“Baltie is sure enough in clover, little girl,” answered the good doctor. “Dried clover, and last summer’s clover, to be sure, but none the less clover, for Dick has nearly buried him in it, and the old fellow seems none the worse for his struggle through snowdrifts. But you are both trumps—the queen of hearts and the king, by George! I don’t know how you did it!”
“We had to do it. There wasn’t anyone else to.”
Dr. Black took the earnest face in both his hands, and, looking into the hazel eyes, said:
“It is a pity a few more are not convinced of that ‘we had to.’”
Then he drove his guests back to their home. It was agreed that Baltie should not be taken out of Dr. Black’s stable until the weather moderated.
A week passed. Charles was out of danger, but still required the closest attention, and Constance insisted upon a nurse from Memorial Hospital. Mammy protested, but her protests were of no avail. Constance saw very quickly that weeks of careful nursing lay ahead, and she would not permit her mother to overtax her strength. Mammy must attend to her cooking and the luncheon counter, now that Charles could not. Constance had her own hands full with her candy kitchen, for, even with Mary and Fanny Willing to assist her, she had all she could do to keep abreast of her orders. So the nurse took command in Mammy’s bedroom, and Mammy had to yield.
Perhaps no one felt the situation half as keenly as Hadyn did. That he had dozed off in that hour and a half in which so much occurred filled him with a remorse he could not overcome. He had been left at a post of duty at a critical hour, and he had failed ignominiously. He would not admit any extenuating circumstances, for he sincerely felt that there were none. If others had kept awake when it was imperative to keep awake, why had he not done so? If little Jean had been able to do so, and when he had failed her had undertaken such a ride, undaunted by the hour, the darkness, the loneliness and the terrific storm, while he dozed snugly before the open fire—oh, it was intolerable, disgraceful! And these friends had done so much for him! True, no harm had come to Jean or to the others, but Hadyn shuddered when he pictured what might have happened in those ninety minutes. Coax and urge as he would he could not induce Jean to admit that she had signalled to the house for aid, albeit he felt as certain that she had done so as if he had seen the electric light flashed. When he urged she simply closed her lips and shook her head, and as no one else, not even Constance, could enlighten him, he had to let the matter drop.
In the course of the next week Baltie came hobbling back to his home. In spite of all the care given him at Dr. Black’s, the old horse showed the effects of his exposure and the terrible tax upon his strength that wild night; yet none who loved him so well dreamed that the great summons had really come to the animal which had given more than thirty years of faithful service to his friends. From little colthood he had been Grandfather Raulsbury’s pet until the old man’s death. Then had come the dreadful interval of evil days when Jabe Raulsbury had so misused him, to be followed by the happier ones with the Carruths—days of unremitting care, affection and happiness for Baltie and those who loved him, and especially to Jean and Mammy. And how generously he had requited their devotion to him! Indeed, the last act of his life was to be recorded as one of service to those he loved—a service which had undoubtedly saved the life of one who had tenderly ministered to his comfort. But for Baltie’s devotion Charles’ life could not have been saved, all agreed, and the one who loved the blind horse more than any other excepting Jean would have mourned her old husband. Mammy’s heart was large enough to take in all the world if they needed her love and care, though she often hid that fact beneath an assumed aggressiveness. That was Mammy’s way.
From the hour that Baltie had become the joint property of Jean and Mammy, and later the ownership had embraced Charles, they had not missed visiting his stable the first thing in the morning. For a long time Mammy’s was the first voice the blind old horse heard when he greeted the morning sunlight which streamed into his big box stall; Mammy’s the first hand to minister to his comfort and caress him. Then, as soon as she was dressed, Jean flew to the stable, and a pretty scene always followed. When Charles came into the family he was the one to go first to the stable; but neither Jean nor Mammy ever failed to visit Baltie a little later, and during those years he had become almost human. Only human speech seemed denied him, but this lack he supplied by his own Houyhnhum language, and the silent but most eloquent language of the eyes and ears which God has given mute creatures—each so very wonderful if dull humans will only try to learn them. In the audible one are almost as many inflections as in the broader range of the human voice, and it is a dull intellect indeed which cannot interpret:
“I love you. I am cold. I am hungry. I am parched with thirst,” and a hundred other sentences, or read the language of the eyes and ears.