Part 2 — CHAPTER IV OLD NICK’S HOME-COMING

NEXT arose the question of getting Nick home, but Isabel had gone too far to retreat, nor did such a thought occur to her. Home Nick must go, and home he was going, and she was to get him there. There were quick wits in that pretty head, and the plans were soon laid.

Another journey to town, ostensibly to finish the previous day’s shopping; a suit case, presumably to bring the parcels home in; a secret conference with the faithful Hiram, who, as she tripped away from the stable, slapped his thigh and ejaculated: “Wal, I be gol twisted ef she don’t beat the band!” and Old Nick’s saddle and bridle were on their way to the city.

There was still sufficient money for her needs, and by one o’clock the following day a young lady might have been seen mounting a big bay horse in front of the Margaret Louisa Home. The horse was either too happy or too frisky to know what he was about, for he kept turning his head around to pull at the girl’s habit, her shoe—in short, he was acting like a spoilt child.

At the horse’s head a stableman stood, smiling in a very satisfied manner, as if he knew a pleasant Christmas secret. Nick’s late owner, with a new horse filling Nick’s place, drove up, touched his hat to the girl as he asked, “Is your bag inside, miss?” and a moment later the suit case, containing Isabel’s street clothing, was speeding upon its homeward way.

“Thank you so much for your kindness,” she said to the man who had brought Nick from the expressman’s stable, “and please take this for your children, if you have any. I hope they will be as happy as I am.” And with a smile which the man remembered for many a long day she slipped a coin into his hand, gathered up her reins, and started.

Nick’s burden seemed to have an intoxicating effect upon him—or, perhaps, the spirit of Christmas had been fastened upon his feet with his new shoes—for he acted altogether foolishly. But a wise little horsewoman rode him, and knowing the miles to be traveled over snowy roads, she took good care of her mount.

She had barely reached the Fort Lee ferry when the threatened storm began and snowflakes fell rapidly. The fifteen miles to be traveled after she reached the Jersey shore would have been a pleasant jaunt under favorable conditions, but in a driving snowstorm, with the thermometer far below freezing point, they were no joke; and even though joy had put new life into Nick, Isabel realized that reserve strength was wanting after the hard work of the past weeks.

More than one person turned to regard the pretty young girl with a questioning look as she rode up with her hair, hat, and habit powdered with snowflakes. Ten of the miles had been told off, and although doing bravely, Old Nick showed signs of great fatigue, while his brave little rider was nearly perishing from cold. The snow was falling fast and the short winter day drawing to its close. It would have been impossible to travel rapidly, had Nick been young and fresh; and although he started forward from time to time, as home drew nearer and he became familiar with the road, he soon lagged again, and his labored breathing told plainly of exhaustion.

The last turn had been made, and a straight stretch of road lay before him, with home almost in sight. He threw up his head, gave a loud neigh, stumbled, and nearly fell over something hidden by the snow. Isabel slipped from the saddle and stood knee-deep in the drifts.

“Why, Nick, dear, how did it happen?” she cried, stroking his steaming neck. But Nick was sniffing about in the snow with queer, frightened snorts.

Isabel gave a little cry, and brushing aside the snow struck a man’s garments. A moment later she was supporting her father’s unconscious form in her arms.

A bad bruise upon his temple, a broken arm, a whip lying near him told the story. Quickly taking a card from her pocket-book, she wrote upon it: “Papa is at the four corners injured. Send at once. Isabel,” and fastened the message to Nick’s headstall. Then, tying the reins securely to the pommel of the saddle, she gave Nick a sharp slap upon his flank, and cried:

“Home, Nick! Home!”

A dumb beast was then permitted to demonstrate the teachings of Him whose birthday eve it was and to return good for evil. With a wild toss of his head, Nick plunged forward, and was soon lost in the gloom, but Isabel heard the thud, thud of his fleeing feet long after he had disappeared.

Two hours later Mr. Townsend was being tenderly cared for by wife and daughter, the wretched colt which had caused the mishap was caught and returned to the stable, and Nick—dear, faithful Old Nick—was in Hiram’s care—Hiram, who rubbed him down until each separate hair was as dry as a bone, and who was now standing by while Nick enjoyed a steaming bran mash, and talking to him as to a twin brother.

“Aint she a trump, Nick? I tell ye, old man, ye needn’t never have no fears thet ye’ll leave this place agin till ye’re toted out ter yer last beddin’ down. No, siree; not while thet leetle girl owns yer. Do yer believe me, sonny?”

Nick evidently did believe it, for he promptly put his mark thereto by raising a very slobbery muzzle and rubbing it against Hiram’s sleeve.

HOW NED TOODLES TOLD TIME