other presents. A birthday cake with ten tall candles. At last he whispered: "Is it a he or a she?"
"A little mare."
A mare! He could hardly believe it. There would be colts—tiny, shaggy colts. His very own. It was almost too much. He wriggled against Renny. Adoring him.
"When will she—oh, I say, Renny, what's her name?"
"She has no name. You may name her."
No name. A nameless gift from the gods. Oh, responsibility overpowering, to name her!
"When will she come?"
"She is here, in the stable."
With a squeal of joy Wake leaped up in the bed; then, espying the bugle, he had an inspiration.
"Renny, wouldn't it be splendid, if I'd sound the reveille and then we'd both instantly get up? I'd like terribly to sound the reveille for you, Renny."
"Fire away, then."
Solemnly the boy placed the bugle against his lips and took a prodigious breath. Renny lay looking at him, amused and compassionate. Poor little devil—a man some day, like himself.
Loudly, triumphantly, the notes of the reveille were sounded. Simultaneously they sprang out on to the floor. June sunshine blazed into the room.
Downstairs, Wakefield said to Finch: "What do you suppose? Renny has given me a pony. We've just been out to the stable to see her. A little pony mare, mind you, Finch. There'll be colts one day. And thanks again for the bugle. Renny and I both got up by it this morning. And there's to be a picnic on the shore, and an absolutely 'normous birthday cake."
"Humph," grunted Finch. "I never remember such a fuss on any of my birthdays."
