“Say,” cried Harry, appearing on the scene, “there isn't a sign of Pet in the barn. I s'pose they've taken him off to be shod, and there's no telling when they'll bring him back.” His manner showed so very plainly what he thought, that he hardly needed to have added that “he thought it was very mean indeed.”
“I think it is very mean, too!” said Regie; “seems to me I ought to be told when my own pony needs shoeing, and not have him walked off just when I want to use him.”
“If that is the case you had better off with my head, then, King Regie,” laughed Sister Julia; “for I am the guilty one. The moment it was decided that you should go to the orchard I sent Joe off with Pet, for it would never do to have him cast a shoe on such a long drive.”
“Oh, that's all right then,” said Regie, apologetically. He had a foolish trick of growing indignant over many things, because he would not wait to find out the true facts of a case. This may be said in his favour, however, that when he found himself in the wrong, which was very often, he was always ready to admit it,—an honest, winning trait which is somewhat rare in this self-confident world of ours.
“Now run along, Harry,” said Sister Julia. “This letter of Reginald's must go out by to-morrow's steamer, and if he does not hurry, Pet will be at the door long before he is through with it.”
Harry departed as requested, and Reginald spread his arms out on the table, and resumed writing, accompanying every up and down stroke of his pen with an earnest little motion of the lips, as if that were a necessary part of the proceeding. With long pauses over certain words, and constant appeals to Sister Julia, frequently as to the spelling of words of which he was perfectly sure, the letter was at last finished, and this was the result—
“Moorlow, Sept, 7th '85.
“Dear Papa Fairfax,—We are all well, and having a first-rate time, and hope you are having a good time too. The pony is just as well and fat as ever, but Captain Murray's cow has a very lame foot. We caught a woodchuck last Saturday, and Captain Murray's man, Joe, skinned him, and we gave the skin to Mrs. Murray for a little rug. We have been making darts with horseshoe nails and corks and feathers. Did you know how to do that when you were a little boy? We have had to put the old drake in another place. He kept picking up the little ducks and shaking them. We are going to a peach orchard this morning (if Pet ever comes home from being shod). So good-bye, from
“Your loving
“Regie.