This was the name Walter Radlow's father had requested should be given the gray donkey which he presented to his son on the latter's thirteenth birthday.
"You see, I was at my wits' end what to buy," he afterward explained; "for a dozen birthdays, to say nothing of as many Christmases, had about exhausted my genius for discovering something new, and I was beginning to think I'd have to start all over again with a rattle, when the idea of a donkey and cart popped into my head."
So Popsey was the donkey, and the donkey was Walter's, and—such a donkey! Not one of your meek, spiritless animals, "warranted gentle with ladies and children," that you must beat to make go, and simply cease beating to stop.
Ah, no; Popsey, though not wild or vicious, was full of life, which was just what Walter delighted in; and as Mrs. Radlow had satisfied herself that the beast was really too small to do any serious damage, she ceased to worry about his "playfulness."
But it was not long before Popsey became so attached to his young master that it was thought perfectly safe to allow two-year-old Amy the privilege of a ride now and then, from which she returned in a very mixed state of mind as to whether she wanted to tell papa about Popsey, or Popsey about papa.
One Saturday, about three months after Popsey's advent, Walter's cousins came over from Wallingville to make him a visit. They were the children of Mr. Radlow's only brother, and Helen was fourteen, May twelve, and Jack ten.
They arrived about nine in the morning, to find Walter just recovering from an attack of rheumatism, and suffering from such a raging toothache that he could scarcely bear to speak.
"But don't mind me," he said, as they all gathered about him to condole and bemoan. "When you come from town to the country for the first time in years, and for such a short stay, too, you mustn't stick in the house just because a chap can't go round with you to— Oh!" and poor Walter suddenly dashed his head down against the hop pillow on the lounge, while the girls sympathetically exclaimed, "Too bad!" and Jack looked as if he was afraid it might be "catching."
But in a moment or two Walter bobbed up again to say, "There's the croquet set and archery, tennis and—Popsey."
"Oh yes; that's the donkey, you know," eagerly interrupted Jack. "And, oh, Walter, did you say we might drive him?"