The Wide, Wide World

This was strong consolation. Ellen looked up and smiled.

"Now come with me," said Ellen Chauncey, pulling her hand, "I want you to show me something; let's go down to the garden, come! exercise is good for you."

"No, no," said her mother, smiling, "Ellen has had exercise enough lately; you mustn't take her down to the garden now; you would find nothing there. Come here!"

A long whisper followed, which seemed to satisfy little Ellen and she ran out of the room. Some time passed in pleasant talk and telling all that had happened since they had seen each other; then little Ellen came back and called Ellen Montgomery to the glass door, saying she wanted her to look at something.

"It is only a horse we brought with us," said Miss Sophia. "Ellen thinks it is a great beauty, and can't rest till you have seen it."

Ellen went accordingly to the door. There, to be sure, was Thomas before it holding a pony bridled and saddled. He was certainly a very pretty little creature; brown all over except one white forefoot; his coat shone, it was so glossy; his limbs were fine; his eye gentle and bright; his tail long enough to please the children. He stood as quiet as a lamb, whether Thomas held him or not.

"Oh, what a beauty!" said Ellen; "what a lovely little horse!"

"Ain't he!" said Ellen Chauncey; "and he goes so beautifully besides, and never starts nor nothing; and he is as good-natured as a little dog."

"As a good-natured little dog, she means, Ellen," said Miss Sophia; "there are little dogs of very various character."

"Well, he looks good-natured," said Ellen. "What a pretty head! and what a beautiful new side-saddle, and all. I never saw such a dear little horse in my life. Is it yours, Alice?"

"No," said Alice, "it is a present to a friend of Mr. Marshman's."

"She'll be a very happy friend, I should think," said Ellen.

"That's what I said," said Ellen Chauncey, dancing up and down, "that's what I said. I said you'd be happier by-and-by, didn't I?"

"I?" said Ellen, colouring.

"Yes, you – you are the friend it is for; it's for you, it's for you! you are grandpa's friend, aren't you?" she repeated, springing upon Ellen, and hugging her up in an ecstasy of delight.

"But it isn't really for me, is it?" said Ellen, now looking almost pale. "O Alice! – "

"Come, come," said Miss Sophia, "what will papa say if I tell him you received his present so? come, hold up your head! Put on your bonnet and try him: come, Ellen! let's see you."

Ellen did not know whether to cry or laugh, till she mounted the pretty pony; that settled the matter. Not Ellen Chauncey's unspeakable delight was as great as her own. She rode slowly up and down before the house, and once agoing would not have known how to stop if she had not recollected that the pony had travelled thirty miles that day and must be tired. Ellen took not another turn after that. She jumped down, and begged Thomas to take the tenderest care of him; patted his neck; ran into the kitchen to beg of Margery a piece of bread to give him from her hand; examined the new stirrup and housings, and the pony all over a dozen times; and after watching him as Thomas led him off, till he was out of sight, finally came back into the house with a face of marvellous contentment. She tried to fashion some message of thanks for the kind giver of the pony; but she wanted to express so much that no words would do. Mrs. Chauncey, however, smiled and assured her she knew exactly what to say.

"That pony has been destined for you, Ellen," she said, "this year and more; but my father waited to have him thoroughly well broken. You need not be afraid of him; he is perfectly gentle and well-trained; if he had not been sure of that my father would never have sent him; though Mr. John is making such a horsewoman of you."

"I wish I could thank him," said Ellen; "but I don't know how."

"What will you call him, Ellen?" said Miss Sophia. "My father has dubbed him 'George Marshman'; he says you will like that, as my brother is such a favourite of yours."

"He didn't really, did he?" said Ellen, looking from Sophia to Alice. "I needn't call him that, need I?"

"Not unless you like," said Miss Sophia, laughing, "you may change it; but what will you call him?"

"I don't know," said Ellen very gravely, "he must have a name to be sure."

"But why don't you call him that?" said Ellen Chauncey; "George is a very pretty name; I like that; I should call him 'Uncle George.'"

"Oh, I couldn't!" said Ellen, "I couldn't call him so; I shouldn't like it at all."

"George Washington!" said Mrs. Chauncey.

"No, indeed!" said Ellen. "I guess I wouldn't!"

"Why? is it too good, or not good enough?" said Miss Sophia.

"Too good! A great deal too good for a horse! I wouldn't for anything."

"How would Brandywine do then, since you are so patriotic?" said Miss Sophia, looking amused.

"What is 'patriotic'?" said Ellen.

"A patriot, Ellen," said Alice, smiling, "is one who has a strong and true love for his country."

"I don't know whether I am patriotic," said Ellen, "but I won't call him Brandywine. Why, Miss Sophia!"

"No, I wouldn't either," said Ellen Chauncey; "it isn't a pretty name. Call him 'Seraphine'! – like Miss Angell's pony – that's pretty."

"No, no – 'Seraphine'! nonsense!" said Miss Sophia; "call him Benedict Arnold, Ellen; and then it will be a relief to your mind to whip him."

"Whip him!" said Ellen, "I don't want to whip him, I am sure; and I should be afraid to besides."

"Hasn't John taught you that lesson yet?" said the young lady; "he is perfect in it himself. Do you remember, Alice, the chastising he gave that fine black horse of ours we called the 'Black Prince'? – a beautiful creature he was – more than a year ago? My conscience! he frightened me to death."

"I remember," said Alice; "I remember I could not look on."

"What did he do that for?" said Ellen.

"What's the matter, Ellen Montgomery?" said Miss Sophia, laughing, "where did you get that long face from? Are you thinking of John or the horse?"

Ellen's eye turned to Alice.

"My dear Ellen," said Alice, smiling, though she spoke seriously, "it was necessary; it sometimes is necessary to do such things. You do not suppose John would do it cruelly or unnecessarily?"

Ellen's face shortened considerably.

"But what had the horse been doing?"

"He had not been doing anything; he would not do, that was the trouble; he was as obstinate as a mule."

"My dear Ellen," said Alice, "it was no such terrible matter as Sophia's words have made you believe. It was a clear case of obstinacy. The horse was resolved to have his own way and not to do what his rider required of him; it was necessary that either the horse or the man should give up; and as John has no fancy for giving up, he carried his point – partly by management, partly, I confess, by a judicious use of the whip and spur; but there was no such furious flagellation as Sophia seems to mean, and which a good horseman would scarce be guilty of."

"A very determined 'use,'" said Miss Sophia. "I advise you, Ellen, not to trust your pony to Mr. John; he'll have no mercy on him."

"Sophia is laughing, Ellen," said Alice. "You and I know John, do we not?"

"Then he did right?" said Ellen.