"What is the matter, Corporal?" interposed Averil, briskly. "Tim hasn't got into mischief again, has he?" laying her hand caressingly on the curly head.
"Servant, ma'am"—and the Corporal saluted her stiffly. "It is all along of Billy's snorting and scampering, and kicking up his hoofs, that I knew that mischief was going on. That boy"—pointing to the still sniffing cherub—"goes without his pudding to-day. Look at Billy, ma'am, and if ever a horse is injured in his tenderest feelings, that horse is Billy. He can't stomach the sweetest patch of grass, he is that wounded—and all along of Tim."
"Oh, fy, Tim!" was all Averil ventured to say—for the Corporal was a severe disciplinarian, and allowed no infraction of rules. Any want of kindness to the pensioners was always punished severely.
"Go back to your weeding, sir," continued the Corporal, and Tim slunk away.
Averil looked after him regretfully. "Is he not a pretty boy?" she whispered, so that the others could not hear her. "He is the Corporal's favorite, though you would not think so to hear him. Tim and his hurdy-gurdy and monkey came here a year ago. He was found sitting beside a dry ditch one winter evening—his drunken father was lying at the bottom. It was impossible to say whether Tim or the monkey looked most miserable. The poor things were half starved, and had been cruelly used. Topsy—that is the monkey—is in one of the sheds. Now, if there is a thing in the world Tim loves, it is his monkey. Half Tim's grief at the loss of his pudding will be that Topsy will forfeit his share. Topsy is one of our pensioners. That is Billy"—pointing to a lean old horse at the further end of the field. Two donkeys and an old goat were feeding near him. A toothless old sheep-dog, and a yellow mongrel with half a tail, were lying on a mat in front of the shed, basking in the sunshine.
"The pensioners are all old then, my cousin?"
"Billy is old, and Floss, the sheep-dog, and Nanny also. Anyhow, my pensioners all have a history. They have been through the furnace of affliction—even that lame duck. Only Cherry, and the cocks and hens, have led a happy existence. The Dove-cote has its rules, and one of these is, kindness toward our four-legged pensioners."
"It is a good rule. Your pensioners seem well content. Who are these other boys?"
Evidently the Corporal thought Annette's question was addressed to him, for he struck in briskly:
"This is Snip, ma'am"—pointing to a sturdy-looking lad with a merry face. "This is the fellow who aggravates our feelings by making a spread-eagle of himself, and walking down the paths with his feet in the air, and Bob barking alongside of him. Not but what Snip can do his fair share of work too. I'd back that boy for hoeing a bed or training a creeper against any gardener in the land"—this in a loud aside that was perfectly audible to the grinning Snip. "Then there's Dick"—singling out the next, a shambling, awkward boy, with a vacant, gentle face. "Dick is the fellow who minds the pensioners. Who says Dick isn't bright, when he can milk Cherry and harness Mike and Floss? Law bless you! If all the boys were as clever as Dick we should do well. Dick has nothing to say to book-learning"—dropping his voice mysteriously. "Too many kicks in early life have put a stop to that. Dick couldn't spell his own name—couldn't answer a question without a stutter. But he is a rare one among the animals. The worst of it is, he gets into a rage if he sees any one else misuse them. He had collared Tim, and would have made an end of him in no time if Billy had not snorted and kicked up his heels."