“Oh, yes,” said Billie, “Mrs. Martin walks me by there every day, and that’s where the one-armed soldier lives who owns the sad-faced Belgian pup that he rescued from starvation when he was fighting abroad. Our Mary photographed me with him the other day.”
“Well, Chummy says those soldier boys are the jolliest in the city. They have all been wounded, and a good many are one-legged and going on crutches, waiting for their stumps to heal so they can get artificial limbs. Some of them had had permission to go over to the University, and they were returning to the hospital when they saw the poor pony down between the shafts. They hobbled up, unharnessed him, told the junk man that they were Albertans and used to horses, and that his pony was starving. They collected twenty-five dollars among themselves, bought the pony and the cart, put the pony in it, and the men with two legs and one
arm managed to haul Tiny Tim over to the hospital, while the one-legged men hopped alongside on their crutches.
“When they got him over they didn’t know what to do with him. The hospital was very quiet and still, for every one had gone to bed. They sneaked Tiny round to the back entrance and got him off the cart, and led him into a bathroom. Then they got blankets off the beds for bedding, gave him some bread and milk and cereal foods they found in the pantry, and left him till morning. Of course they all slept late, and the first person to go in the bathroom the next morning was a nurse. She shrieked wildly when she saw this pitiful black pony with his big hungry eyes and the bathroom which was a sight, for the food had brought back some of Tiny Tim’s old-time spirit, and he had knocked things about.
“The other nurses ran and doctors and soldiers came, and they just yelled with laughter. Anyway, the pony was adopted by the hospital—”
Billie interrupted me, “You don’t mean to say this story is about the soldiers’ mascot in the yard over at the hospital?”
“The same,” I said. “Tiny is now as fat as a pig, and as happy as a king. The soldiers love him, and he often goes for walks down Spadina Avenue with them. You know everybody loves soldiers, for they have been so brave in protecting their country, and they are allowed many privileges. He is too small for them to ride, and of course he is old now, but isn’t it nice that he is happy and not in that horrid old stable?”
“That is a lovely story,” said Billie. “I wish soldiers would go to New York and rescue some of the poor horses there. Now, tell me what became of the junk man?”
“Oh, the story got into the papers and the Martins felt dreadfully to think they had not discovered the condition the pony was in. They spoke to some of their rich friends and formed a company, and they are building model boarding stables for poor men’s horses, away downtown. They have good lighting and ventilation, and fine roomy stalls, and running water, and fly screens, and on top of the stables is a big roof garden for neighborhood children to play in. It is a very crowded district and the children will love this garden, and Chummy
says they will be sure to eat lunches up there and it will be fine for birds too.”