“No, certainly not.”
“Not even neigh?”
“That's a very bad pun, Mr. Lightfoot. Don't you think so, Miss Gladys?” Up and down went the pony's head in ready assent.
“Two questions answered with remarkable judgment. Now, two lumps of sugar, if you please, Mr. Lightfoot.”
Gladys eagerly ate the sugar from Hazel's gloved hand (for sugar was one of the few creature delights a clover field failed to offer, that is, in any form more concrete than the sweetness of a withered clover head), and looked as though perfectly willing to continue the process for an almost indefinite period. Indeed, for a long time Hazel continued to ply her with questions of great moment to Company F, such as, “Is Sergeant Bellows the best sergeant in his regiment?”
“Is 'Company F' the finest company?” and so on, to all of which Miss Gladys gave only the most complimentary of answers. Just when this part of the performance was coming to a close, Mr. Lightfoot stepped up to the pony, and said, in beseeching fashion, “Look here, Miss Gladys, on the whole, you think I'm a pretty good sort of a fellow, now, don't you?” The pony looked at Starlight a moment, and then shook her head, “Yes,” in a most decided manner. “That's a darling,” Starlight exclaimed, swinging himself on to Gladys's back, in compliance with an order received from Hazel, and with his head resting on her mane and his arms clasped round her prettily-arched neck, rode off the stage. The soldiers, of course, were at first considerably astonished at the pony's intelligent answers, but it did not take most of them long to discover that the shakings of Miss Gladys's head were in every case controlled by a touch of Hazel's whip. A gentle application of the lash on the right foreleg for yes and the same motion on the left one for no. Hazel had tried to conceal this little motion as best she could, but it was naturally not an easy matter, and when Miss Gladys had been kind enough to answer “Yes” to Mr. Lightfoot's question, it was only because Hazel's whip was in Starlight's hand, and the pony, felt the same familiar sensation upon her left foreleg.
Perhaps you wonder how it was that a little country pony was so unusually accomplished. Well, to tell the truth, Captain Boniface deserved all the credit of it, and Hazel none at all. When Hazel herself was but a week old that pony had been bought for her, and, as soon as she was able to take notice of anything, Gladys used to be trotted out daily for her inspection. And so it happened that while Captain Boniface was waiting for his little daughter to grow large enough to ride her, he used to amuse himself, and Hazel as well, by endeavoring to teach the pony a few knowing tricks. They had required a world of patience, and with none of them had he been so successful as with what he called the “pony shake,” and which just had been exhibited to so much advantage.
“That Miss Hazel's a cute un,” said one of the soldiers, in the little intermission that followed the exit of the pony.
“Cute's no name for it,” answered Sergeant Bellows.
“She reminds me of my own little girl at home, whom I haven't seen in a five-year,” said the other, while a little mistiness betrayed itself in his soldier eyes.