The little wooden horse looked timidly round the playhouse, and thought he had never seen so many beautiful toys. Besides the spotted rocking horse, there were baby dolls and dolls’ houses and teddy bears and toy ships, and bicycles and balls and games and books and bricks and pictures. They were all glaring at him in a very unfriendly manner.
“Do you expect to come and live with us?” they repeated.
“She has a real pony out of doors too,” said the spotted rocking horse. “What can you imagine she would want with you?”
“Grind him to powder!” shouted a toy soldier, jumping angrily about. “Grind him to powder under your rockers, Dapple Grey!”
The rocking horse reared up on his great rockers as though he really meant to do as the toy soldier said, but the little wooden horse turned and made for the door as fast as his wheels would carry him. Just as he reached it the door was flung open, and in ran the little girl he had seen at the window, all gay with the morning, and wonderfully surprised to see the little wooden horse.
“Why, whoever are you?” she asked, with her blue eyes as round as the saucers in her dolls’ tea set. “And what are you doing in my playhouse?”
All the angry toys tried to explain at once; the spotted rocking horse was galloping up and down in his excitement. But the little girl slammed the playhouse door in their faces and took the little wooden horse away to the low bough of an apple tree, where she sat down and took him in her lap.
“Now tell me all about yourself, you funny little wooden horse!” she said.
The little wooden horse told his story, and the tears ran down his face again as he thought of his poor sick master and how hard it was to leave him. When he had finished the little girl put her arms round his neck and hugged him.
“Oh, you poor little wooden horse!” she said. “I could never, never take you away from your master! But I will tell you what you must do. You must go back to him and ask him to make me a little wooden horse just like you, only quite new, and then my father will give him five shillings for it.”
Then she loaded his back with good things from the kitchen and gave him fifty kisses before he trundled out through the gate and back through the forest to the barn where he had left Uncle Peder.
Oh, how tired he was when he came at last to the old building and whinnied for his master! It was night again, and his poor little green wheels creaked with weariness.
“Uncle Peder! Uncle Peder!” whinnied the little wooden horse, to let Uncle Peder know that he was coming with food and good news besides. But nobody answered.
“Is my poor master too ill to hear me?” thought the little wooden horse, quickening his pace, though his legs ached and he was ready to fall asleep for a hundred hours. He hurried into the barn, across to the corner where he had left Uncle Peder sleeping.
The barn was empty! Uncle Peder had disappeared!
4
The Little Old Woman and Uncle Peder
The barn belonged to a little old woman, very kind-hearted, but very apt to scold, so that people were rather afraid of her and left her alone.
One morning when she went into her barn to get hay for her cow what was her surprise to find in the corner poor sick Uncle Peder – so full of fever that he scarcely knew where he was, and so thirsty that he begged her over and over for a drink of water.
“Bless the man!” said the little old woman. She offered him water, and when he drank half a pailful she took him into her cottage and put him to bed in her best spare room, under her patchwork quilt that had a thousand patches in it, with no two of them quite alike. “And there you shall stay till you are well again!” said the little old woman, going into the kitchen to make him a milk pudding, for she felt quite sure that that was just the thing to cure Uncle Peder of his fever.
Uncle Peder was only too glad to lie in a comfortable bed, under a splendid patchwork quilt of a thousand patches. He looked at the gay colours, too ill to think of anything else at all, not even of his little wooden horse. There he stayed while the hours went by, and the milk pudding was made, and the little wooden horse came trundling back through the forest to find his master.
When he had searched the barn up and down and made quite sure that Uncle Peder was nowhere to be found the little wooden horse put his bundle down in a corner and went outside. His heart was beating pit-a-pat! pit-a-pat! with anxiety inside his hollow wooden body, for he could not think where Uncle Peder could be, nor what had become of him.
Then he saw the cottage belonging to the little old woman. Perhaps somebody there could help him.
The little wooden horse trundled up the garden path and battered on the door with his wooden wheels, making a fearful din.
Now Uncle Peder had fallen asleep, and seeing him so peaceful the little old woman herself had gone upstairs to bed. When she heard the battering on the door she flew into a temper, for she thought it was bound to wake Uncle Peder. So she bounced to the window to see whom she could scold, and there on the doorstep was a little wooden horse.
The little old woman immediately thought that some children, late as it was, had been battering on her door and had run away, leaving their horse behind. She put on her slippers and rushed down the stairs, scolding under her breath. Then, before the little wooden horse could say a word, she picked him up and flung him far away into the forest.
Bang! went the door. Bumpetty-bumpetty-bump! went the little wooden horse, rolling over and over where he landed, while the stars turned a thousand somersaults about his head, and the tall forest trees seemed to leap about like tossed straws.
Presently the little wooden horse lay still. The stars were no longer spinning, the trees were quiet, and he was very, very bruised and sore. Only one thing stuck fast in his mind, while his wooden body still smarted and ached. When the little old woman opened the door he had seen behind her Uncle Peder’s jacket and that hanging over a chair in front of the fire!
When he felt better the little wooden horse got up carefully, in case his legs were broken or he had lost a wheel – but, no, nothing so terrible had happened after all. He limped slowly back towards the cottage door, for he meant to explain who he was to the little old woman, and ask her to take him to Uncle Peder.
When she heard the battering on the door for the second time the little old woman flew downstairs in a terrible rage. She was rather deaf, and in any case she was far too angry to listen to what the little wooden horse had to say. This time she flung him with all her might into the ditch that ran round her garden, and then she locked and bolted the door and went back to bed.
The little wooden horse saw that it was of no use to batter on the door. When he had lain in the ditch for some time he crawled stiffly out and went back to the cottage, where he waited patiently under the window until morning, hoping to hear Uncle Peder’s voice by and by.
Sure enough, before very long the little old woman got up and went in to see Uncle Peder.
“How are you this morning, Uncle Peder?”
“Better, I think, and thank you. Well, yes, I think I may say I am a little better.”
“Is there anything you would like, Uncle Peder?”
“Well, yes, and thank you. I think I would like a drink of your beautiful cow’s milk.”
“Well, then, you shall have it,” said the little old woman, going into the kitchen to fetch a bowl.
The little wooden horse did not at once call out to Uncle Peder, for he was afraid the little old woman would be angry if he made any noise. Instead he waited patiently under the window till she should open the door.
By and by the little old woman came out to rinse her bowl, and saw him directly.
“What!” she screamed. “Are you there again? This time I’ll chop you up for firewood!”
But the axe was in the barn, and she had a bowl in one hand, so before the little wooden horse could say a word she seized him by the leg and sent him twisting, spinning, and turning high over the roof.
He flew past the swallows
sitting in the eaves, past the pigeons perched on the thatch, past the starlings nesting in the chimney.
“Look!” they all twittered to one another. “Look at the flying horse!”
The little wooden horse landed bump! in the cabbage bed, and now he was bruised all over. “This is too much!” said the little wooden horse as he lay among the cabbages. But by and by, as he felt better, he decided that it was better to be flung over the roof and dropped into a cabbage bed, and bruised a little, than chopped up for firewood by an angry little old woman. He lay there wondering what to do for a long, long while.
Presently the little old woman came out of the cottage with a milk pail on her arm. She was going to milk her cow. The little wooden horse saw her trot along the path to the shed at the back of the barn. “Oh, if only my master would come to the door!” said the little wooden horse. “Once I find him all will be well. It’s a funny world! Here I am, a quiet little horse who only wants to serve his master and stay by his side, flung into the forest, tossed into a ditch, hurled over the roof! Who knows what will happen to me next?”
Suddenly he had an idea. Perhaps the cottage door was open. If it was he could run in and see Uncle Peder while the little old woman was milking her cow. He scrambled out of the cabbage patch, with the earth still sticking to his four wooden wheels, and began to go creak-creak-creak! round the cottage towards the front door.
But when he was nearly there he heard a shout behind him. The little old woman had finished milking her cow and was chasing him, waving her pail of milk in one hand, the milking stool in the other.
The little wooden horse began to run as fast as his wheels would turn, for the cottage door was standing ajar, and if he could only get to Uncle Peder before the little old woman caught him he felt sure his master would explain everything, and all would be well.
Creak-creak-creak! His four wooden wheels were stiff with earth, but they turned like lightning as the little wooden horse galloped towards the cottage door.
Crash! The little old woman had dropped her milking stool so that she could run faster; she was coming up the garden path, her face red with anger and haste. Crash! The milk pail went too! The milk streamed across the grass, tickling the toes of the daisies and the marigolds, who didn’t really like milk at all. And then, just as he was slipping in through the open door into the cottage, the little wooden horse felt himself seized from behind, while an angry voice cried, “Well, I shall cut you up this time and put you in my copper!” as the little old woman picked him up by one leg and carried him away to the barn.
5
The Little Wooden Horse Seeks his Fortune
The little wooden horse was more frightened than he had ever been in his life, particularly when the little old woman took down the axe that was hanging on the wall of the barn and set him down on the floor.
“Well, this is too bad!” said the little wooden horse. “Here am I, a quiet little horse, whose only wish is to serve my master, going to be chopped up for firewood and put in an old woman’s copper!” And just as the little old woman raised the axe to split him in two he made a dash for the door, and was out in the forest before you could count five.
The axe sank deep into the floor, and there was the little old woman pulling and tugging to get it out so that she could run after the little wooden horse and chop him up for firewood.
The little wooden horse didn’t stop to be caught this time. He saw that the cottage door was fast now, so he hurried away to hide among the trees, where the little old woman could not find him.
“Well, well!” panted the little wooden horse. “Now whatever on earth am I to do? Here am I, a quiet little horse, torn away from my master and sent out into the wide world alone!”
He sat down under a tree to think, for his four little wooden legs were trembling so violently that all his wheels rattled.
He knew he could not go back to the cottage, for his life was not safe there, and who knew how long he would have to wait until Uncle Peder was well again?
“And what shall we do then?” said the little wooden horse to himself. “No food, no money, once we have spent the money we get for the wooden horse my master will make for the little girl!” He wondered if he should go back to the little girl himself. But, no; it was a new horse that she had asked for, and the spotted rocking horse would grind him to powder.
“I must go and seek my fortune,” said the little wooden horse.
He thought how splendid it would be to come back to Uncle Peder full of coins. He would take off his head and pour out the money through the hole in his neck. Then they would both be rich and happy, and Uncle Peder would only make toys for fun, and for poor children who had none.
“For I am strong, and a quiet little horse,” said the little wooden horse. “I ought to make my fortune very quickly.”
He looked sadly back at the cottage window behind which Uncle Peder lay in bed, and then trundled away through the forest to make his fortune.
The little wooden horse trundled through the forest for two days and two nights, and still he hadn’t made his fortune. In fact, there was not a single coin inside his little wooden body, and nobody had spoken to him on the road. By and by he fell in with some men in blue smocks, leading four horses.
The little wooden horse tucked himself in beside the horses and asked where they were going, because he was very lonely with nobody to speak to, so far away from Uncle Peder, left behind in the forest.
“Why, we are going to help Farmer Max with his haymaking,” said the horses. “We go round to all the farmers in turn with our masters.”
“Do you earn a lot of money like that?” asked the little wooden horse.
“Our masters do,” said the horses. “We get a good feed at midday and when we go home. After all, what is money to us?”
“Could I come and work too?” asked the little wooden horse, who wanted some money very badly.
All the horses laughed good-naturedly.
“Why, if you want to!” they said.
At Farmer Max’s the men signed a paper agreeing to work for three days for Farmer Max and to accept the payment he offered them. They went up one by one to sign the paper. The little wooden horse followed them.
All the men roared with laughter when they saw the little wooden horse following them to sign the paper. Farmer Max laughed loudest of them all.
“Well, what do you want, my little wooden horse?” he asked, laughing through his great black beard.
“I want to work for three days for money, like the others,” said the little wooden horse. “I am strong, and a quiet little horse. I can work very well.”
At that Farmer Max laughed louder than ever, but he sent the little wooden horse into the fields with the horses and the other men, and the haymaking began.
The men soon stopped laughing when they saw how hard the little wooden horse could work – how he harnessed himself to the heaviest carts and helped the horses pull the biggest loads. Wherever the work was heaviest, there he was, pulling, loading, straining, doing his best, making the other horses look lazy beside him. All the while Farmer Max strode to and fro, shouting through his great black beard, not laughing now, but ordering the men on harshly, cracking his whip at the horses, telling everyone to work harder and do better. But most of all he shouted at the little wooden horse, who was working harder than anyone there.
At the end of the day the men led their horses home, but Farmer Max took the little wooden horse into one of his own stables and locked him in for the night.
The little wooden horse was so tired he fell asleep directly, dreaming of Uncle Peder and all the money he was going to get when the haymaking was over.
The next morning he was early in the fields. The other horses welcomed the little wooden horse, who helped them so bravely at the heaviest loads.
“Why doesn’t Farmer Max use his own horses for the haymaking?” asked the little wooden horse at dinner-time.
“They are all so thin and po
orly fed they aren’t strong enough,” the other horses told him. “It is cheaper for him to use us. Our masters don’t like coming here, but it is only for three days, and the money is quite good.”
At the end of the third day when the men lined up to get their money they patted and praised the little wooden horse, who was with them, waiting for his money too.
When he had paid the men Farmer Max burst out laughing again. “What does a little wooden horse want with money?” he said, and was going to put away his purse when the men stopped him.
“You must pay the little wooden horse!” they said angrily. “We don’t know where he came from, but he worked better than any of our horses, and he must have his money too.”
At that the farmer’s eyes grew crafty.
“Look here, my little wooden horse,” he said, “how would you like to stay on with me a little while and earn more money? I see you are a strong little horse, and a quiet one. I could find plenty of work for you on my farm.”
The little wooden horse thanked Farmer Max, and said he would like to stay on for another week and earn some more money. So he said goodbye to the men and the other horses and stayed with Farmer Max.
For a whole week the little wooden horse worked as he had never worked before. Farmer Max kept him busy from morning till night, pulling such heavy loads that sometimes he was afraid his little wheels would come off. He went to bed so tired he could hardly dream, but he thought quite a lot about Uncle Peder and the wonderful surprise he was going to give him when the coins rolled out of his neck into Uncle Peder’s lap.
At the end of the week he asked Farmer Max for his money; but Farmer Max said, “Well, now, my little wooden horse, how would you like to stay still another week since you work so well, and earn still some more money?”
The little wooden horse thought he would like to earn some more money, but the work was very hard and the days were long. Still, he agreed to stay another week with Farmer Max, who worked him harder than ever all day long, and locked him into a tumbledown stable at night.
Adventures of the Little Wooden Horse Page 2
