St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and Girls | Page 6

perils. But she knew, also, that it is
only by such perils, and through such voyages, that men, that saints, are
made.
(To be continued.)

HOW THE PONY WAS TAKEN.
BY C. W.

One morning, last August, Jimmie Wood was sitting on the gate-post
making a willow whistle, when a remarkable wagon, drawn by a lean,
gray horse, came up over the hill. The wagon looked like a big black
box with a window in it. In front was a man driving, and this man
seemed rather peculiar too. He had a long, pointed mustache and very
curly hair. He was not a cigar and candy peddler, nor a patent medicine
man, nor a machine agent, for Jim could recognize any of these in a
minute. The curly-haired man stopped directly in front of the gate.
"Good morning," said he.
"Morning," answered Jim, shutting up his knife.
"My name's Leatherbee," continued the curly-haired man.
"Is it?" said Jim, unconcernedly, and then slid off the gate-post and
started for the house.
"Hi boy!"
Jim turned quickly.
"Ask your pa whether he wouldn't like to have his house took!" called
out the stranger.
Jim nodded, and went across the grass-plot meditating upon what the
man meant by proposing to take the house. His father was in the
sitting-room writing a letter.
"Papa," said Jim, leaning up against the table, "there's a man out there
in the road that wants to take the house."
"Wants to take the house!" exclaimed Mr. Wood, making a blot in his
astonishment.
"Yes," continued Jim, "and he has the funniest-looking wagon you ever
saw in your life."
"Ah!" said Mr. Wood, "I understand now; he wants to take some

photographs, I suppose. Well, tell him I don't want any," and Mr. Wood
went on with his letter, while Jim proceeded across the front yard again.
He noticed his pony over in the orchard. A thought struck him, and he
wheeled around and went back in the sitting-room again in some haste.
"Papa," said he, "can't I have the pony taken?"
"She wont stand still long enough," answered Mr. Wood, sealing up his
letter.
"But, papa, can't the man try?" pleaded Jim.
Mr. Wood thought for a minute. Then said:
"Yes. He may try."
Jim galloped across the front yard in a second.
"Well?" said the curly-haired man, raising his eyebrows.
"Papa doesn't want the house taken," said Jim, with some dignity. "But
can you take my pony over there in the orchard?"
The man looked at Baby, who was calmly crunching harvest apples
under the trees.
"Purty little beast," he said, getting out of his wagon and leading his
horse up to the fence.
"Can you take her?" asked Jim again, anxiously.
"Course I kin," answered Mr. Leatherbee. He then tied his horse to the
fence and lifted his apparatus out of the wagon, and arranged it in the
orchard. The pony immediately kicked up her heels and trotted off to a
far-away corner. Mr. Wood came out of the house and talked to the
photographer, while Jim, after chasing around for some time trying to
catch the pony, went to the stable and put a quart of oats in a measure.
As soon as Baby spied that round, yellow box under Jim's arm, she
trotted up to him with a gentle neigh. He caught her by the fore-top and

led her to where Mr. Leatherbee was standing.
"Jest put her there," said he, pointing to a place under a big tree. Jim led
her to the place and held her while Mr. Leatherbee made all his
arrangements.
"Now we're ready," said he.
Baby looked pleased at this announcement, but waved her tail wildly.
Mr. Wood smiled.
"Tell Baby to keep perfectly quiet," said he to Jim, "and ask her to
lower her chin a little, cast a pleasant expression around her eyes, and
breathe gently."
[Illustration: "THE PONY STOOD QUIETLY EATING."]
Mr. Leatherbee laughed at this. So did Jim; for it was exactly what the
photographer always told him when he had his picture taken.
The pony thought this all very pleasant, but she wanted the oats, and,
consequently, was trying to thrust her nose through Jim's back in her
efforts to get at the measure.
The photographer looked despairing.
"Here, I'll fix it," said Mr. Wood, stepping up to the pony. "No, Jim,
stand back; Mr. Leatherbee, are you ready?"
"Yes," answered Mr. Leatherbee, with one hand on the velvet that
covered his camera.
Mr. Wood poured the oats on the ground and let go of the pony's head.
For a while Baby grabbed the oats up in great haste, but finally she
stood with her nose to the ground quietly eating. Mr. Leatherbee drew
away the velvet from the camera, and looked at his watch for