“There’s room for two more,” the young man said.
“Anybody!” Winona yelled. There was a wild rush, but Tib and Dennie reached the pony cart first. They clambered up into the back seat.
The young man took the reins again, and Winona and Joyce climbed into the front seat. The cushions were black, tufted with red. The whip was red.
“That whip is just for decoration, miss,” the young man warned with a wink of his blue eye. “Jingle doesn’t like the whip.”
“He doesn’t like the whip whatsoever!” Winona shouted to her interested guests.
She didn’t feel at all like crying any more. She took the reins back and sat up straight and looked around radiantly at the crowding, clamoring children.
“Just touch him with the reins when you want him to start,” the young man said.
“Drive him around that track,” her father directed, pointing to the circle Ole had marked out. He was as excited as Winona was, almost.
“Ya, but I’ll lead him the first time,” Ole cut in. He was excited, too.
Toodles was most excited of all. He had come rushing down from the terrace to see what was going on, but when he found Winona sitting in the pony cart looking such a picture of bliss, he didn’t seem to like it. He began to bark furiously. He ran around the pony, barking.
“Better put Toodles in the house,” Mr. Root said. “He might make the pony nervous.”
So Myra picked him up and carried him in. She told him severely that he must be good.
“Toodles will get to like Jingle soon,” Winona thought. “He’ll like him as well as that kitten Ole told me about liked the pony named Traveler.”
“All set?” her father asked.
Winona nodded, her eyes like black stars. She slapped the reins gently on Jingle’s back.
“Giddap, Jingle!” she said.
Jingle started to walk around the circle. The bells on his harness jingled merrily. After the first round, Ole let go of the bridle, and Jingle broke into a merry little trot. When he had gone around three times, he stopped.
“Me, next! No, me! Me! Me!” the children clamored, swarming around the pony cart.
“Remember me, Winona!”
“I’m your friend, Winona!”
Mrs. Root was afraid that someone would get hurt. But no one did. And everyone got a ride…except Faddoul, who didn’t want one. He was having too much fun rolling down the terrace.
Scundar and Marium got a ride, and the little boy in the sailor suit, and all the girls from Winona’s Sunday School class. The little boys dressed as Indians stopped being Indians long enough for a ride.
Lottie and Lettie waved to the crowd. Betsy and Tacy sat close together, holding hands. Percy had been acting stand-offish all afternoon but he cheered up after Jingle came. He smiled as Winona drove him briskly around the circle.
Winona didn’t always drive. She didn’t even always ride. There were too many children screaming and waving and jumping for their turn. And she was hostess, her mother reminded her gently. Winona didn’t mind.
“I can drive him tomorrow,” she thought, climbing out. “And the day after that.”
She liked to watch the shaggy little pony pulling the cart around and around under the bright trees.
Jingle didn’t seem to mind how many times he went around. He seemed to be used to giving children rides.
“He likes children,” Winona thought. And so did the young man in the green velvet coat. She wondered whether he used to own Jingle. He understood him pretty well.
“Would you like to have me unhitch the pony?” the young man asked Mr. Root. “Let the youngsters ride?”
“A fine idea!” Mr. Root replied. “I’ll give them some lessons.” Winona’s father knew how to ride very well.
The young man unhitched Jingle and put a blanket on his back, and then a saddle. But when Mr. Root came up, Jingle turned around and looked at him. He put his ears back. He acted cross.
“Jingle won’t let a man ride him,” the young man said. “He doesn’t like men, except me.”
“He doesn’t like men!” Winona shouted to the crowd. “He doesn’t like men whatsoever!”
“He’s always all right with children, though,” the young man added.
“We’ll let Winona try it then,” her father said, and Winona skipped joyfully over to Jingle. She climbed into the saddle and put her feet in the stirrups.
Jingle walked around the circle, cheerful once more.
Tib rode next, as triumphantly as Winona. Tacy acted a little timid; she rode round the circle, though.
When Betsy’s turn came, she said, “Thank you very much. Just a little ride, please.”
She was slow getting on. And once on Jingle’s back, she refused the bridle.
“I’ll just ride this way,” she said, putting her arms tightly around the pony’s neck. Jingle didn’t seem to mind, but after a few steps he paused.
Betsy scrambled off.
“You didn’t get all your ride!” Winona protested. “Get back on!” she added generously. “You can go around three times.”
But Betsy backed hurriedly away. “Oh, I got plenty. Thank you. It was lovely,” she said.
Most of the children seemed a little in awe of Jingle. And no one knew exactly how to ride. Mr. Root shouted directions from the sidelines, but he only confused them.
Nothing confused Jingle. He trotted around and around in his usual business-like way…until Percy’s turn came.
Percy climbed on, and he seemed to know exactly what to do. He lifted the reins commandingly and pushed his knees into the pony’s sides. Perhaps he rode like a man.
At any rate, Jingle turned around and looked at Percy. He looked at him just as he had looked at Mr. Root. He put his ears back. He acted cross. And then like lightning he bolted the track Ole had marked out on the lawn and headed for the alley.
There was an uproar.
“Wow! Look at that!”
“Help! Help!”
“God save!” cried Scundar and Marium.
Bessie and Myra ran to their mother. Mr. Root and the red-haired young man raced in pursuit of the pony.
Winona jumped up and down in a panic. She didn’t mind having Jingle run away. It was thrilling to have a wild pony. But that Percy, of all people, should be on his back in this moment of danger! Percy, with his curls and velvet suit and ruffled blouse!
“Percy will faint dead away!” Dennie said.
But Percy didn’t.
As Jingle galloped down the alley, Percy kept his seat. He wasn’t, Winona saw with amazement, even tugging on the reins. Jingle galloped and galloped, his white tail flying, but Percy held him firmly and at last even succeeded in turning him around.
Mr. Root and the red-haired young man had almost reached them, but Jingle veered away into somebody’s back lawn. Still Percy kept his seat and held the reins.
Jingle kept galloping, but at least he was galloping in the right direction now. He galloped from lawn to lawn, stepping into flower beds now and then, dodging a big bonfire in which a neighbor of the Roots was burning leaves!
At last he reached the lawn of the house next door.
There was a low hedge between that lawn and the lower lawn of the Root house. Jingle jumped. He went up and over in a stunning leap, and Percy didn’t fall off. He bent low like a cowboy. His yellow curls were blowing. He was smiling.
Once across the hedge on the Root lawn, Jingle stopped. He stood still and put his head down, acting ashamed. Percy jumped off and patted him, and Jingle nuzzled Percy’s arm.
Everyone crowded around, shouting and exclaiming.
“Percy!” cried Winona. “You were perfectly wonderful!”
“Maybe you’ll ride in a circus we’re going to have!” Dennie urged.
“You certainly know how to ride,” said the young man in the green velvet coat, running up out of breath.
Mr. Root clapped Percy on the back. “Your father would have been proud of you, s
on,” he said.
Winona looked at Percy, thinking hard.
“Maybe,” she thought, “if I were a boy, Mother would make me wear a ruffled blouse.”
No one else rode Jingle after that. Instead they fed him sugar and carrots. Selma brought out an apple, and he ate that. They picked some clover, and he ate that.
“He’ll eat anything,” the young man laughed. “He even eats ice cream.”
“He shall have some then,” Mrs. Root said kindly. “Children!” she called. “It’s time for refreshments!”
Bessie had started playing the piano, and Myra formed the party into a line. They marched around the house and into the front door. They must be going to the dining room, Winona thought, and she could not help feeling a little anxious.
They could hold each other on their laps, of course. And her mother had taken off the place cards. But there were only sixteen caps and sixteen tin horns!
To her great relief they didn’t go into the dining room after all.
They went into the library, where sheets had been spread on the carpet. They sat down in a circle, and Bessie and Myra passed dishes of ice cream. There was plenty of ice cream because Myra had gone down to the drug store and bought more.
Winona’s mother came in carrying the birthday cake. It was a beautiful cake with little birds and bouquets of flowers in the frosting. Everyone sang “Happy Birthday” and Winona blew the candles out. But she didn’t know what to wish for because now she had a pony.
The cake wasn’t enormously big for so very many children but it didn’t matter. Right behind Mrs. Root came Bessie with the cake Scundar had brought.
“There’s going to be lots of cake,” Mrs. Root said, “because Scundar brought Winona this beautiful present.”
The baklawa cake was rich and sweet, covered with honey. It was delicious.
Everything turned out all right.
It was even all right about the favors. There were just sixteen caps and sixteen tin horns but instead of giving each one a cap and a horn, Mrs. Root gave each one a cap or a horn. Everyone got something, and they had fun exchanging.
Toodles came out from under the lounge. The children played with him and gave him bites. They talked about the pony.
Joyce said she would rather have the big, jointed doll.
“And I’d rather have the printing press,” said Betsy, looking thoughtfully at that picture with the mouse.
Scundar looked up at the sparkling chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
“How do you light it?” he wanted to know.
Winona showed him the lighter, a long-handled stick with a taper in the end. You lighted the taper, then turned on the gas with the stick and lighted the gas with the taper.
Lottie and Lettie went out in the hall to look at the telephone. The long, dark box was attached to the wall, with a bell on one side that you cranked to get Central.
“If Mamma had a telephone we’d telephone her,” Lettie cried.
At last the doorbell began ringing. Parents were coming to take their children home. Children who lived near enough to go home alone ran into the bedroom for their jackets. They all told Mrs. Root they had had a nice time.
“We are full of thanks to you,” Scundar said, bowing, and Marium added demurely, “You are welcome at our home at any time.”
Winona’s mother looked at them with a wondering smile.
“Pro’bly,” Winona thought, “she didn’t know Syrians were so nice.”
Mrs. Root thanked them again for the cake. She thanked Lottie and Lettie again for the mittens.
Betsy, Tacy, and Tib left together, hand in hand.
Usually Winona hated to have a party end, but she was glad tonight when the last child was gone. Now she could take some ice cream out to Jingle. She could hardly wait to see him again.
Her mother sat down on the lounge. “Winona dear,” she began. “Come here! I want to talk to you.”
But Winona ran toward the kitchen pretending that she hadn’t heard. She did so want to see Jingle! And the talk would only be about those children she had invited to the party.
“Winona!” Mrs. Root repeated, and then Winona came back and sat down. She had to, when her mother used that tone. She kept thinking about Jingle, though.
Her mother took hold of Winona’s hand and looked at her for a long time without saying a word.
“I’m not going to punish you,” she said at last, “because it’s your birthday, but I want to be sure you understand what a foolish, thoughtless thing you did. Why, we might not have had enough ice cream! We might not have had enough cake! Even as it was, you caused great inconvenience. All those beautiful place cards Bessie made were wasted! And she had worked on them so hard!”
Winona hadn’t thought of that. She was sorry.
“I hope,” Mrs. Root said gravely, “you will be more thoughtful, Winona, now that you are eight.”
Winona bounded upright.
“That’s right,” she thought to herself, “I am eight. Eight years old!” She’d been too busy with the party and the pony to think about it before.
“Oh, Mother!” she cried. “I’m sure I will! I’ll be more thoughtful…and more ladylike…and more…more…dignified. I did such foolish things when I was only seven, Mother. It’s different now that I’m eight.”
Her mother said she hoped so.
“Now may I go?” Winona asked, swinging on her toes.
“Where do you want to go?”
“Why, to take…” But suddenly Winona decided not to stop to get ice cream. Her mother might think it was too late to go outdoors, or that she ought to put on a jacket or something. Her mother wouldn’t understand—nobody could—how much she wanted to see Jingle in his own little stall.
“I’ll be back in a sec,” Winona cried.
She ran through the kitchen and out into the twilight.
8
Winona and Jingle
IT WAS growing dark outside. Mr. Dollar had lighted the street lamp. A wind had come up and was bringing down the leaves. They had almost covered the track Ole had laid out that afternoon.
Winona hurried into the barn. She was cold in her party dress. And Jingle, she thought, had better have a blanket. She wanted to get to him quickly, to pet him. He was such a little pony! He might feel lonesome the first night in his new home.
She passed Bob and Florence in their stalls. They stopped eating their oats and turned their heads to look at her. But the empty stall which she had planned would be Jingle’s was empty still. Ole hadn’t even put fresh straw on the floor.
And where was Ole? He wasn’t in the barn. He wasn’t in the corral. Winona ran out into the alley. And there she saw the young man in the green velvet coat leading Jingle down toward Pleasant Street.
“Wait! Wait!” Winona ran after him as fast as her legs would carry her. The wind whipped the skirts of her accordion-pleated dress.
“What’s the matter, little girl?” the young man asked.
She looked at him with imploring black eyes and caught Jingle’s bridle.
“Why…what’s up?” He was trying to joke.
“Where are you going with my pony?” Winona demanded.
The young man passed his hands over his red hair. With his smile gone, he looked tired and his expression was anxious.
“You don’t understand,” he said. “Your father hired me to bring Jingle this afternoon to entertain the children. Jingle is my pony.”
“No! No!” Winona cried.
“I take him around from town to town so children can ride him. That’s my business. When I reached Deep Valley yesterday I went to the Sun to put an ad in your father’s paper…”
“No!” Winona stopped him. She began to cry wildly. “Father! Mother! Ole!”
Ole came running out of the kitchen, where he had been eating his supper. Selma ran out after him, her apron flying. Mr. and Mrs. Root, Bessie, and Myra came from the dining room through the back porch.
Winona flung he
rself into her father’s arms, crying and sobbing.
She heard the young man say, “The little girl seemed to think the pony was hers. She didn’t understand.”
Her father hugged her and murmured comforting words. Winona heard him speak to the young man.
“Let the pony stay here tonight,” he said in a low voice. “Ole can put him up in the barn. There’s an empty stall.”
An empty stall! Jingle wasn’t supposed to sleep in it just one night. That was supposed to be his home, forever.
With her father and mother on either side and her sisters behind, Winona went sobbing back into the house. In the library, she pulled away and threw herself down on the rug in front of the fire.
Toodles whined and licked her ear. He found her cheek and licked that. Winona put her arm around him, but she kept on crying.
Sometimes when Winona wanted something she cried in order to get it. She knew that wasn’t a good thing to do. She felt ashamed after she did it. But that wasn’t the way she was crying tonight. She was crying because she couldn’t help it.
Her father and mother and Bessie and Myra tried to make her stop, but she couldn’t.
“We’d better just leave her alone a few minutes,” her father said.
“She’s tired out from the party…all that excitement,” said her mother.
“No,” answered her father. “It’s more than that.”
They went to the end of the room and talked softly.
Winona’s sobs grew quieter at last; she could hear what they were saying. It didn’t seem important at first. It was like what you hear when you’re half asleep and people are talking in another room. But it began to make sense.
“You know, Agatha,” her father said, “a Shetland hasn’t any vicious traits. He loves children and enters into their play just like another child.”
“Winona has Toodles and two sisters to play with,” Mrs. Root replied.
“A pony keeps a boy or girl out in the sunshine and fresh air,” her father said. “It’s a wonderful source of health.”
“Winona is perfectly healthy,” her mother answered. “And she’s out of doors more than I want her to be.”
“Owning a pony develops a sense of responsibility,” her father said. “The child should take care of him, of course. Winona should be taught to feed and water him and to give him exercise. It would be good for her.”
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