that just suited me till I got a fall and hurtmy back; but I had to go on all the same, though I ached dreadful, andused to tumble off, I was so dizzy and weak."
"What a brute that man must have been! Why didn't 'Melia put a stop toit?" asked Mrs. Moss, indignantly.
"She died, ma'am, and then there was no one left but Sanch; so I runaway."
Then Ben fell to patting his dog again, to hide the tears he could notkeep from coming at the thought of the kind friend he had lost.
"What did you mean to do?"
"Find father; but I couldn't, for he wasn't at the ridin' school, andthey told me he had gone out West to buy mustangs for a man who wanted alot. So then I was in a fix, for I couldn't go to father, didn't knowjest where he was, and I wouldn't sneak back to Smithers to be abused.Tried to make 'em take me at the ridin' school, but they didn't want aboy, and I travelled along and tried to get work. But I'd have starvedif it hadn't been for Sanch. I left him tied up when I ran off, for fearthey'd say I stole him. He's a very valuable dog, ma'am, the best trickdog I ever see, and they'd want him back more than they would me. Hebelongs to father, and I hated to leave him; but I did. I hooked it onedark night, and never thought I'd see him ag'in. Next mornin' I waseatin' breakfast in a barn miles away, and dreadful lonesome, when hecame tearin' in, all mud and wet, with a great piece of rope draggin'.He'd gnawed it and come after me, and wouldn't go back or be lost; andI'll never leave him again, will I, dear old feller?"
Sancho had listened to this portion of the tale with intense interest,and when Ben spoke to him he stood straight up, put both paws on theboy's shoulders, licked his face with a world of dumb affection in hisyellow eyes, and gave a little whine which said as plainly as words,--
"Cheer up, little master; fathers may vanish and friends die, but Inever will desert you."
Ben hugged him close and smiled over his curly, white head at the littlegirls, who clapped their hands at the pleasing tableau, and then went topat and fondle the good creature, assuring him that they entirelyforgave the theft of the cake and the new dinner-pail. Inspired by theseendearments and certain private signals given by Ben, Sancho suddenlyburst away to perform all his best antics with unusual grace anddexterity.
Bab and Betty danced about the room with rapture, while Mrs. Mossdeclared she was almost afraid to have such a wond
erfully intelligentanimal in the house. Praises of his dog pleased Ben more than praises ofhimself, and when the confusion had subsided he entertained his audiencewith a lively account of Sancho's cleverness, fidelity, and the variousadventures in which he had nobly borne his part.
While he talked, Mrs. Moss was making up her mind about him, and when hecame to an end of his dog's perfections, she said, gravely,--
"If I can find something for you to do, would you like to stay hereawhile?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am, I'd be glad to!" answered Ben, eagerly; for the placeseemed home-like already, and the good woman almost as motherly as thedeparted Mrs. Smithers.
"Well, I'll step over to the Squire's to-morrow to see what he says.Shouldn't wonder if he'd take you for a chore-boy, if you are as smartas you say. He always has one in the summer, and I haven't seen anyround yet. Can you drive cows?"
"Hope so;" and Ben gave a shrug, as if it was a very unnecessaryquestion to put to a person who had driven four calico ponies in agilded chariot.
"It mayn't be as lively as riding elephants and playing with bears, butit is respectable; and I guess you'll be happier switching Brindle andButtercup than being switched yourself," said Mrs. Moss, shaking herhead at him with a smile.
"I guess I will, ma'am," answered Ben, with sudden meekness, rememberingthe trials from which he had escaped.
Very soon after this, he was sent off for a good night's sleep in theback bedroom, with Sancho to watch over him. But both found it difficultto slumber till the racket overhead subsided; for Bab insisted onplaying she was a bear and devouring poor Betty, in spite of her wails,till their mother came up and put an end to it by threatening to sendBen and his dog away in the morning, if the girls "didn't behave and beas still as mice."
This they solemnly promised; and they were soon dreaming of gilded carsand mouldy coaches, runaway boys and dinner-pails, dancing dogs andtwirling teacups.
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