“Oh Mammy, Mammy, its Baltie, and she says I can’t keep him, and they are going to kill him, ’cause he’s old and blind and hasn’t anyone to take care of him. And Mammy, Mammy, please don’t let ’em ’cause I love him. I do, I do, Mammy,” cried Jean as she cast Baltie’s leader from her and rushed to Mammy, to fling herself into those protecting arms and sob out her woes.
“Wha’, wha’, wha’, yo’ say, Baby?” stammered Mammy, whose tongue sometimes became unruly under great excitement. “Somebody gwine tek away dat old horse dat yo’ love, an’ breck yo’ heart? Huh! Who gwine do dat when Mammy stan’ by? I like ’er see ’em do it! Co’se I knows Baltie. Ain’ I seen him dese many years? An’ yo’ gwine pertec’ him an’ keer fer him in his discrepancy? Well, ef yo’ wantter yo’ shall, an’ dat’s all ’bout it.”
“But Mammy, Mammy, she can’t; she mustn’t; what will mother say?” remonstrated Constance smiling in spite of herself at the ridiculous situation for Mammy had promptly put on her war-paint, and was a formidable champion to overcome.
“An’ what yo’ ma gotter say ’bout it if I sets out ter tak’ care of an’ old horse? ’Taint her horse. She aint got nothin’ ’tall ter do wid him. He’s been a lookin’, an’ a waitin’; and de Lawd knows but he’s been a-prayin’ fer a pertecter——how we-all gwine know he aint prayed ter de Lawd fer ter raise one up fer him in his mis’ry? An’ now he’s got one an’ it’s me an’ dis chile. Go ’long an’ set yo’ table an’ let us ’lone. Come on honey; we’ll take old Baltie out yonder ter de stable an’ bed him down an’ feed him up twell he so sot up he like ’nough bus’ wid pride, an’ I just like ter see who gwine stop us. Hi yah-yah, yah,” and Mammy’s wrath ended in a melodious laugh as she caught hold of the leader and stalked off with this extraordinary addition to her already manifold duties, Jean holding her free hand and nodding exultingly over her shoulder at Constance who had collapsed upon the lower step.
[CHAPTER VI—Blue Monday]
October, with its wealth of color, its mellow days, and soft haze was passing quickly and November was not far off: November with its “melancholy days” of “wailing winds and wintry woods.”
Baltie had now been a member of the Carruth family for nearly a month and had improved wonderfully under Mammy Melviny’s care. How the old woman found time to care for him and the means to provide for him was a source of wonder not only to Mrs. Carruth, but to the entire neighborhood who regarded the whole thing as a huge joke, and enjoyed many a hearty laugh over it, for Mammy was considered a character by the neighbors, and nobody felt much surprised at any new departure in which she might elect to indulge. Two or three friends had begged Mrs. Carruth to let them relieve her of the care of the old horse, assuring her that they would gladly keep him in their stables as long as he needed a home, and ended in a hearty laugh at the thought of Mammy turning groom. But when Mrs. Carruth broached the subject to Mammy she was met with flat opposition:
“Send dat ole horse off ter folks what was jist gwine tek keer of him fer cha’ity? No I aint gwine do no sich t’ing. De Lawd sartin sent him ter me ter tek keer of an’ I’se gwin ter do it. Aint he mine? Didn’t Jabe Raulsbury say dat anybody what would tek keer of him could have him? Well I’se tekin’ keer of him so co’se he’s mine. I aint never is own no live stock befo’ an now I got some. Go ’long, Miss Jinny; you’se got plenty ter tend ter ’thout studyin’ ’bout my horse. Bimeby like ’nough I have him so fed up and spry I can sell him fer heap er cash—dough I don’ believe anybody’s got nigh ’nough fer ter buy him whilst Baby loves him.”
And so the discussion ended and Baltie lived upon the fat of the land and was sheltered in Mrs. Carruth’s unused stable. Dry leaves which fell in red and yellow clouds from the maple, birch and oak trees made a far softer bed than the old horse had known in many a day. A bag of bran was delivered at Mrs. Carruth’s house for “Mammy Melviny,” with Hadyn Stuyvesant’s compliments. Mammy herself, invested in a sack of oats and a bale of cut hay, to say nothing of saving all bits of bread and parings from her kitchen, and Baltic waxed sleek and fat thereon. Jean was his devoted slave and daily led him about the grounds for a constitutional. Up and down the driveway paced the little girl, the old horse plodding gently beside her, his ears pricked toward her for her faintest word, his head held in the pathetic, listening attitude of a blind horse. He knew her step afar off, and his soft nicker never failed to welcome her as she drew near. To no one else did he show such little affectionate ways, or manifest such gentleness. He seemed to understand that to this little child, which one stroke of his great hoofs could have crushed, he owed his rescue and present comforts.
And so the weeks had slipped away. The money which Jean had left for Mr. Pringle had been promptly refunded with a note to explain that the Society had borne all the expenses for Baltie’s board.