“Yes, Master Archie.”
“I don’t think Bob’s a fool; and I’m sure that, bad as he is, he loves his mother.”
“Quite right, Archie,” said Mr Walton.
Archie met his father at the gate, and ran towards him to tell him all his adventures about the fox and the hare. But Bob Cooper and everybody else was forgotten when he noticed what and whom he had behind him. The “whom” was Branson’s little boy, Peter; the “what” was one of the wildest-looking—and, for that matter, one of the wickedest-looking—Shetland ponies it is possible to imagine. Long-haired, shaggy, droll, and daft; but these adjectives do not half describe him.
“Why, father, wherever—”
“He’s your birthday present, Archie.”
The boy actually flushed red with joy. His eyes sparkled as he glanced from his father to the pony and back at his father again.
“Dad,” he said at last, “I know now what old Kate means about ‘her cup being full.’ Father, my cup overflows!”
Well, Archie’s eyes were pretty nearly overflowing anyhow.