EARLY THE next morning Joel stirred on his straw mattress, listening to the exciting sounds of the new day-birds making little twittering remarks, a cock crowing lustily, calves bawling.
Then for a while there was silence, except for the steady breathing of the schoolmaster, who lay sleeping beside him.
Joel drowsily wondered where he was. He opened his eyes, expecting to see a leafy roof over his head. But in the half darkness he saw beams and crossbeams, like his bedroom ceiling at home.
Suddenly he was sharp awake. He held his breath, straining to hear a far-off sound—a high, quavering whinny that ended in a snorty rumble.
Now Joel knew! He was at Farmer Beane’s! He sank cozily into the straw, letting little shivers of happiness race up and down his spine. In imagination he was in the meadow—stroking Little Bub’s neck, now slipping a halter over his nose, now leading him to some green paradise where there was no talk of money or debts. He raised up gingerly, trying to keep the straw in the mattress from crackling. If he was careful not to make any noise, he might steal out of doors and be alone with Little Bub. Even a few minutes alone would be fun.
Slowly, slowly he sat up, then slid his feet out of bed and to the floor. He felt for his clothes, slipped into his shirt and pulled on his breeches, hitching them up with the strip of cowhide.
He waited a moment or two, making sure the schoolmaster’s breathing was still steady. Then he tiptoed for the ladder and swung silently down the rungs and into the candle-lit kitchen.
Mistress Beane was bent double over the hearth, poking in among the ashes. “That you, Joel?” she asked, taking out a stone crock.
“Yes’m.”
With an “Oh, me” and an “Oh, my” Mistress Beane got to her feet, using the mantel to hoist herself up. “I hearn as how the schoolmaster’s feeling poorly,” she said, “so I made him some of my Indian meal porridge. It’ll stick to his ribs on that long journey home.”
Joel edged toward the door.
“Oh, no, you don’t! “the woman called. “Man or boy, you got to eat, too. I declare! I never seed two such puny critters.”
She spooned some porridge into a big brown bowl and poured hot butter and milk over it. “You buckle right down and eat. It’ll make you lively as pepper the hull day long.”
Joel began to eat rapidly, while his eyes kept darting from the bowl in front of him to a basket of red apples in the center of the table.
“Good years or bad, we most always has apples,” Mistress Beane said, following Joel’s glance. “And land knows when you’ll get your next meal. Help yourself to as many as you can carry.”
Joel tried to say his thanks, but the porridge stuck in his throat.
“You’ve et enough, son. If it won’t down, it won’t. Mebbe you’d like to high-tail it outdoors and find Mister Beane. He’ll be milking ’long about now, and there’s some mighty purty kittens to play with in the barn.”
Joel neatly stacked his dishes. Then he selected two of the biggest and ripest apples, thanked Mistress Beane shyly, and hurried out into the gray morning.
He spied the colts at once. Down at the far end of the meadow they were stretched out in a joyous run, their tails floating on the wind. Gulping a deep breath, Joel went racing in the dew to meet them. He tried to shout to them, to call their names, but the wind rushed at him, smothering his voice.
At sight of the oncoming figure the two colts slowed, then halted altogether. Their eyes studied the boy, and the very air seemed charged with suspense.
“Now is the time,” Joel said to himself. “Now!” He took the apples from inside his shirt and, slowly moving closer, offered one on the palm of each hand. Ebenezer eyed them but a moment. Then he came forward and nimbly helped himself. Little Bub, however, danced away, snorting. Joel made no move to follow. He stood very still, waiting. The little colt snorted again, as if daring Joel to come a step closer. Then curiosity got the better of him. Besides, he could hear Ebenezer crunching the apple, and he could smell its sweetness. His feet moved nearer, one tiny hoof, then another.
At last the quick breath on Joel’s hand, and the funny little whiskers tickling his fingers. Then Bub lifted the apple, and in that moment boy and colt were friends.
Joel’s heart seemed to catch in his throat. “I wish ’twas you that was coming along,” he said softly. “Ebenezer—well, he’s nice enough; but you and me, we could grow big together!”
Joel and Little Bub were so lost in a delightful world of their own that they both shied as Master Morgan and Farmer Beane approached.
Stepping quietly and carefully, the schoolmaster now walked up to Ebenezer. With the farmer’s help he eased a halter over the big colt’s head and fastened a short rope to it. Then he turned to Joel.
“Here, son, you take the lead rope. You can guide Ebenezer on our homeward journey. Farmer Beane was right. You’ve a way with horses, I do believe.”
Joel’s hands made no move.
“Say good-bye to Bub now.” The tired voice was filled with regret.
Joel bit his lower lip to stop its trembling. Without a word he faced away from Little Bub. He took the lead rope in his clenched fist and led Ebenezer through the gate. His footsteps faltered and his small, resolute chin seemed to say, “I could take care of Bub, too. I could.”
As soon as Joel and Ebenezer were on the other side of the fence, the schoolmaster blocked the open gate so that Little Bub could not escape. He turned now to shake hands with the farmer. “I know you’ve done the best you could about the debt, Abner.”
“And I’m obliged to you for crossing it off, Justin. ’Twas extraordinary nice of you to put it in writing. I always did say you was the most elegant writer in the state of Massachusetts.”
Now the good-byes were said, and there was no delaying any longer. The boy slid his fingers through Ebenezer’s halter strap and headed him northward. The sun was pointing thin fingers of gold above the horizon.
“Good-bye, Little Bub,” Joel’s lips said. He cast a troubled glance backward, and suddenly his heart began hammering wildly. Farmer Beane had not closed the gate! He was actually standing aside, letting the colt push past him.
“Hey, Justin!” cried the farmer. “The little one—he wants to tag along. Better take him for the lad.”
The early morning light made a fuzzy shadow of Little Bub as he came pattering straight across the road to Ebenezer.
Joel smothered a cry of joy. He was almost afraid to breathe. He looked neither to the right nor to the left. His bare feet sank noiselessly into the dust. “Please, God,” he whispered, “don’t let Little Bub turn back. Please, God, don’t let him turn back.”
But Little Bub had no thought of turning back. He threw his head high and investigated the wind with all manner of snuffings and snortings. Then his delicate ears pointed this way and that to hear the small thunder of his own hoofbeats. At last he whisked his curly black tail. “I’m coming along!” he said, more plainly than if he had talked.
Justin Morgan looked at the young colt and frowned. Then he saw the happy tilt to the boy’s head. He shrugged his shoulders. “All right, all right,” he said helplessly.
Joel’s excitement could not be held in. He let out a great sigh of happiness. Little Bub was his! There was no mistaking it now. At least for the long journey home, the colt was his!
