Anne, however, did not care about wheeling as much as for riding horseback. During the past two years Miss Jule’s old brown horse Fox, though well on in his twenties, had been a safe mount for her, as well as an intelligent companion. Of course she never rode very fast, and was always careful to walk him down hills; as old horses, no matter if they are thoroughbreds, sometimes kneel at the wrong time. But he was very clever at taking narrow paths through the woods, and keeping clear of the trees, walking up the little brook which was one of Anne’s favourite pastimes, without pawing the water and soaking her skirt.
Anne’s father had a beautiful young horse Tom, which he both rode and drove, but who did not like side-saddles, and did not intend wearing one. So one day when Anne had ridden him up through the orchard pasture to look for the cows that had gone astray, he first tried to scrape her off by squeezing against the tree trunk, and then, when she dismounted to see if the saddle or girths could possibly gall him, he took a roll in the spring, saddle and all, and galloped home, leaving Anne to walk.
So Fox remained her pet, and all she had to do to make him come when she wanted a ride was to go to the pasture, where he spent his days luxuriously shod with rubber tips, or to the barnyard, where he was watered, and say “Fox!” ever so softly, and he would come trotting up, to be either petted or saddled, eager to nibble the bit of sugar, carrot, or bunch of clover that she always brought him, putting back his ears meanwhile in pure mischief, and pretending to bite her fingers, while his nostrils seemed to quiver with laughter at the joke.
In the middle days of this particular spring, the one that came before the summer when Waddles and Lumberlegs had their great fight, it was neither Fox nor the new calves that drew Anne so often to the Hilltop Farm, but Miss Letty and Hamlet: Miss Letty being neither calf, colt, nor puppy, but a very pretty girl, and Hamlet a worldly-wise French poodle.
Miss Letty was the orphan niece of Miss Jule, the child of her only brother who had lived abroad for many years, married a French lady, and died there. Miss Letty had been sent to an English and then a French school by another aunt, her mother’s sister; now as her father had willed it, she had come on a visit to America, so that she might see his country and choose with which aunt she preferred to make her home.
When Anne heard that Miss Jule’s niece was coming to make a visit half a year long, and that she had a pet dog, she was very much excited, for Anne was beginning to long for a companion of her own age. She only hoped that Waddles would like the dog visitor, and then they four could take lovely excursions together afoot and on horseback, that is, if a girl from a French boarding-school knew how to manage horses; if she didn’t, of course she could ride Fox until she learned.
Anne did not know exactly how old Letty was, though of course Miss Jule did; but she always thought and spoke of her as a schoolgirl, and told Anne that it would be a fine chance to improve her French, and that in return she could teach Letty about wood things, for Letty had been brought up almost altogether in the city. So Anne wondered whether she knew enough French to make Letty understand, and went about talking to herself and all the animals on the place in such words as she knew, much to the confusion and disgust of Waddles, who recognized something familiar in the invitation to aller à la poste, yet did not quite understand it as the usual invitation to “go to the post-office.”
At first Tommy had not been interested. “If it was a rather big boy with a real gun that was coming, we could go hunting together and have some fun next cold weather when the bunnies come out. Girls aren’t much good excepting Anne, and even she don’t seem to care for guns either,” he said.
Tommy’s latest treasure was a spring shot-gun that went off with an alarming pop, but for which he had no ammunition, so as yet he went about, cocking, aiming, and firing at imaginary big game,—real squirrels and crows,—quite content to see them scurry away in alarm; at the same time being careful, as his father had charged him, never to point it at people, for this is a “mustn’t be” of a real gun, which a boy must learn by heart before he can even dream of owning one.