A STORY OF A WOODEN HORSE.
CHAPTER III.
JOURNEY TO PARIS.—CRESSIDA IN THE GARDEN OF THE LUXEMBOURG.—MAURICE’S UNCLE.—A GREAT TEMPTATION.—MAURICE KEEPS HIS WORD.
Mr. and Mrs. de Roisel were accustomed to spend the winter in Paris; and when November came on, and the time for their departure arrived, it was not without anxiety that Maurice thought of taking Cressida to live on the first floor of a Paris house. The rooms were large and handsome, it is true, but not suitable for a horse: it was necessary, however, to make the best of circumstances.
They drove to the railway station at Savigny, where Mr. de Roisel arranged for them to have a carriage to themselves, and Cressida was lifted into it, for Maurice wanted to make the journey to Paris mounted, on the back of his horse. Off they started: my little friend, firmly seated on his saddle, went along at the rate of forty miles an hour. In less than an hour, however, they reached Paris, and then Maurice confessed that he felt tired: it was the first time he had made so long a journey on horseback.
Arrived at their own house, Maurice at once set about making the pony as comfortable as he could. The first night Cressida had to rough it a little; but in the course of two or three days Maurice had fitted up in his own bedroom a stable, which corresponded with the general comfort and elegance of the rooms occupied by the family.
THE WORKMAN, AFTER HIS DAY’S TOIL IS OVER, WALKS THERE WITH HIS CHILDREN.
Picture to yourselves a white tent embroidered in blue, supported against the wall of the room. The entrance to it is shut up by curtains; but when open, these curtains are held back on each side by broad blue ribbons. Inside the tent, at the end against the wall of the room, are a rack and a manger of ebony. At one side stands a large chest, also of ebony: it is divided into two compartments—one for corn, the other containing everything required for grooming a horse. Also at the end of the tent, hanging against the wall, are a saddle and bridle of Russia leather, and two or three whips. I must add that a beautiful sheepskin rug, white and soft as the down of a swan, takes the place of the straw put down for litter in a common stable. Such was the new abode of the pretty pony.
When it became known that Maurice possessed a wonderful horse, which, though made of wood, could gallop, and neigh, and shake his head like a real horse, he received numerous visits; and his little friends envied him his happiness. Several of them proposed to him that he should give them Cressida in exchange for some of their own beautiful toys; such as, for instance, a mule with bells, like the mules in Spain; a pretty sailing boat, intended to sail on the basin in the Tuileries; a box containing everything required for performing the astonishing tricks of the famous conjuror Robert Houdin; a whole flock of sheep with their shepherd; and one little girl offered him her most beautiful doll—a doll that had the air of a queen, and whose clothes were made of fine cambric and lace.
But what were the most beautiful toys in the world compared to Cressida? Maurice, who had so bravely resisted the temptation of giving his horse in exchange for Jeanne, found no difficulty in refusing these offers.
For some days after Maurice arrived in Paris, the weather continued mild and fine, although it was so late in the autumn; and he was able to go out several times with Cressida into the gardens of the Luxembourg. These gardens may not be particularly fashionable, but they are very beautiful all the same. You may see there elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen, and children with clean and tidy nurses; but you also see there, in the evening, the workman, after his day’s toil is over, walking with his children; perhaps carrying one in his arms: and though he may carry it awkwardly, it is still touching to see what care he takes of it.
ONE OF THE KEEPERS OF THE GARDENS MAKES A MISTAKE.
My little friend, whose parents had no prejudice against the gardens for reasons of this kind, went there often, and delighted in riding up and down the great avenue upon Cressida. They made a sensation together, I assure you. Not only the children, but the mammas and even the gentlemen expressed their surprise and admiration. Many people thought at first that Cressida was a real pony. I have been told, though I do not vouch for the fact, that one of the keepers of the gardens, going up to Maurice, summoned him to leave, because it was not permitted to ride there on horseback. This caused great amusement, as you may suppose, among the lookers-on. It has been said also that this mistake of the keeper was reported in the Journal des Enfants—(The Child’s Journal)—a day or two after it occurred, but I cannot say I recollect reading it. Maurice used to take his horse into the Luxembourg gardens every day that it was fine, and enjoyed his rides very much.
Maurice had an uncle—his mother’s brother—a lieutenant in the navy, who returned about this time from a distant expedition. He came to rest from his fatigues at Paris, and took up his abode with his sister, of whom he was very fond. He was a young man of about twenty-eight or thirty years of age, intelligent, and of very agreeable manners. But beneath this amiable and gentle surface, he possessed a strong will, and a resolute devotion to whatever he might consider to be a duty.
The uncle and nephew soon became great friends, and were almost inseparable. They used to go out walking together, and sometimes the uncle would teach Maurice his lessons. In the evening they often went together to the circus or to an exhibition of some sort. But when they passed the evening at home, Maurice was almost more amused; for he never tired of looking over books of sketches, which his uncle had made during his voyages.
There were sketches representing the Red Indians of America; the natives of Australia; the inhabitants of the islands in the Southern Pacific, and of the coasts of Africa. Maurice was astonished to see faces painted in all the colours of the rainbow; and he wondered at the singular ideas savages have of making themselves look more beautiful. He saw some with pieces of wood fixed into their under lips, to make them hang down; some with their teeth blackened; others with their eyelids painted red. There were also sketches of Laplanders, who were certainly not handsome,—not figures that a sculptor would choose for models. Maurice’s uncle gave him an account also of the manners and customs of all these people, and my little friend learnt with horror that among savages, there are those who roast and devour their fellow-creatures with the same relish with which we eat good roast beef and mutton.
Then his uncle showed him landscapes of strange countries, all drawn by himself, and sketches of the principal cities he had visited; afterwards, drawings of foreign birds and flowers, such as are not to be found in Europe. All this interested Maurice, and while it amused him, gave him lessons in natural history and geography. You will easily understand how fond he was likely to become of such a kind companion and teacher.
The uncle always showed a great interest in Cressida, admired its mechanism, and was fond of watching the little horse and its rider as they went along together. One day, when he had been looking at them for some time with a very thoughtful air, he said suddenly:—
“I wish I had a horse like Cressida.”
“Why not buy one then?” replied Maurice.
“Ah, you know very well that is impossible. There is no such horse to be had anywhere.”
“That’s true,” rejoined Maurice; “but why do you want a wooden horse—you who are so big, and can ride a real horse, if you wish?”
“No real horse—not the most beautiful in the world—could be the same to me as Cressida,” rejoined the uncle. “It may seem like a caprice, but it is not. I am going to sea again very soon, and I confess I should like to take Cressida with me. I could amuse myself with him on board ship. He would be a great resource during the long tedious hours when there is nothing to do. Besides, if I had the horse I should feel myself less separated from you all; and it would remind me of you particularly, Maurice, whom I shall be so sorry to leave.”
“Ah, my dear uncle, what you desire is impossible. I cannot give you Cressida.”
“I don’t expect you to give it me for nothing, of course.”
“Indeed I wish I could give it you for nothing.”
“Listen, now, to what I intend to do: I will leave you in exchange all my books of sketches.”
“Oh, pray stop, uncle,” cried Maurice, feeling more and more unhappy; “what you are saying makes me so miserable. You know I promised Fritz never to part with Cressida.”
“But every day people make promises which they do not keep: besides, Fritz did not know that I should ever wish to have the horse, when he asked you to make that promise.”
“Still, I gave my word.”
“Yes, the word of a child: what does that signify?”
“Does age make a difference? Are not children expected to keep their promises?”
“Oh, I don’t mean to say exactly that,” replied the uncle. “Your own conscience must teach you how that ought to be. But I think it strange that you should prefer that old Fritz to me.”
Now you must not suppose, my little readers, that Maurice resisted his uncle’s persuasion with the calm steadfastness of a grown-up man, whose mind is quite clear as to his duty, and who is quite decided to keep to it. No: poor little Maurice found his heart drawing him one way and his conscience another. At last he wisely determined that he would take an opportunity, when alone with his father, to ask his advice: but the young lieutenant did not give him a chance of doing this, for he began again upon the subject the same evening.
“I have been reflecting,” he said to Maurice, “and I think my books of sketches are not sufficient to give you for your horse. Listen now: besides the books, I will give you a real pony. Perhaps he will be rather bigger than Cressida; but I will buy one as much like Cressida as possible.”
“YOUR SON IS A HERO!”
“Well, but,” said Maurice, “why not keep the live one for yourself? You can even call it Cressida if you like.”
The young officer was a little put out by this suggestion, but after a minute he replied:—“I could not take a real horse with me on board ship; but a wooden horse is different. Now look here: not only will I give you the pony, but you shall have a groom expressly to take care of it; and both groom and pony shall be kept at my expense while I am away. I will pay, besides, for you to have some lessons in riding, so that when your papa goes out on horseback to the Bois de Boulogne you will be able to ride by his side.”
“You will do all that?”
“Yes, really, I will do all that.”
“Ah, no, no! I cannot give you Cressida. If that poor Fritz should ever come back, I will tell him all; and perhaps he will let me give you the horse.”
“You behave to me like a selfish and ungrateful child.”
“Oh, uncle, uncle,” exclaimed poor little Maurice, and he began to weep bitterly, “is it possible that you say this to me seriously? Ah, well! then you shall have——” He was going to say,—“you shall have Cressida;” but as he spoke his mother entered the room. Her presence seemed to remind him that he was going to break his promise after all; and he went on:—“You may think what you please, uncle, but I will not give you Cressida.”
“Really!” exclaimed the young man with an appearance of delight which astonished Maurice.
“And now go away from me, pray,” said Maurice, still crying bitterly. “I am ill; I think I am going to faint:” and he ran into the arms of his mother.
“Your son is a hero!” cried the young officer, joyfully, addressing his sister. “He is a hero, I say.”
“And you—you are cruel,” replied the mother, caressing her son, who was sobbing convulsively.
“But did you not hear,” said the young man, “how he kept to his word,—how he refused to give me Cressida?”
“It is not right,” said the mother, “to torture a child by such a trial. Suppose out of love for you he had given way; you would have reproached him for listening to the dictates of his heart rather than obeying his sense of duty. Let me tell you that what is a virtue in grown-up people, is not always so in a child. It is through their affections that we govern children, and you would teach him to combat his tenderest feelings. Besides, you set a bad example: you were practising a deception in pretending that you wanted the horse.”
“What! uncle,” cried my little friend, who began to recover, “was it only make-believe when you asked me for Cressida? You only wanted to see if I should keep my promise? You would not have loved me any longer, perhaps, if I had given it to you; and yet I should have given it because I love you.”
“You hear that,” said Mrs. de Roisel.
“What a great man this little fellow will make some day!” exclaimed the uncle.
I daresay my little readers can see, though the uncle did not, how near Maurice was to yielding and giving up Cressida at last. We will allow the young officer to remain in ignorance upon this point, but let us tell him that it is always better to prevent faults than to provoke them.
(To be continued.)
PUZZLE-PAGE.
Now, children, try to find out this puzzle page. The names of two of these objects begin with C, one with E, one with G, one with I, and one with M.
