“What shall we name it?” asked the father of his wife; for it was her favorite mare. She drove it to church every Sunday, and when born Emile’s mother had named it “Jacqueline,” after the famous medieval princess.
Now, it was a day or two after King Leopold had died, ending a long reign of forty-four years, [[4]]and the present King Albert had become ruler of the Belgic country. Yet he did not call himself “sovereign,” or “autocrat,” like a Czar, or “emperor,” as the German Wilhelm did, but “king of the Belgians.” That is, he wished to treat his fellow countrymen not as subjects, but as gentlemen like himself. So, when he issued a proclamation, he addressed them, not as inferiors, but as “Messieurs,” that is, gentlemen.
Emile’s mother who had, years before, lost one of her baby boys, answered:
“Our dead ruler will have a great monument, but for Baldwin, his son, who was to have been king, instead of Albert, but died early, there will be few to remember him: So let us call our new colt ‘Baldwin’ and let it be Emile’s own—his pet always.”
“Good,” said the father, and Baldwin it was, or “Baldy,” for short; and the pretty young horse was given to Emile for his very own.
“It’s yours to play with, and to work for you, all your life,” said papa Henri, “but you must care for it, as your mother and I have cared for you.”
“That I will, father. You may trust me,” answered the boy.
As soon as the new long-legged stranger was able to cease taking refreshments from its mother, Emile fed the colt out of his hand. After Sunday [[5]]dinner, he would go out into the garden, pluck some tops or leaves of tender plants, such as radishes, peas, or the like, hiding a lump of beet sugar under the greens. Then he would follow the path to the stable to give a treat to both mother and son. Both the old mare and young Baldy seemed to have an almost human look of gratitude, when they cast their eyes on their owners and good friends. Nevertheless, no horse ever yet learned to talk with its tail and say “thank you,” like a dog.
When the time came to break Baldy to harness and for farm work, the well fed and kindly animal proved to be one of the strongest and best. It seemed equal to most horses of at least six years of age.
But it was not always sugar and young carrot tops, for Baldy! Emile usually gave it salt out of his own hand. Sometimes he loved to play a joke and even to tantalize his pet, though for a minute or two, only. When out at pasture, and its master wanted to throw the halter over its neck, Baldy would give Emile tit for tat and had his horse-fun by cantering off. Then Emile would gather up the heads of white clover and holding these, down deep in the palm of his hand, would entice Baldy near, as if it were salt. Then he would throw the halter over his neck, and Baldy was a prisoner. Emile took care not to [[6]]play this trick too often, and sometimes gave his pet real salt, even when out in the field. If horses could smile, Baldy would have laughed out loud.