This went on for days: the little wooden horse was played with and quarrelled over and galloped round and round the nursery, along the corridors, even up and down the stairs, but, strange to relate, the children did not get tired of him. They never went to their father now demanding new toys: they wanted nothing better than the little wooden horse.
He himself was feeling battered and worn. He longed for the end of the week, so that he might go on his journey to join Uncle Peder. Even the dishonest Farmer Max had not treated him as these children did: his paint was chipped all over his body, his tail thin with being tugged, his wheels splintering already from galloping round the nursery floor.
“Only two days – only one day more,” he said to himself as the end of the week drew near. “Then I shall take my payment and go.”
The children had no idea that they were to lose their favourite toy so soon, for their father had told them nothing. He had been sure that they would get tired of the little wooden horse long before the week came to an end.
On the very last day of all the youngest child, Benjamin, managed to steal the little wooden horse when the rest were not looking, and ran with him into the garden. It was the first time he had been able to play with him alone, and Benjamin was delighted.
He took him down to the stream and gave him a drink. Then he put him in the water to see if he would swim.
“Poor little wooden horse!” said Benjamin when the little wooden horse sank to the bottom immediately. “Of course you can’t swim when you are full of my brothers’ heavy marbles.”
He took the little wooden horse out of the stream and emptied all the marbles into his own pockets, which relieved the little wooden horse considerably, for the marbles had been almost more than he could bear. Benjamin then put back the two coins and screwed on his head, for he was an honest little boy.
He was a careless little boy too, and he had not screwed the little wooden horse’s head back firmly into its socket.
Now the little wooden horse swam bravely, while Benjamin ran up and down the bank shouting for joy, when all of a sudden a big piece of wood floating down the stream charged the little wooden horse and knocked his head off before he could say a word.
Benjamin screamed and plunged into the stream. He seized the little wooden horse’s body and pulled him out of the water just as he was beginning to drown, with the water rushing into the hole in his neck – glug-glug-glug! But his wooden head, with its painted, staring eyes went rushing away down the stream out of sight.
Benjamin ran down the bank, but it was too late: there was nothing he could do but sit on the bank and sob, clasping the little wooden horse with both hands as the water dripped off them both in round, wet, melancholy tears.
It was here that Benjamin’s brothers discovered him when they came to punish him for stealing their wooden horse; and when they had finished buffeting and punching him, and his sisters had joined in with slaps and pinches, they suddenly discovered the dreadful thing that had happened to the little wooden horse’s head, so they began all over again, till some of them had fallen in the stream, and Benjamin was black and blue.
For the rest of the day nobody would speak to him, and when the evening came the eldest boy, Michael, put the little wooden horse under his own bed and dared anybody to take him away.
The little wooden horse could not sleep for sorrow and the thought of his lost head. The week was over, and the next day he would start on his travels again. But where was a horse without a head?
At last he became so miserable he decided he could not bear to wait any longer. For one thing the children might prevent him from going, and for another he was determined to have one more look for his wooden head by the banks of the stream before he set out on his journey home.
Very quietly he crept out from beneath Michael’s bed and began to trundle across the floor. He had just reached the door when one of his wheels gave a terrible squeak, and Michael sat up in bed.
“What’s that?” he said. “Halt! Who goes there?”
“What is it?” asked Roderick sleepily, waking up too.
“I was dreaming of soldiers. I thought I was a sentry,” said Michael, burying his head in the pillow, and the little wooden horse slipped out of the door unseen.
All thoughts of the money he was to have earned had gone out of his head. He only wanted to leave the house and escape from those dreadful children. His little heart nearly jumped out of the hole in his neck when, as he was passing a door that was slightly ajar, another voice called out sternly, “Who goes there?”
It was the children’s father this time, sitting up in bed in his pyjamas, blinking at the little wooden horse, who, after hesitating for a little, pushed open the door and went inside.
“If you please, sir,” he said very humbly, “the week you mentioned is over, and I am battered and bruised and have lost my head. If you please, I want to go home now, and end my days with my master, who is across the sea.”
“But you haven’t been paid yet!” said the children’s father, jumping out of bed and fetching from his dressing table three silver coins, which he slipped down the neck of the little wooden horse. “I had hoped,” he added, “that you would stay another week, for I have never seen the children happy so long with one toy, and now they will come clamouring to me again. I am very sorry indeed that they have been so rough with you and battered your paint and lost your head, but if I give you three more silver coins and ask the old shopkeeper to make you a new head and give you a new coat of paint, will you stay another week and play with my children?”
But the little wooden horse could not consider this, for he had never been so battered in his life, and the thought of another week of the same treatment was more than he could endure.
“If you please, sir, I would rather go home,” he said.
The children’s father did not attempt to prevent him.
“Well,” he said, “I dare say you are right. All I ask is that when you return to your master you ask him to make me five little wooden horses like yourself, one for each of my children, and I will willingly pay him five shillings for every one of them.”
Then he said goodbye very kindly to the little wooden horse, who trundled away down the stairs out into the moonlight.
14
The Swim to the Sea
The little wooden horse trundled down the garden path, and it was fortunate that he had no painted eyes with which to see his shadow in the moonlight, for it was as ridiculous a shadow as one could hope to see – just a little round body with no head and four straight drumsticks of legs on chipped wooden wheels.
When he came to the stream the little wooden horse jumped into the water, although the moon had made it icy cold, and began to swim down with the current, feeling the banks on either side, in case his head had caught up in the rushes. It would be terrible to pass it by!
But the water carried him along rapidly, just as it had carried his head many hours before. There were no rushes to hinder him, just green banks and the swiftly flowing water lapping like a cold necklace round the body of the little wooden horse.
He had to keep his neck well above water, for if any came in, his wooden body would fill, and he would be drowned. So he did his best not to be taken by surprise by any rough water, or thrust under the surface by overhanging branches, and swam bravely on.
He nearly came to a terrible end some way down the stream, when he was already several miles below the children’s home. For some while he had heard a roaring and splashing of water ahead of him, and had wondered what it was. As the noise drew nearer the stream became swifter and swifter, carrying him along like a tiny round cork on four wheels.
Suddenly he realized that he was coming to the weir above the mill, and if he ever swam into that tangled jungle of waters he would never keep the waves out of the hole in his neck, and he would be drowned.
The little wooden horse swam to the bank with all his might, and managed to land just above the weir, trembli
ng all over with terror.
When he thought of his poor little head being hurled down into the same mass of waters so short a time before the little wooden horse began to sob with despair.
“I shall never, never find my wooden head,” he wept. “Why didn’t I stay behind as the gentleman suggested, and get a new head made by the kind old shopkeeper?”
Then he remembered how Uncle Peder had made the old head, and no one could make such heads as he.
“Perhaps he would not recognize me in a new head,” the little wooden horse said to console himself. “I will go back to him without my head, and he will make me a new one.”
So he trundled down the bank of the stream past the weir, where the water roared past the mill, and on to calmer waters. Then he plunged into the stream again and swam on, with the moon fading in the sky and a grey dawn breaking in the east.
By the time the sun had risen the little wooden horse was so exhausted it was all he could do to keep the hole in his neck out of the water. Now and then, in fact, a cold little trickle entered in spite of his care, and shivered its way down into his inside among the coins. When that happened he swam harder than ever, but he was very, very tired.
Only one thing kept him from climbing out on the bank to rest among the reeds, and that was the far-off smell of the sea, which had been becoming more and more distinct ever since the sun rose. Somewhere, at the end of the stream, which had now widened into a broad river, miles away, perhaps, there was a seashore bounding the sea, and beyond the sea was Uncle Peder!
The sun rose higher and higher; far beyond, on the horizon, gleamed a silver line – the waves! But the little wooden horse could not see it. He no longer had any painted eyes to see with, and anyway he was too exhausted to notice anything at all.
Now the noise of the waves could be heard bringing in the morning tide, the crying of gulls, the screams of the terns; but the little wooden horse’s neck was sinking lower in the water, as more and more frequently little trickles of cold water ran down into the hole and into his inside.
“I shall drown,” thought the little wooden horse, who was no longer swimming: he let the water carry him. He no longer had the strength to drag himself out of the water on to the bank. Nothing mattered any more: he was going to die.
Now the river flowed faster and faster, for it was about to meet the sea. As it flowed it filled the hole in the neck of the little wooden horse, so that he sank deeper and deeper into the water: but he was not yet drowned. The river flowed so fast that it carried him along in spite of himself, and now the roar of the waves on the beach was louder than the roar of the river. The little wooden horse did not hear either of them: he was so nearly drowned.
Down on the seashore a donkey man and his little wife had come to give their donkeys a drink where the fresh river water ran into the sea.
Just now they paused to examine a very curious thing that the donkey man’s dog had found lying on the beach.
“It came out of the sea,” said the donkey man.
“It came out of the river,” said the donkey man’s wife.
“Somebody left it on the shore,” said the donkey man.
The dog wagged his tail, looked wise, and said nothing.
“It’s a head,” said the donkey man’s wife.
“It’s a boat, or part of one,” said the donkey man.
“It’s a head, I tell you, and there is the body that belongs to it!” screamed the donkey man’s wife, as the river plunged under the gravel bank that divided it from the sea and threw up the body of the little wooden horse at their feet.
The donkey man picked up the body and carefully emptied it of all the river water that was inside. When the coins came rolling out he opened his eyes wide with astonishment, but he was an honest man, and when he had counted them he put them back again.
“That is his own business, I suppose,” said the donkey man, while his wife nodded wisely.
Then they put the little wooden horse’s head back on to his body, and were as pleased as children to see how well both fitted.
The little wooden horse was even more delighted than they, but as yet he felt too weak to do more than blink his painted eyes and flap his wooden ears once or twice backwards and forwards. Then he heaved a deep sigh of satisfaction and looked around him, hardly believing his eyes when he saw that at last he really had come to the sea.
15
Black Jakey
The donkey man and his wife led the little wooden horse back to the tiny stable on the seashore where they kept their donkeys.
Then when he had had a good meal and was warm and dry again he felt well enough to thank them both gratefully for saving his life and his head, after which he told them his story, and asked if there were any boats calling soon that would take him across the sea to Uncle Peder.
The donkey man said it was unlikely that any boats would call for a week or so, but meanwhile how would he like to earn a little money by working for the donkey man, giving rides on the shore to the children who came down to the sea for their holidays? The donkeys were old and lazy, the donkey man said. A little wooden horse would be something new.
The little wooden horse was quite pleased with this idea. The passage across the sea would cost him some of his silver coins, he knew, but because the donkey man had saved his life the little wooden horse offered to help him for nothing. The donkey man and his wife would not hear of this, so it was decided that the little wooden horse should keep half of everything he earned.
Most of the children on the shore were tired of the donkeys, but when they saw the little wooden horse they came in crowds. He was kept busy all day long, but the sands were firm and dry. It was no hardship to him to trundle up and down carrying laughing children on his back; they did not quarrel over him as the children had done in the house he ran away from.
The donkeys were very friendly to him. He was more popular than they, so they had very little work to do, which pleased them very well. On the other hand, the little wooden horse earned a great many pennies, and in the evening the donkey man gave him a whole silver coin, which was as much as he had earned from the circus master. The little wooden horse no longer mourned over his lost fortune. “In a few days I shall have a new one,” he said.
The donkeys’ master and his wife were very good to him. They fed him well, and would not allow him to work too hard. Every morning he trotted along to the end of the shore to see if a boat were coming in that day, but there was never one to be seen, and he had to come back disappointed.
“Never mind, one will come tomorrow,” said the little wooden horse.
Meanwhile he was very happy indeed, his only sorrow being that he could not repay the donkey man and his wife for all they had done for him.
“Pay us!” they laughed, throwing up their hands. “What should we want payment for? As if you haven’t earned more money for us this summer than we have gained for many a year!”
There was another donkey man on the beach, as mean and bad-tempered as the first was jolly and kind. His donkeys were thin and unkempt, he charged too much for donkey rides, and nobody went near him. He hated the little wooden horse’s friends after this, and one day he packed up and left the shore for another seaside place. Everyone was very glad to see him take himself and his bad-tempered beasts away.
Two nights after Black Jakey, as he was called, had left the shore the little wooden horse, who slept with the donkeys, was awakened by a stealthy step outside the shed.
He pricked up his wooden ears and listened. A moment later Black Jakey peeped round the door of the stable.
“Now that is a funny thing!” said the little wooden horse. “Whatever can Black Jakey be doing here?”
He soon guessed what Black Jakey was after when he saw him creep into the stable and unfasten the halter of the best and the sleekest of the donkeys.
“Now whatever shall I do?” said the little wooden horse to himself. “Shall I go and tell the donkey man that Black Jakey is stea
ling his donkeys, or shall I rouse the dog that sleeps on the bed of the donkey man’s wife?”
Then he saw that Black Jakey was carrying an ugly-looking cudgel. Anybody who tried to stop him now would have a bad time.
“I must do it myself,” said the little wooden horse.
He was too prudent to attack Black Jakey. He decided to follow him.
The donkey man’s donkeys were sleek and fat. They were also greedy. Caliban was the greediest of them all, and when Black Jakey offered him sugar and carrots he followed him out of the stable willingly enough, hoping for more. Black Jakey gave him more, too, until they were out of sight of the donkey man’s stable, when he broke into a jog-trot, pulling the donkey after him by the rope on his halter.
Behind them, with his wooden wheels rolling as quietly as possible, came the little wooden horse.
Now and then Black Jakey stopped to listen, as if he suspected that someone was following him. When he did this the little wooden horse stopped too, crouching in the shadows so that he should not be seen.
Once the donkey himself heard the little wooden horse following. He looked round and brayed a welcome.
Black Jakey immediately stuffed his mouth with carrots, so that he could not bray any more, while the little wooden horse stayed as still as a mouse in the shadow of the bushes they were passing.
They left the sea and wended their way inland, where the country lay quiet and still, unlapped by the waves. The little wooden horse did not like leaving the sea behind: it seemed like turning his back on Uncle Peder, and he had the crazy idea that a boat might come in while he was away; but he owed this duty to the donkey man, and was determined to carry it out.
When they had walked a long way in the dark they heard some distance ahead of them the long, mournful bray of another donkey, and Caliban, who had begun to lag, quickened his pace and answered it. This time Black Jakey let him bray his heart out without trying to stop him. A few moments later they came upon a little tent pitched beside a furze bush on the heath. Behind the tent three starved-looking donkeys were tethered.
Adventures of the Little Wooden Horse Page 8
