us a cart – no, a van, with a canvas roof. It would be no end of good fun. And really, Eff, I’m so full of the notion that I must run right away and tell father.”
Leonard burst into the room where Captain Lyle was writing.
“Father,” he said, “what can I do for you?”
“Nothing at present. Oh! yes, you can though.”
“Well, I’ll do it.”
“Leave me alone.”
Leonard’s face fell, and his father began to laugh.
“Father,” said Leonard, “when I grow a great big big man, and you are old, old, and white-haired, and crawling about on crutches like Admiral Boffin, with perhaps a wooden leg and a hook for an arm – ”
“Thank you for the prospect,” said Captain Lyle.
“How can you imagine such things?” said his mother, much amused.
“Oh! because I wish him to be just like that.”
“Indeed, sir, why?”
“Why, to give me the chance to be so good to him, you know, because he is so good to me.”
“Well, now,” Captain Lyle said, “let us come to the point. I don’t admire the prospect of crutches, hook arm, and a wooden leg, and I hope you’re not a true prophet, but you’ve got some new scheme in your noddle, and you’ve come to ask a favour. Anything in reason, Leonie. Sit down, lad.”
Then the boy took a seat and unfolded his plans, and coaxed, and teased, and what not, till he had gained his father’s consent, and then off back to Castle Beautiful he went. As he scrambled over the fence Effie knew he had succeeded, because he was singing, and because he had not troubled to open the gate.
Spring returned. The snow left the woods and the fields; it lingered long in the ditches and by the wayside, and made one last sturdy stand on the hill-tops, but was forced to fly from even there at last. Then the honeysuckle on the hedgerows unfolded its leaves, the blackthorn itself began to bud, and the larch woods grew green. The dormouse and hedgehog, who had slept through all the wild weather, rolled in leaves at the tree foot, showed their pinched and weary wee faces at their holes, wondering if there was anything yet to eat. The squirrel had eaten his very last nut, and stretched himself on a bough to enjoy the glorious sunshine.
The rook and the mavis, the blackbird and hedge-sparrow had built their nests, and laid their eggs ever so long ago, only the chaffinch and the green linnet were waiting for still warmer weather, and the lark wanted the grass or corn to be just a little higher, while the rose-linnets sang for more leaves to hide their nests from prying eyes.
But the brooklets, bright and clear now, went singing along over their pebbly beds, the river rolled softly on, and the silver sallows and weeping willows bent low over the water, and westerly winds were blowing, and sunshine was everywhere.
Leonard’s waggon or caravan was built and ready. It was the lightest thing and the neatest thing ever seen in the shape of a one-horse conveyance, that horse, be it remembered, being a donkey. The little house-upon-wheels had not two but four small wheels, and instead of being built of wood its sides and roof were canvas.
It was a gipsy cart of the neatest description, and Effie as well as Leonard was delighted with it, and as for Don, the donkey, so proud was he when put into the shafts that he wanted to gallop away with it, instead of walking at that slow and solemn pace which respectable thinking donkeys usually affect. But Don was no common ass, I can assure you. He was not called Don as short for donkey. No, but because he had been brought from Spain by Captain Lyle, and there, I may tell you, they have the very best donkeys in the world. Don was very strong and sturdy, and very wise in his day and generation; his colour was silver-grey, with a great brown cross on his shoulders and back, while his ears must have been fully half a yard long. Need I say he was well-kept and cared for, or that he dearly loved his little master and mistress, and was, upon the whole, as quiet and docile as a great sheep?
Well, even while the spring lasted, Leonard and Effie had many a long delightful ramble in their little caravan, and were soon as well known all over the country for miles around as the letter-carrier himself, and that is saying a good deal.
But in the bonnie month of May Captain Lyle, and Mrs Lyle as well, had to make a long, long journey south. In fact, they were going all the way to London, and in those days this was not only a slow journey but a dangerous one as well, for many parts of the road were infested by foot-pads, who cared not whom they killed so long as they succeeded in getting their money and their valuables.
Farewells were spoken with many tears and caresses, and away went the parents at last, and Leonard and Effie were left alone.
When they had fairly gone, poor Effie began to cry again.
“Oh, Leonie!” she said, “the house seems so lonely now, so cold and still, with only the ticking of the dreadful clocks.”
But Leonard answered, and said, – “Why, Effie dear, haven’t you me? And am I not big enough to protect you? Come along out and see the Menagerie.”
It was not half so lonesome here, at least, so they thought. They were high above the woods, and the sun shone very brightly, and all their curious pets seemed doubly amusing to-day, so before long both were laughing as merrily as if they were not orphans for the time being.
Three days passed away, and on the morning of the fourth, when, after breakfast, old Peter the butler came shuffling in, Leonard said, —
“Now, Peter, of course you are aware that I am now master of the house of Glen Lyle?”
Peter bowed and bowed and bowed, but I think he was laughing quietly to himself.
“Very well, Peter; straighten yourself up, please, and listen. Miss Lyle here – ”
“That’s me,” said Effie, in proud defiance of grammar.
“And myself,” continued Leonard, “are going away for a week in our caravan in search of – ahem! the picturesque.”
“Preserve us a’!” cried Peter, turning his eyes heavenwards. “What’ll your parents say if I allow it?”
“We will write to them, Peter. Don’t you worry. We start to-morrow. You will look after the Menagerie till we return. And we will want your assistance to-day to help us to pack.”
“Will naething prevail upo’ ye to stop at hame?” cried Peter, wringing his hands.
“Nothing. I’m master, don’t forget that.” This from Leonard.
“And I’m mistress,” said Effie.
So poor Peter had to give in.
They spent a very busy afternoon, but next morning the caravan was brought to the door, the brass work on Don’s new harness being polished till it looked like gold. Effie sprang lightly in, Ossian, the big deerhound, who stood nearly as high as Don, went capering about, for he was to be one of the party.
Up jumped Leonard. Crack went his whip, and off they all were in a hand-clap.
And poor old Peter fell on his knees and prayed for their safety, till on a turn of the road the woods seemed to swallow them up.
“Now
