A Ride on the Roundabouts.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XL, Issue 3, 18 January 1908, Page 48

A Ride on the Roundabouts.

By QUEENIE SCOTT-HOPPER. The roundabouts had come! to Lorna, Brian, Vic, and Roy their coming was the great event of the summer. Such delicious excitement it was to catch sight of the encampment suddenly, in the course of a morning walk, upon the piece of open ground which had been bare and uninteresting the day before. (The roundabouts, like Santa Claus and the New Year,- always seem to arrive mysteriously, in the middle of the night.) Such delicious excitement to see the horses unpacked—the famous jumping horses, “ direct from Chicago ” —and to watch the great stand being set up; to walk round the little heaps of cinders on the grass, where delightful open-air fires had been kindled, and would be kindled again; to gaze at the gaily painted shooting galleries, and the swings, and the place where, by and bye, one would be offered three shots a penny at the cocoanuts; to admire the vans, with nice little white-frilled windows, where the people lived who roamed about the country in charge of those delights, and the good, quiet horses, turned loose beside the vans to graze. This summer the roundabouts had taken up their quarters in *the field at tire end of the promenade, where the children were sometimes allowed to roam by themselves. Not in the evening, of course, when all the excitement was in full swing; when the great white electric globes were flashing from the roundabouts, like a crown of light, and the merry crowd was jostling to and fro, the laughter of holiday voices rising above the gay music, to which the horses whirled found and round in rapid, undulating rhythm—so delightful to those who were Beateil on them; so delightful, too, to those who watched! This was by far the most enchanting hour at which to pay a visit to the roundalmuts, but one could not go then without father, and father had not always the time to spare. The horses, however, were generally set in motion almut five o’clock in the afternoon, and at that time of day the four little Merivales often got leave to go to the field and look on. Lorna, the eldest, was such a sedate and sensible little person that mother always felt she could be safely trusted to keep the others out ©f mischief.

On this particular afternoon the children had been looking forward even more eagerly than usual to the approach of five o’clock. Each of the party owned a penny, to be invested in a roundabout ride. The pennies had l>een bestowed by father the evening before, as Roy sat upon his knee, telling him about the roundabouts. “ The horses all have their names painted on their necks, daddy, and one is called Bayard, same as St. George’s horse, in the picture on five-shilling pieces, who is dancing on the dragon. If I had a penny—just if supposing I had a penny, you know—l would have a ride on Bayard.” Daddy had laughed, and had found a penny for Roy, and likewise for each of the other three; and now, with joy in their hearts, they were setting out to have their treat. The jumping horses were in full career when they reached the spot, and they stood for a while looking on, for a little girl, who did not seem very sure whether she was enjoying it or not, was having a ride on Bayard, and the children were in no hurry, at the last, for their treat to be over. That is the worst of a pennyworth of pleasure; it comes to an end so soon I While you have the penny in your pocket you can still look forward to what is in store; but as soon as you spend the penny it is gone, and the pleasure which you have bought with it is so very quickly gone likewise! The four were still standing, looking on, when suddenly Lorna’s quick ear caught the sound of sobbing. She looked round. A curly headed, bare-legged little fellow of seven or eight had flung himself face downwards upon the grass at the back of a furze-bush, and was crying as though his heart would break. Lorna, the comforter of her own little brothers and sister in all their troubles, could never see a child in distress without longing to make it happy again. She went up to the little fellow, and said, in her pretty motherly voice: “What’s the matter? Have you got hurt?” “N—n—no,” sobbed a smothered voice in answer. “It’s our Ted. He had a penny, and I had one, and I gave him mine to take care of, ’cause I’ve got a hole in my pocket. We were going” —sob, sob—“to have a ride apiece upon the roundabouts, and Ted”—sob, sob, sob—"he’s gone and had his ride, and my ride, too. He’s spent my penny, and—r o—o —oh! I don’t know when I shall get another one!” And he fairly writhed in his woe. Lorna stood quite still for a moment, a little struggle taking place in her mind. She loved a ride on the roundabouts as much as anyone did! The rhythmic whirl, the sparkling music, the exhilaration of the rapid movement, appealed to her in a wonderful way. But she was an unselfish little soul, and had learnt long since (as small elder sisters often do) to put other people’s feelings first, and her own last. So, though her eyes were rather wistful, she put her hand into her pockets, and remarked: “Well, don’t cry. See, here’s a penny, I was thinking of having a ride myself, but I’d rather you had it instead. Make haste! The horses are just going to stop for a fresh lot of riders.” . And dropping the penny into his hand, with a bright nod and -mile, she darted back to the others. “Brian, dear,” she said, rather breathlessly, “I’m not going on the horses today. Will you just keep an eye on Roy and Vicky, and see that Roy gets the horse he wanted? There’s nobody riding Bayard now.” Brian looked surprised, but gave his promise readily enough; and a few moments later they were all mounted, and off. The boys and Vicky smiled gaily to her as they passed, and she caught a look, full of happiness, beaming from the tearstained face of the little lad she had befriended. She waved her hand to all in turn, and then gave a start of surprise, as a voice spoke close beside her. “Have you grown too big to take a fide on the jumping horses, eh?” The speaker was a white-haired old gentleman whom Lorna had sometimes seen in church. She smiled shyly, and flushed a little as she answered: “Oh, no! I like them very much.” “Then why are you not off for a gallop with your brothers and sister?” the Stranger went on. “But I need not ask; I saw you part with that penny of yours just now. And now I want you to do a favour to a lonely old man, who is no longer young enough to mount the jumping horses himselt, finci has no young folks of his own to treat to

pennyworths of fun. Will you and your brothers and sister spend this in having a good gallop, and let me have a nod and a smile as you go round?” And he showed her a bright shilling. Lorna’s pretty colour deepened. “It is very kind of you,” she said shyly. “But —” “But you aren’t quite sure that your parents would like it? I think they would scarcely object, my dear, if they knew how much pleasure it would give to me—lonely old Dr. Ralph Caldecott, up at the Grove. Won’t you let the old man have his way?” So nothing was left for Lorna, but to thank him, and show, by her glowing face, what pleasure the prospect gave her. A glorious treat they had, she and Brian, Vicky, and Roy, as they remained on their horses for ride after ride, beaming gleefully to their new friend each time they whirled past the spot where he stood. He came forward, when the last ride was over, to help them down the steps of the roundabouts. “You sit your steed like a young princess,” he said, with a smile to Lorna. “Have you ever been on a real pony’s back?” “Not since I was quite small,” answered Lorna, with a little sigh. “Brian and I had a dear, wee Shetland pony, Jewel, that we used to ride when we were tiny tots. But Jewel was sold when we left our dear old home in the country years ago.” “I have a Shetland pony up at the Grove, that my little grandchild Dorothy rode, once upon a time,” said Dr. Caldecott, with a mournful accent in his voice. “I could never bear to part with him, for her sake, and so he leads an idle life, nowadays, out in the jneadow. I should be glad if you would come and ride him sometimes, you and—yes, your brothers and sister as well. There are not many children whom I should care to see in my Dorothy’s place,” he added. “But you remind me of her, somehow. I always thought so, when I saw you in church, and I thought so more than ever to-day, when I saw you give your penny to the little boy who had been disappointed of a ride on the roundabouts.”