Текст книги "The Classic Tales. Volume VI"

Автор книги: Beatrix Potter

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CHAPTER II

The Travelling Circus

In after years Tuppenny never had any clear recollection of his adventures while he was running away. It was like a bad mixed up dream that changes into morning sunshine and is forgotten. A long, long journey: noisy, jolting, terrifying; too frightened and helpless to understand anything that happened before the journey’s end. The first thing that he remembered was a country lane, a steep winding lane always climbing up hill. Tuppenny ran and ran, splashing through the puddles with little bare feet. The wind blew cold against him; he wrapped his hands in his mop of hair, glad to feel its pleasant warmth over his ears and nose. It had stopped growing, and his chilblains had disappeared. Tuppenny felt like a new guinea-pig. For the first time he smelt the air of the hills. What matter if the wind were chilly; it blew from the mountains. The lane led to a wide common, with hillocks and hollows and clumps of bushes. The short cropped turf would soon be gay with wild flowers; even in early April it was sweet. Tuppenny felt as though he could run for miles. But night was coming. The sun was going down in a frosty orange sunset behind purple clouds – was it clouds, or was it the hills? He looked for shelter, and saw smoke rising behind some tall savin bushes.

Tuppenny advanced cautiously, and discovered a curious little encampment. There were two vehicles, unharnessed; a small shaggy pony was grazing nearby. One was a two-wheeled cart, with a tilt, or hood, made of canvas stretched over hoops. The other was a tiny four-wheeled caravan. It was painted yellow picked out with red. Upon the sides were these words in capital letters – “ALEXANDER AND WILLIAM’S CIRCUS.” Upon another board was printed – The Pigmy Elephant! The Learned Pig! The Fat Dormouse of Salisbury! Live Polecats and Weasels!

The caravan had windows with muslin curtains, just like a house. There were outside steps up to the back door, and a chimney on the roof. A canvas screen fastened to light posts sheltered the encampment from the wind. The smoke which Tuppenny had seen did not come from the chimney; there was a cheerful fire of sticks burning on the ground in the midst of the camp.

Several animals sat beside it, or busied themselves with cooking. One of them was a white West Highland terrier. When he noticed Tuppenny he commenced to bark. The pony stopped grazing, and looked round. A bird, who had been running up and down on the grass, flew up to the roof of the caravan.

TUPPENNY TURNED AND FLED.

The little dog came forward barking. Tuppenny turned and fled. He heard yap! yap! yap! and grunt, grunt, grunt! and pattering feet behind him. He tripped over his hair, and fell in a twittering heap.

A cold nose and a warm tongue examined Tuppenny and turned him over. He gazed up in terror at the little dog and a small black pig, who were sniffing all over him. “What? what? what? Whatever sort of animal is it, Sandy?”  “Never saw the like! it seems to be all hair! What do you call yourself, fuzzy wig?”  “P-p-please sir, I’m not a fuzzy wig, a fuzzy pig, a please sir I’m a guinea-pig.”  “What, what? a pig? Where’s your tail?”said the little black pig. “Please Sir, no tail, I never had – no guinea-pig – no tail – no guinea-pigs have tails,” twittered Tuppenny in great alarm. “What? what? no tails? I had an uncle with no tail, but that was accidental. Carry him to the fire, Sandy; he is cold and wet.”

Sandy lifted Tuppenny delicately by the scruff of the neck; he held his own head high and curled his tail over his back, to avoid treading on Tuppenny’s hair. Paddy Pig scampered in front; “What! what! we’ve found a new long-haired animal! Put more sticks on the fire Jenny Ferret! Set him down beside the dormouse, Sandy; let him warm his toes.”

The person addressed as Jane Ferret was an oldish person, about twelve inches high when she stood upright. She wore a cap, a brown stuff dress, and always a small crochet cross-over. She filled up the teapot from a kettle on the fire, and gave Tuppenny a mug of hot balm tea and a baked apple. He was much comforted by the warmth of the fire, and by their kindness. In reply to questions he said his name was “Tuppenny”; but he seemed to have forgotten where he came from. Only he remembered vaguely that his hair had been a grievance.

The circus company admired it prodigiously. “It is truly mar-veel-ious,”said the Dormouse stretching out a small pink hand, and touching a damp draggled tress. “Do you use hairpins?”  “I’m afraid, I’m sorry, I haven’t any,” twittered Tuppenny apologetically. “Let hairpins be provided – hair – pins,” said the Dormouse, falling fast asleep. “I will go fetch some in the morning if you will lend me your purse,” said Iky Shepster the starling, who was pecking a hole in the turf to hide something. “You will do nothing of the sort. Bring me my teaspoon, please,” said Jenny Ferret. The starling chittered and laughed, and flew to the top of the caravan where he roosted at night.

The sun had set. The red firelight danced and flickered round the camp circle. The pony dozed beside the caravan, lazily whisking his long tail. Sandy was lying stretched before the fire and panting with the heat. He watched Tuppenny with bright brown eyes, through his shaggy white eyebrows. “Tuppenny, where are you going to?”  “I have forgotten.”  “What do you intend to do with yourself?”  “I don’t know.”  “Let him ride in the tilt-cart,” said Pony Billy; they were the first words that he had spoken. “Tuppenny, will you come with us? You shall have your share of fun, and peppercorns, and sugar candy. Come with us and join the circus, Tuppenny!” cried all the little animals. “I think I would like to, yes please, thank you,” twittered Tuppenny shyly. “Quite right, quite right! what! what!” said the small black pig, “Lucky you found us today; we will be over the hills and far away tomorrow.”

“Wake up, wake up! Xarifa Dormouse! get into your sleeping box. And you, Tuppenny, shall go to bed in this hamper. Good night!”

CHAPTER III

Moving Camp

Tuppenny fell asleep at once, and slept for many hours. He awoke in the dark, and he bumped his head against the lid of the hamper. The tilt-cart was jolting and rumbling. “Don’t be frightened,” said a pleasant little voice from a neighbouring nest-box, “we are only moving camp. Sleep again – sleep—” said the dormouse. Tuppenny stopped twittering. Presently there was a still more violent lurch; Tuppenny squeaked loudly. The cart stopped, and the black pig pushed back the canvas curtain of the hood. “What? what? what? squeaking! twittering? at 3 o’clock in the morning? You will wake the dormouse!”  “Please – please, Mr. Paddy Pig, I dreamed I was in a ship.”  “What? what? a ship? Sea-sick, sea-sick? It’s only me pulling the cart. Go to sleep again directly, little guinea-pig man!” Tuppenny obediently curled himself up in his hay bed.

When he woke again, it was broad daylight, and a bright windy morning. The caravan company was snugly encamped on a green level sward near an old stone quarry. There was a semi-circle of high gray rocks; topped with broom bushes, that swayed and bobbed in the rushing east wind. White clouds raced overhead; and Jenny Ferret’s fire puffed and sputtered, in spite of comparative calm down below in the quarry. At the foot of the rocks for many years the Big Folk had been tipping rubbish; old pots and pans, fruit tins, jam pots, and broken bottles. Jenny Ferret had built a stone fireplace; she was cooking with an old frying pan, and some sardine tins; in fact, she was trying which tins would hold water with a view to carrying off a stock of cooking utensils. Paddy Pig was stirring the porridge for breakfast. Pony Billy grazed on the rough grass on the quarry bank. Sandy was nowhere to be seen.

“Wake up! wake up! Xarifa!” whistled the starling, “wake up, new long-haired animal! My! what a mop of hair; it’s full of hay seeds.”  “What, what! you meddlesome bird! His hair is beautiful! It will draw crowds when he is dressed up,” said Paddy Pig, stirring vigorously.

“If I had hair like that, I could play ‘Sleeping Beauty,’” said the dormouse. She sat on the step of the caravan washing her face and hands rapidly, and cleaning her sleek chestnut coat. She had black beady eyes, very long whiskers, and a long furry tail with a white tip. Her nose and eyebrows were turning gray; she was a most sweet person, but slumberous. “Madam, you sleep, and you are beautiful!” said Paddy Pig, turning round and bowing low, with the wooden thivel [53] in his hand. The little fat old dormouse laughed till she shook like jelly. “Never mind, Tuppenny; I will brush it for you. Where is Sandy?”  “Gone to buy a fiddle string, gone to buy fine clothes for Tuppenny!” whistled the starling. “I trust he will remember hairpins. Have you a pocket-comb, Tuppenny?”  “I have no pocket, no comb, no comb, pocket-comb I forgot.”  “You appear to have forgotten most things, Tuppenny,” said Pony Billy, “you may borrow my curry comb if it is not too large.”  “I fear it would scrape him, Pony William; but we are obliged to you. Come Tuppenny, fetch a porridge saucer and sit beside me,” said Xarifa. Tuppenny was rather silent during breakfast. He kept looking at the large print letters on the caravan. He pointed at them with his wooden spoon. “Xarifa,” he whispered, “is it full of polecats?” Paddy Pig rolled on the ground with laughing. “Where is the Pigmy Elephant?”  “That’s a secret,” said Jenny Ferret. “Here, Iky Shepster, help me to tidy up. Xarifa will be busy all morning combing out those tangles.”

“MY! WHAT A MOP OF HAIR.”

So then began the brushing of the hair of Tuppenny, which became a daily task. At first there were pulls and twitches and squeaks; even some hopeless tangles which had to be snipped out with Xarifa’s small scissors. But after it was combed through it was easily kept in order. The brushing became a pleasure to the two little barbers. Tuppenny combed in front, and Xarifa brushed behind. Whenever the brushing stopped, Tuppenny looked over his shoulder, and discovered that Xarifa had fallen fast asleep.

She told him stories to keep herself awake; and she answered his many questions. “Who plays the fiddle, Xarifa?”  “Paddy Pig; Sandy plays the bagpipes; and each of them does step dancing. Paddy Pig dances jigs, and Sandy dances reels; and all of us do country dances. No, no, I am not too old and fat!” said Xarifa, laughing. “I can dance ‘Hunsdon House,’ and I can dance a minuet with Belinda Woodmouse. Perhaps we may be dancing this evening; but there is not much room in the quarry. We will soon be moving on again.”  “Do we always move in the night, Xarifa? Oh! oh! that hurts!”  “I shall have to snip it Tuppenny, give me my scissors. When we travel along the high roads we usually move in the dark; because the roads are deserted at night; very few of the Big Folk are stirring.”  “Would they chase us Xarifa?”  “No, indeed! they cannot see us, while we carry fern seed in our pockets.”  “I have not got a pocket.”  “It will be easy to plait a little packet of fern seed into your hair, like Pony Billy’s. He carries one in his mane, in a plait that we call a witch’s stirrup. But he once had an adventure when he lost his fern seed.”  “I did not lose it. It was stolen for mischief,” said Pony William with a snort; he was grazing near them. “Anyway he was not invisible; he had no fern seed; so the Big Folk could see him. Now Tuppenny sit still, while I finish brushing your hair, and you shall hear the story. Only you must understand that I did not see it happen. I do not travel with the circus in winter weather. I go to live with the Oakmen.”  “Who are they, Xarifa?”  “One thing at a time. Hold your head still and listen.”

CHAPTER IV

Pony Billy in the Pound

It happened one winter there was a long spell of snow. The circus company was camping in a lonely barn. During real hard weather they usually preferred accessible places, near farms and villages; but this snowstorm had caught them unexpectedly. Indeed, the little caravan itself was fast in a snowdrift under a hedge. The tilt-cart had been dragged up to the barn, and the baggage had been carried inside. The building was dry, and fairly comfortable; but unfortunately, the great double doors could not be opened; so poor Pony Billy had to remain outside. The others, including Paddy Pig, contrived to squeeze between the upright wooden bars of an unglazed low window. There was dry bracken bedding in the barn; but no hay.

THEY FETCHED A LOAD OF PROVISIONS.

Pony Billy ate rough grass that grew through the snow upon the banks; he even did some digging with his forefeet, like the sheep. But when the snow continued day after day, it became necessary for him and Sandy to go foraging. They borrowed a sledge belonging to the charcoal burners, and they fetched a load of provisions; but they could only carry a very little hay as well. Pony Billy made no complaint about sleeping out. His shaggy coat was inches long; he was warm, even if he woke up half buried with snow in the morning. But he did feel as if he wanted a good feed. So one afternoon in the early darkening he announced that he intended to sup, and possibly stay a night or two, with the gypsy’s donkey, Cuddy Simpson.

Sandy was not pleased. He did not mind Pony Billy going; but he – Sandy – would have liked to go, too, and spend a merry evening with Eddy Tin Cur and the gypsy lurchers.

Pony William considered the donkey a harmless, respectable animal, certainly very hardworking; but the tinker dogs were another matter. They were suspected of all manner of crimes, including sheep stealing and poaching. Therefore, he said, firmly, that it was Sandy’s duty to stop with the caravan.

Iky Shepster, the starling, joined in the argument. He said people who were not sharp enough to look after their own property deserved to lose it. He ran up and down on Pony Billy’s back, and twitched his mane, and chittered. Pony Billy set off at dusk, walking up the lane that led to the main road. There was deep drifted snow against the walls and hedges. The lane was blocked for carts; only in the middle there was a beaten trod. The Big Folk from a farm further south had been using it; and the postman had followed it as a short cut.

Pony Billy got out onto the main road with a scramble and a jump over a frozen bank of snow, which the snow plough had cast up across the mouth of the lane. Where the plough had travelled, the road was scraped and smoother and slippery. Pony Billy walked fast without trying to trot. He picked up his neat little feet; the snow was too dry to ball in his hoofs. The night was dark, but there was a ground light from the snow. He walked forwards up the hill.

Voices came towards him on the road. Pony Billy was not concerned. The Big Folk could not see him. He had complete confidence in the fern seed which he carried. He was accustomed to walk and trot invisible. But he had not reckoned with the mischief-making of Iky Shepster. He thought that his precious packet was safely plaited into his mane; instead of which it had been stolen, and hidden by the starling in a mouse hole in the barn.

Two tall figures approached out of the darkness to meet him. Pony Billy came on, as bold as bold. He knew that his shoes would not clink in the snow. He believed himself to be invisible; and there was plenty of room to pass. Even when he recognized that the patrollers were two very large policemen – Pony Billy still advanced.

The large policemen halted. “What’s this, Constable Crabtree?” Then at length Pony Billy stopped, too. He stood motionless; puzzled. “It looks to me to be a large hairy black pig, Sergeant.” Pony Billy was considerably startled; but still he stood his ground. Constable Crabtree flashed a bull’s-eye lantern upon him. “It’s a pony. No bigger than a big dog,” said the Sergeant. Without warning, the constable sprang at the amazed Pony William, and seized him by the forelock. Pony Billy boxed desperately; but he was overpowered by the two large policemen. And alas! the sergeant in his overcoat pocket carried a piece of strong cord, which they twisted into a rough halter.

Pony Billy threw himself down; he rolled; he kicked; he tried to bite. But all in vain! They forced him along; and the more he jibbed – the more those large policemen laughed. “Whoa, pony! Whoa there! He is a spirited little nag! Do you recognize him, Constable Crabtree?”  “I do not, Sergeant Nutbush. There is a galloway at Hill Top Farm; but it’s taller. Matter-of-fact, it’s a little mare, that one; they call it Mabel.”  “Is he the pony from Swiss Cottage?”  “He is not, Sergeant. That one is a fell pony. It has nicked ears, same like a herdwick sheep; under key-bit [25] near and cropped far.”  “Well, well, well! Put him in the Pound! Give him a bite of hay. We can advertize him in next week’s Gazette.”

Pony Billy felt that things were getting extremely serious. It was so unfortunately dark; there were no other animals out upon the roads; nobody to carry news of his predicament to Sandy. It was serious.

The Pound, or Pinfold, was a round enclosure, with a high circular wall, built of cobblestones. After thoughtfully providing an armful of hay, Constable Crabtree locked up Pony Billy, and left him. The oak door was ancient, but strong. It was padlocked. The key hung upon a nail at the police station. Pony Billy had a satisfying meal at last.

Next day he tramped many, many miles, round and round inside the pinfold wall. The constable looked in, with another supply of hay, and remarked that it was funny that nobody claimed him. Pony Billy ate as much hay as he could manage to tuck in. Then he resumed his tramping round and round upon the dirty snow in the Pinfold. He neighed loudly and repeatedly. Nobody answered. The walls were very high; not the tallest Clydesdale horse could have looked over the top of those cobblestones. No living thing did he see till the second afternoon, when a small flock of starlings flew over. They wheeled round in the air, after the manner of starlings; and one bird flew back and alighted on the wall. It was Iky Shepster. He ran along the top of the wall, and sputtered and chittered with laughter. Pony Billy ate hay and pretended not to see him. Then, just as Iky Shepster spread his wings to rejoin the flight of starlings, Pony William remarked that he wished to see Sandy on particular business. “Is that so?” said Iky Shepster. Pony Billy was left in uncomfortable doubt whether the message would be delivered or not.

In the meantime, Sandy had no suspicion but that Pony Billy was safe with the gypsy’s donkey, who spent the worst of winter eating mouldy hay and taed-pipes [50] in an open-fronted shed on the marshes. It was a most unpleasant surprise when Iky Shepster flew in with the news that Billy was fast in the Pound. “Whose doing is that, I wonder?” said Jenny Ferret. “He must have lost his fern seed. I shall have to get him out somehow,” said Sandy. “Lost, stolen, or strayed,” said Jenny Ferret. Paddy Pig suggested trying to borrow the key of the padlock from the Sergeant’s black Manx cat: but it was a doubtful expedient; and it would involve calling at the police station. “It would be simpler to pick the lock. If Mettle will only come with me we will soon have him out.”

Sandy waited till moonrise; then he scampered off to the smithy in the village. The Big Folk had all gone to bed, in the clear of the moon; but the forge was still working.

Mettle, the blacksmith’s yellow terrier was doing a job on his own; opening the links in a dog chain. Another dog was blowing the bellows. They greeted Sandy, “Come along and warm yourself at the hearth, Sandy!”  “I’m in a hurry, I cannot wait. And you must come with me, Mettle. Poor old Billy is fast in the Pound.”  “Whew-w!” whistled Mettle. He damped down the fire, gathered up some tools, and they hurried off together.

Pony Billy was dozing in the Pinfold. He was awakened by the sound of sniffing and scratching under the door; something was being done to the padlock. Within a few minutes he was free; trotting back towards the village with the dogs racing at his heels. When the constable came next morning, the mysterious pony had vanished. The Pinfold was empty.

“So you see, Tuppenny,” said Xarifa, “it is most important to carry fern seed when we go upon the roads, and pass near the Big Folks; and you must always take great care that it is not lost.”