"I've got to get a grip on myself," said Dallas. "If you knew how queer it seems to me to be here with all these kids——"
"I can guess. You see, boy, the trouble is that the first five years of a child's life are the ones in which he gets his mould. You had seclusion and shyness stamped on you. We've got to get a new imprint—and don't be too humble. You're just as bright as my children. You're too meek when you think you must tell stories to over-awe them. Plain truth will save you, lad, and you can do some things that my children can't do. Just wait till they find out how well you can sing. Now let me hear you promise to stop this fairy story business."
Dallas put up a slight hand, and said solemnly, "I promise to speak the truth and the truth only from this on."
Mr. Devering clapped him on the shoulder. Then he slipped his hand under my blanket, felt me to see whether I was warm, and folding the blanket backward drew it off in the proper way so as to leave my hair smooth.
Then he said, "Bonnie Prince Fetlar, I didn't understand your manœuvres the other morning. I ask your pardon."
Fancy a man asking a pony's pardon! I just loved him for it and tucked my muzzle in the pocket of his corduroy jacket as we went out of the stable.
"Stop your tickling, Prince," he said; "here's a bit of sugar for you. Now keep your soft old nose to yourself—let's go get the deer-hound. He'd enjoy an afternoon out."
We all went up to the kennel by the cow stable where Drunkard welcomed us frantically.
Mr. Devering unchained him and led him toward the house.
When we got near the veranda and I saw the joyful group on it my heart died within me. Preparations for a picnic were going on. Probably they would go by water and I should be left at home. However I could have a little fun before they went, in watching them.