Wobbly Barstool

By Jane Lowy

Jane Lowy's literary novel Wobbly Barstool is a Victorian-era tale of friendship and love, whose protagonists display anachronistically progressive mind-sets in a Dickensian milieu of drama and playfulness. The book challenges traditional concepts of morality while ultimately asserting the intrinsic value of marital, familial, and platonic bonds. It may appeal to readers interested in such classic writers as Charles Dickens, Anthony Trollope, or Jane Austen. Wobbly Barstool is meant to offer readers a fun, life-affirming story with memorable characters that they can delight in and love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9780985157104

Book preview

Chapter One

Resolutions

THE EWE LAY ON THE GROUND. It was quite dead. The sight of it startled and saddened the shepherd, who, cresting the English hillside, spotted it in the yellowish-brown grass at the summit. He approached the animal and touched it gently on its soft muzzle.

Poor Weebajim, he said, we wondered where you’d gone.

The reason for the young ewe’s demise was unclear. It had been looking poorly of late, and the shepherd and his wife had worried on its account. Feeling depressed about the discovery of the family’s beloved pet in this condition, the man sat upon a nearby rock to grieve and reminisce.

Notwithstanding their having a large flock to mind, this sheep was special to Walter and Barbara Woolrich. Their daughter, Prunella (named after the woolen academic-gown fabric), was two years old when Weebajim was born. Touched and amused by its weak cries and first awkward attempts to stand and walk, Prunella had pointed at the lamb and prattled, Weebajim, Weebajim! in her sweet child’s voice. What this meant no one exactly knew, but the animal was called such from then on. Having a name, and because of Prunella’s especial fondness for it, the lamb began to seem more a family member than a mere commodity. Perhaps out of that instinctive sympathy that youth has for youth, Prunella and Weebajim became inseparable, much like Mary and her little lamb. Mr. and Mrs. Woolrich spent many sunset evenings cuddled against a tree in their front yard, watching the two happy young creatures frolicking in the lush green grass that Weebajim’s mother would eat sedately as she too looked on.

Remembrance of these simple, idyllic scenes brought a stab of pain to Mr. Woolrich, caused not by the sheep’s death as much as by the child’s absence. For Prunella, their sweet Prunella, had been gone this last year and a half and was lost to them, perhaps forever.

And though none could ever take her place, there’s been no child come after to help comfort us—not for lack of trying, either, the shepherd mused.

Mr. Woolrich seated himself more securely on the boulder, which he referred to as Pondering Rock and favored for his frequent ruminations.

We will have to do what we can, he determined. We can’t go on like this, missing her so much and no other little one to give us purpose. Unconventional measures may have to be taken.

Unbeknownst to the deeply thoughtful shepherd, the rock beneath him continued to emit its slow poison.

* * *

Some three quarters of a year later and five miles distant, the summer solstice of 1849 had arrived in Restinstump, a tranquil Suffolk village that was picturesque in its wild yet cozy beauty and virtually unknown despite its excellence. Here, the earth—warm, green, and full of life—prepared to produce its abundant bounty in a few months’ time. There was yet no hint of that autumn crispness in the air that could persuade a man to put aside his work and dance a brief jig at the slightest provocation during the height of the day and send him scurrying home for warm currant buns, hot tea, and a good fire at evening. The atmosphere was instead balmy and relaxing, inspiring a sense of well-being and anticipation. Sanguine farmers began to imagine the time when they might gather their crops of corn, barley, wheat, beans, pumpkins, and squash, and load them onto carts bound for market.

But inside the modest farmhouse of the Barstool family, a diligent and experienced laborer of another sort had no need to wait for autumn. She had, this day, already produced her harvest, much to the relief and delight of her husband. Nelly, me gal, you’ve done it again! exclaimed Mr. Horace Barstool to his exhausted but beaming wife, who lay nursing their sixth child, a son.

As time went by and this infant grew to toddlerhood, he was affectionately nicknamed Wobbly by his slightly older sister Fanny, in honor of his first struggling efforts to walk. The name stuck, and young Walter Barstool became known as Wobbly Barstool from then on to anyone he met.

The Barstool family was quite a happy clan, with three daughters, three sons, and two loving parents who were reasonably free from marital strife. In the tiny community of Restinstump, if children received schooling, they received it at home. Mr. and Mrs. Barstool, both possessing the ability to read, write, and perform basic arithmetic, acquainted their children with these subjects. Wobbly, being the youngest child, was in large part instructed by his siblings. He was taught by his eldest sister, Bella, to lace his shoes, by his eldest brother, Floyd, to milk the cow, by his eldest sister but one, Maggie, to wash his face and hands, by his next eldest brother, Bob, to throw pebbles against stiles so that they made a satisfying noise, and by his sister Fanny, to cross his eyes at the dog to make it bark. All in all, he received a thorough and eclectic education.

Young Wobbly one day sat in his father’s lap in a worn rocking chair next to a comfortable fire. He raised his good-natured brown eyes to his father and asked him once again to read aloud the words over the fireplace.

Amiableness is better than Cleverness, recited Mr. Barstool, who had proudly hewn this credo. Not that one necessarily precludes the other, mind you, he added, but if I had to choose one quality over the other in meself, me wife, me children, me friends, me business acquaintances, and me dog, I’d pick amiableness over cleverness nine times out o’ ten. There’s times when cleverness comes in handy, o’ course, but at the end of the day, amiableness is much better company.

Wobbly rested his head against his father’s chest. He loved this nightly discussion of The Saying. The firelight danced over the carefully carved words, making them seem alive and friendly like a playful young animal.

Tell me about the saying, murmured Wobbly.

Well, Wobbly, Mr. Barstool began, "it was a quiet evenin’ many years ago, when your mother and I had been married only a short while. Our neighbor, Mrs. Lemmingsole, was in for a chat and a cup o’ tea and was talkin’ about her husband’s accomplishments.

"‘He’s just innovated a way to plant green peas that braid together as they grow, so as to actually shell themselves when picked,’ she boasted. ‘That’s the third agricultural advancement he’s come up with this year.’

"We congratulated her, and after a bit more talk, she left us to ourselves. I gave your mother a squeeze and asked her if she hadn’t rather have married such a man as the one whose virtues had just been extolled for the past half hour.

"‘Horace,’ she said, ‘Mr. Lemmingsole gives me the jim-jams. He’s as cold as ice, and I’ve seen a hurt look on his wife’s face often enough when she didn’t know anyone was lookin’. You, on the other hand, my dear, are amiableness personified—and with enough sense to come in out of the rain. Amiableness is better than cleverness. Remember that.’

So that I might not forget these words of wisdom from your good mother, I put ’em up there within easy reach of the eye.

Wobbly, comforted by his father’s arms and words, drifted off to sleep, resolving, as he did each night, to be amiable his whole life long.

Chapter Two

An Adventure in the Wood

THE DAY WAS A TYPICALLY BUSY ONE for the Barstools. Wobbly, now well advanced in boyhood, with pleasant broad features like his father’s, shaggy light-brown hair, and a somewhat stocky build, had just finished feeding the chickens when he heard his mother’s call. He trotted up to her dutifully without stopping more than a minute or two to pet a wandering cat and examine an interesting beetle.

Here I am, Mother, he said as he hopped through the kitchen doorway, stopping Mrs. Barstool mid bellow.

WOB—oh, there you are. I want to make a plum cake for supper and am all out of sugar. I need you to go to market for me and buy some. Will you, dear?

Oh, Mother, can’t Bob or Maggie go with me? It’s lonely on me own!

I’m sorry, Wobbly, but Bob is gatherin’ the plums, Maggie is milkin’ the cow, Fanny is helpin’ me wash the clothes, Bella is busy with her sewing, and Floyd is helpin’ his father in the fields, so that leaves you. Here’s the money, and I’ll see you soon; there’s a good lad!

Wobbly knew that it was no use to argue, being the sixth child of a busy woman experienced in the art of dissolving excuses. Money in pocket, he hurried down the path.

The road soon took him beyond the fields and through a wooded area. The fragrance of wildflowers swirled about him in the breeze, making him slow his pace a little, that he might enjoy their scent the longer. A meadowlark called in the trees within, beckoning him to slow further. Then, a rabbit sprang across the path and into the wood in such a catch-me-if-you-can style, that Wobbly felt compelled to follow.

Merrily chasing the bounding rodent through the vegetation, Wobbly did not notice the four large dogs—a white and gray long-haired bearded collie; a black-and-white border collie; a large, extremely fierce-looking mongrel with short tan fur; and an enormous gray curly-haired beast possessing long legs and huge paws (largely Irish wolfhound with a touch of giant poodle and a suggestion of St. Bernard)—that were not so merrily chasing him. Before Wobbly had gone very far, the dogs caught up with him. He heard a rustling and looked back in surprise.

Better slow down; he thought, there’s nothin’ makes dogs want to do you a mischief more than runnin’ from ’em.

Wobbly slackened his pace to a casual walk, and the dogs responded in kind after first racing up behind, on either side, and in front of him, giving suspicious looks and growling menacingly. Wobbly was not at all comfortable with this state of affairs, all the more so because he was continuing to travel more deeply into the wood, not wishing to upset the beasts further by changing directions.

Maybe I should try a calming look, the boy considered, and he gazed intently and serenely into each animal’s eyes, but could discern no perceptible softening in them. After a few minutes of this, Wobbly concluded that it was getting him nowhere and elected to turn about and try to make his way back to the road.

The dogs, however, were not in favor of that decision, for as soon as the boy changed direction, they began to bark and bare their teeth at him until he resumed his original course into the wood.

Wobbly continued walking for another minute or so, becoming increasingly alarmed at the distance that he was traveling from his intended path. He decided that he must try the direction-reversal maneuver again, but sadly, it yielded the same result.

After a third and fourth try on Wobbly’s part to return to the road, the dogs were clearly fed up with this yo-yo-like behavior and complained with such ferocity that the frightened lad dared not attempt it again.

Wot’ll I do? he wondered, Where are they takin’ me? I’m for it, that’s all; I’m settled and done for.

Despondent, Wobbly continued onward for some time more until he came to a small clearing. All four dogs immediately lunged in front of him and began yelping and baying. Wobbly stopped immediately and wondered whether more dogs were about to appear, to share in tearing him to bits.

But instead of more dogs, there emerged a tall, thin, raggedly dressed boy about Wobbly’s age, with longish dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and something of the canine in his features. This strange child made a few sharp vocalizations to the dogs, and they instantly quieted and ran to him, tails wagging, to be stroked on their heads and necks.

Wobbly’s combined astonishment and relief was tremendous. He stared at the boy, who stood looking at him solemnly.

Thank you. Thank you very much! said Wobbly, remembering his manners. I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in all me life. You right saved my skin, you did!

What brings you here? inquired the other boy, maintaining a neutral expression.

Why, those dogs of yours did, replied Wobbly. They escorted me most definitely and wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer!

But you must have entered the wood for some reason, the stranger persisted.

"Well, yes, just for a lark—or for a rabbit rather. I was chasin’ one as I was on me way to buy some sugar at the market for me mother, when all of a sudden—Whip! Whang! Kablooey!—those dogs were after me like I was fresh chops."

I am sorry if my dogs were a little rude, said the child from the wood. They are very protective of me. You simply got a bit too close for their liking.

Seems they’d have driven me off instead of towards you.

They wanted to show you to me, to see what I thought of you, much as a cat might leave a mouse on the doorstep for its master.

Oh, thanks, muttered Wobbly.

Of course, my dogs will escort you back to the edge of the wood whence you came.

Skinkers, would they? cried Wobbly. That’d come in handy, that would, as I’ve quite got meself lost, wot with all their growlin’ and barkin’ and unkind looks and my quakin’ with fear.

There is no reason to be afraid of them, once I’ve told them not to harm you, the boy said with a steady gaze, just so long as you leave the wood directly.

Oh, I will. Don’t you worry about that; I won’t so much as let a bead of sweat run crooked down me face on the way out. Straight as an arrow from Robin Hood’s bow, or William Tell’s bow, or any other beggar’s bow that you like—that’s how I’ll be goin’, just as soon as you give the signal, friend.

The strange boy’s face softened a trifle.

It has been a long time since anyone has called me ‘friend’, even though I know it must only be the way you speak and means little.

Aw, now, protested Wobbly, shaking his head and waggling his forefinger in admonishment, any bloke walks into my life at the moment these wild beasts are lookin’ the most like they’re gonna tuck into me tender portions and causes ’em to see the light and mend the error of their ways is a friend of mine, sure as the sun rises and sets!

Well, I can understand that, but you do not know me. I cannot really be your friend.

I don’t see why not. The only thing we lack is knowin’ each other’s names.

I’m Tobias.

Tobias wot?

Just Tobias. You may call me ‘Tobias the Dog-Boy’ if it makes you laugh.

All right, I will. And I won’t. My name’s Wobbly Barstool.

Wobbly Barstool? That’s a funny name.

No funnier than ‘Tobias the Dog-Boy’.

I’m not so sure about that.

In any case, we know wot to call each other now, so that’s one requirement of friendship fulfilled. Another is knowin’ one another’s situations. I’ll go first. I live with me father and mother; and me sisters, Bella, Maggie, and Fanny; and me brothers, Floyd and Bob; all older. Me father is Horace Barstool, a farmer, and me mother is Nelly Barstool, a farmer’s wife and caretaker of us good, honest youngsters. We live not far from this wood, which is next to the road to market, where I got diverted by the rabbit and made your dogs’ acquaintance and then yours. So, that takes care of me. Wot about you, Tobias? Where do you live?

This wood is presently my home. These dogs are my family.

Wot? Wot about your parents?

Not living.

Sorry. Well, how do you get on? And how did you come here in the first place?

Tobias considered for a moment, then said, "My parents and I lived quite happily in a small cottage a number of miles away. Although we did not have a great deal of money, my parents were intelligent people who loved to read and learn. They made sure to save enough to buy books and to borrow them when they could not buy. They taught me to read and set me on a rich course of self-instruction. I proved to be a good student though I was only a small child.

"Two years ago, the sickness came. My parents had not been well for a long while, and were steadily growing worse. No one knew why. One day, I returned from wandering in the wood with my dog, Bumper—the bearded collie here—to find the doctor at our cottage, telling me that my parents were very ill and I mustn’t enter. I was to stay with neighbors. I didn’t like that and pounded on the door, calling to my parents, but only heard my father say weakly, ‘Go, Tobias, and take Bumper and Sparks with you. Your mother and I love you.’ I had no choice but to go with the doctor, so I took Bumper, and Sparks, our border collie, and rode with the doctor to another place.

"I was too unhappy to notice much about either the people who took me in or my surroundings and spent the days anxiously waiting to go home. At last, the doctor came and told me that my parents were no longer in this world.

I became so miserable that I could scarcely bear it. These neighbors shifted me to those neighbors, and those to others, and none seemed very glad to have me; some were, in fact, quite cold and cruel to me. I decided that I would be better off on my own, so I took my dogs one night and set off. We ran far away and learned to find food for ourselves. Other dogs joined us over time, and we have wandered ever since. Recently, we have taken up in this wood. It is quite abundant in food supply, so we have remained.

Wot are you eatin’ then, if I might ask?

Nuts, berries, other wild plants. The dogs provide for themselves.

Wouldn’t you like some nice bread, or plum cake, or somethin’ o’ that sort?

Yes—but not if it means having to show myself. I have grown accustomed to my life of freedom and do not wish to be confined again. I wish no one to know that I am here. Grown-up people would just try to meddle in my affairs and might put me someplace that I did not care to be, feeling that it was their duty to do so. I am quite content here with my dogs; if I cannot have my parents, I would rather have no one else. Tobias gave his nearest dog a gentle caress on the head, causing the animal to wag its tail gratefully.

Well, all right. But wot if I were to bring you a little somethin’ to chew on now and then? That would be acceptable, wouldn’t it?

Yes, said Tobias hesitantly, I suppose so, although you mustn’t feel that I need you to. And I must ask you not to mention to anyone that I am here, please, not even your family. It would only make them worry or imagine that I need some sort of help, and I do not.

Oh no, I won’t say anything, if that’s the way you want it. But it would be fun, you know, to get together sometimes for a chat and a game perhaps, and share a bit o’ bread.

All right—if you happen to be passing near, and if I’m about.

How will I find you again?

My dogs will see to that.

Right! That’s settled, then. I’d best be goin’ now, as Mother will be wonderin’ about me.

Bumper and Toothsome will show you the way out.

That’s grand. ’Bye, Tobias-the-Dog-Boy.

Goodbye, Wobbly.

Wobbly gave a parting wave. Tobias returned the gesture rather wistfully, Wobbly thought, before disappearing into the forest with all but the bearded collie and the stern tan dog, which each immediately uttered a sharp yelp at Wobbly as if to indicate that it was time to get moving.

Following the dogs out of the wood, Wobbly soon found himself back at the road where he had first seen the rabbit. He thanked the canines politely, and they vanished back through the trees.

Wobbly quickly made his way to the market square, obtained the requested sugar, then hurried home to his mother, who greeted him with a concerned expression.

Why so long, Wobbly? she asked, taking him in her arms.

Oh…it’s all right, Mother. I stopped to play with some puppy dogs I met on me way.

Chapter Three

Friendship Grows

ON A QUIET AFTERNOON later that week, the Barstool family sat in the back garden, shelling peas for supper. Soft breezes stirred the comfortable warm air and made a lovely drowsy sound in the treetops as a soothing accompaniment to their pleasant conversation.

Look at that little sparrow chasin’ that big pheasant! cried Bob, pointing to two birds that were performing some rapid and intricate aerial acrobatics.

It reminds me of Billy and Bella, said Maggie, with a sly glance toward her elder sister.

Maggie! responded Bella in a shocked tone, I’m sure it couldn’t make you think of any such thing.

Bella, a tall, well-grown young woman, had of late attracted the attention of Billy Barker, the baker’s son, who was of comparatively slight build.

I saw you two talkin’ today, Bell, said Floyd, gently nudging his elbow into Bella’s stout arm.

Oh, he was just babblin’ his usual nonsense, Bella said, with a smile and a shake of her dark curls. ‘Come, let us skip across the clouds, my darling,’ says he, ‘and see what the fields and trees look like from above. One touch of your hand and we will be off! And I will hold your hand tightly, so that you needn’t be afraid of falling.’ I looked at him sternly—well, as sternly as my gentle nature is capable of, anyway—and said, ‘Pish posh, Billy Barker, I’ve got peas to pick!’

That’s tellin’ him, Bell! interjected Bob, grinning widely.

Maybe he’ll ask you to dance with him at the village fête next month, piped Fanny. That’d be a comical sight!

Now, now, you children leave your sister be, their mother admonished them.

That’s right, young Barstools, the paternal member of the family added. Billy Barker’s a decent enough lad; he’s only fond of flights of fancy and utterances of same. Not such a bad thing, so long as one is able to keep roof overhead and bread on table—and bein’ the son of a baker, he shouldn’t have much trouble with the latter, should he?

The group chuckled, and the talk turned to other matters.

Wobbly was unusually quiet that evening. He was thinking about Tobias and wondering how he was faring. His father’s jest only served to remind him that Tobias had neither roof nor bread, and no friend, unless Wobbly himself were one. He had not found any reason to return with food to the path that had led him to Tobias that he could easily explain to his mother without giving the boy away. This, Wobbly had promised not to do, although he thought it might be the best thing for Tobias after all. Still, me word is me word, thought Wobbly, and if you can’t trust a Barstool, wot’s to become of the world? But I’ve got to at least give the fella a crust of bread and a few friendly words. I’m not sure which he’d be the hungrier for, being alone like that for so long. Dogs, yes, they’re fine company, but people are meant to be with people, as far as I can tell. Oh, he’d say he was quite all right, but I saw that look in his eyes as I was leavin’—sort o’ like he was wishin’ he had a place to go home to. Sad, it was.

Wobbly pondered the matter until bedtime, deciding to try to find Tobias again the next morning, carrying a gift of food if possible.

* * *

Upon arising, and after a good breakfast, Wobbly asked his mother for permission to take a long ramble on his own, with a bit of bread and cheese for a snack. Just in case I should want a nibble, wot with all that walkin’, he explained, having lit upon this stratagem.

Mrs. Barstool tied up a generous amount of the requested items, along with a large piece of cake, in a red-checkered cloth bundle, attached it to a stick, and Wobbly started off.

Don’t wander too far, dear, and be back in time for lunch, please, she shouted, as Wobbly waved his cap to her from the bend in the road.

Wobbly walked briskly, happy to be on his way to his curious new friend, but also somewhat anxious, remembering the previous sternness of Tobias’s canine companions. Why, they might not even be about, he considered. I’m not likely to find Tobias without them. Just have to hope for the best.

After a few minutes, Wobbly came to the section of the road that was bordered by the forest. When he reached the spot where he seemed to remember having seen the rabbit, Wobbly left the pleasant sunlit road and entered the cool shade of the wood. Taking care to observe his surroundings more exactly this time, Wobbly resolutely made his way through the trees. It was not long before he heard a sharp bark, followed by another more distant one.

Ah! thought Wobbly, smiling nervously, I guess I’ve been sniffed out, all right. There’ll be no turnin’ back now!

Wobbly slackened his pace and waited for the dogs to appear, which they did almost immediately. The austere tan one, which Wobbly recognized as Toothsome, and a small, previously unseen speckled second of unknown breed, trotted up to the boy and seemed to regard him with something less than the suspicious and hostile behavior of before.

Here, doggies, I’ve come to see your master on purpose this time! said Wobbly as cheerfully as he could manage, which was rather cheerfully indeed.

The small dog began to run rapid circles around Wobbly, uttering a few short yaps, until Toothsome gave a low growling bark. The larger dog, giving Wobbly a meaningful look, began to trot in a leisurely manner toward the center of the forest, followed by the other dog. Wobbly assumed that this was a courteous request for him to come along and followed also.

After a short while of threading through the underbrush, Wobbly perceived the figure of Tobias standing with the dogs Bumper and Sparks on either side of him, a look of not unpleasant surprise on his face.

So, you have come back, he said.

Hello, Tobias. Yes, I have. Just wanted to see how you were gettin’ on.

Perfectly well, thank you, Wobbly. I didn’t really expect to see you again.

Well, I said I might stop by from time to time, didn’t I?

People say all sorts of things out of politeness that they don’t mean. Dogs, now—I have never known a dog to break a promise.

Break a promise? Why, a Barstool would sooner stand knee-deep in quicksand in a pit full of crocodiles with his hands tied behind his back in a hailstorm than break his word. You can count on me, you can. Ask anyone. ‘Wobbly is the rock of Gibraltar,’ they’ll say. Just think of me as ‘Wobbly the dog-hearted,’ and, comin’ from you, I’d take it as a great compliment.

All right, Wobbly, we shall see. Let me further acquaint you with the dogs. You remember Toothsome, Bumper, and Sparks. Tobias gave a loud whistle, and the tremendous floppy-eared shaggy gray dog that had previously escorted Wobbly loped up. And Bigfoot, Tobias said, putting his hand on the beast’s massive head. And I see that you’ve met Whirlwind, he continued, pointing to the small speckled dog who had helped to show Wobbly the way on this occasion.

Wobbly fraternized briefly with the canines, which regarded him calmly but intently.

Our family had a dog once—old Alice, said Wobbly. She’s passed on now.

I’m sorry, Tobias responded.

It’s all right; she left us with fond memories. Good old Alice. Used to bark when I crossed me eyes.

She clearly had a very sympathetic nature and was expressing concern for your well-being.

’Spect she was, at that; though I’ve often wondered whether that would work with other dogs—not that I would dream of tryin’ it with this lot!

I wouldn’t advise it at this early and delicate stage of your relationship.

Sound advice, and well worth the takin’, I’m sure. I happened to bring some bread and cheese and wotnot. Would you fancy a bit?

Yes…, said Tobias, yes, I’ll have a little.

Wobbly untied his bundle and brought forth the wholesome victuals that his mother had prepared. There’s plenty, as you can see, he said, so tuck in! Wobbly took a piece of the thickly sliced bread and some cheese, and Tobias did the same.

A blissful expression spread over Tobias’s face as he bit into, chewed, and swallowed this simple fare. After a few bites, he blinked and shook his head slightly as though trying to recover from a daze. He looked around at his dogs, which were showing great interest in the proceedings while remaining at a respectful distance. Indicating that they should approach, Tobias began to give them pieces of his food.

Allow me, Wobbly said and held out some of his share to the animals. After Tobias gave a slight nod, the dogs gently accepted the morsels with polite wags of their tails.

When the bread and cheese had been exhausted, the party progressed to the apple nut cake, which was immensely enjoyed by all.

I think that we could do with a drink after that, suggested Tobias. Come with me, and I’ll show you a stream where we can get some cool, fresh water.

Tobias and the dogs led Wobbly a short distance farther into the forest until they came to a clear, bubbling creek, where each drank his fill.

Odds-Bodkins, that’s the wettest water I’ve had in a month o’ Sundays! exclaimed Wobbly as he wiped his mouth.

Yes, we are quite proud of it, said Tobias, smiling.

Oi, wot about a rousin’ game o’ beanbag toss? suggested Wobbly, pulling a small cloth sack from his shirt pocket.

How do you play?

Wot say we take turns tryin’ to toss it over that tree limb up there and catch it as it comes down. Each time one of us does it, he’s allowed to try again until he misses. Whoever can manage it the most times wins.

All right.

You first.

The boys amused themselves with this recreation for a time. Bumper joined in after a while, followed in turn by the other dogs, all performing flawless catches.

How about a different game? proposed Tobias. We could try keeping the bag in the air between us without using our hands.

Wobbly agreed, and they began—employing their arms, elbows, legs, knees, feet, heads, shoulders, chests, and backsides, with much awkwardness and laughter. The dogs hit the bag with their noses whenever it threatened to fly too far out of the boys’ reach. Bigfoot, to Wobbly’s surprise, proved especially talented at this, showing amazing agility despite his size.

I’ve got to rest meself! panted Wobbly, collapsing onto the ground.

Good idea, puffed Tobias.

Wot do you call that game? asked Wobbly when he had caught his breath.

Tryourbest.

Ho! I like that. Suits it to a T! Funny, I never heard of that one before. On the whole, I pride meself on bein’ well acquainted with topics concernin’ fun and games.

It’s quite a recent development.

Ah, that would account for it then.

Yes…in truth, I’ve just made it up! Tobias said, with a wink.

Chapter Four

The Village Fête

FANNY’S PREDICTION that Billy Barker would ask her sister Bella to dance at the village fête seemed beyond question. Billy, a young man of nineteen, had been buzzing around Bella for weeks now, using any excuse he could invent to deviate from his neighborhood rounds delivering bread and pastries, in order to pass near the Barstool property.

I thought your mother might find these corn kernels of use in nourishing her pullets, he said on one occasion. Your brother Floyd may, perhaps, enjoy adding this marvelously featured stone to his magnificent collection, he commented on another.

This morning, Bella knelt in the front garden, diligently pulling weeds, as the baker’s son strolled jauntily around the bend of the lane.

Ah, Miss Barstool, we meet again! announced Billy, a radiant smile brightening his otherwise rather ordinary features. It seems as though an eternity has passed since I have had the pleasure of your most delightful and genial company.

Wotcha mean? You’re about here all the time, these days, Bella replied, attempting in vain to form her rosy dimpled features into scornful indifference.

I cannot deny the veracity of your observation, astute maiden, yet the time between our encounters stretches into infinite tedium in my mind as I go about my once cheerful daily tasks, now lightened only by the prospect that our paths might cross and I might be refreshed by your presence as is a weary and forlorn traveler by a pure and sparkling brook, Billy rejoined.

Piffle, you! You’d turn me head with such nonsense, if I weren’t so sensible. Now then, wot have you got to say for yourself today?

I have only to share with you a lovely, dreamlike vision that I had at sunset last evening when making my rounds by Lilylore Pond. A pair of swans descended upon the surface, executing their landings with such grace and elegance that I stood in awe for a moment. I gazed upon their breathtaking beauty as they effortlessly skimmed the surface of the water in perfect union, and the thought of you crept into my mind as naturally as the air fills our breasts.

Such talk!

I thought of—dare I say it?—you and myself, in just such a harmonious coexistence, and my heart swelled.

At this point, Bella found it necessary to duck her head and mop her brow with the corner of her apron.

Should you wish to accompany me this evening to that spot, we might be fortunate enough to gaze upon that inspirational sight together, provided that the swans have chosen to remain.

Sounds pretty, I must admit, sighed the young woman, softening, but I’ve already got a date this evenin’ with a dozen shirts and pairs of trousers that need the mud and cow leavin’s beat out of ’em in the wash tub. However…, she added, observing the keen flash of disappointment that threatened to extinguish the smile on her suitor’s face, the village fête is tomorrow, you know. It’s likely that we’ll run into each other there, don’t you suppose?

"I feel absolutely certain of it! exclaimed Billy, elated. Until then, my fair and esteemed friend."

Billy bowed and was off, stepping proudly down the path.

* * *

The inhabitants of Restinstump awoke the next morning to a delicious coolness in the air that was most refreshing after the heat of summer, and the day promised to be mild and pleasant. Most of the households in the vicinity were characterized by bustling, nervous preparations, for the village fête was an event not to be missed. Held annually in early September, it was one of the few days when ordinary duties and troubles were forgotten, and the villagers gathered in a lighthearted spirit of festivity. There would be games, dancing, plenty of delicious food, and good company. Many old friends were reunited on such days, enemies reconciled, new romances begun, and blossoming love often came to full flower. It was an occasion that knit the lives of all into a single fabric.

The freshly scrubbed and combed Barstools, each decorated as gaily as possible and bearing baskets full of sumptuous edibles, exited their abode and joined their similarly laden and attired neighbors who were making their way toward the fairground in a mood of bright anticipation.

A more splendid group of revelers I’ve seldom seen, proclaimed Mr. Barstool, and none more magnificently arrayed than me own spouse and offspring. Fanny, how sweet you look, and how cleverly you’ve done those bows! Maggie, you look prettier every year. Why, Bella, you’ve outdone yourself this time! Nelly, me love, you’re as fair as the day we met, and sons, I’ve never seen you look handsomer. I must say, I’m proud as a peacock to be seen with the lot o’ ya!

You’re a stunnin’ sight to behold as well, my dear, asserted his wife.

Well, now that we’ve all been duly praised, wot say we pick up the pace a bit, so as to reach our destination all the sooner! suggested Wobbly.

Yes, wot say, then? seconded Fanny.

That’s all very well for you, laughed Maggie. You’re not weighed down with these victual baskets.

You two can run up ahead, if you like; Mrs. Barstool said tolerantly, you’ll be carryin’ the empties on the way back, after all.

Wobbly and Fanny lost no time in taking advantage of their mother’s permission and shot down the road with all speed. The two slowed to catch their breath near the area where Wobbly had lately been entering the wood to visit his new friend, still unrevealed to his family.

Numerous times over the past month Wobbly had sought out Tobias, bringing something to eat if he could. Each time he had found his companion more open and less guarded in his manner and genuinely pleased to see him. Tobias had begun to enjoy showing Wobbly his haunts, pointing out objects and areas of especial interest, or discussing the different characteristics and personalities of each of his five dogs. Wobbly, in turn, had spoken elaborately and fondly of his individual family members and of their home life. He had mentioned the village fête, describing it with great enthusiasm and urging his friend to make an appearance, perhaps even meet the other Barstools. Tobias had reluctantly declined.

I’m sorry, Wobbly. You know that I value your friendship and would be quite interested in meeting your family, but the risk is just too great.

That’s all right, Wobbly had replied, giving his friend a pat on the back, but you know when and where it is, and we’ll be there all day, so if you should change your mind….

Wobbly glanced toward the wood, half expecting to see Tobias or at least one of his dogs, but there was no sign of any of them. He took his sister’s hand and turned his thoughts to the upcoming celebration.

Within a short while, Wobbly and Fanny arrived at the shady glen bordering the wood, where the Restinstump village fête was taking place. They were delighted by the happy variety of sights, sounds, and smells that greeted them. Colorful tents were everywhere, crowded with gaily dressed, bright-faced participants; lively tunes played on fiddles, accordions, and penny whistles could be heard; and the enticing smells of viands of all kinds filled the air. Nature herself added to the festivities with her soft, deep-green grass, vivid flowers that supplied their own lovely, delicious fragrances, the sweet warbling of birds, and soothing buzzing of insects (happily, none of them the biting or stinging variety). To the children and perhaps even to the adults gathered there, it was the jolliest, most pleasant place imaginable.

Ooooh, Wobbly, just look at it all! squealed Fanny.

To be sure, Sister, quite dazzlin’ to the senses on all counts, I must say!

Wot first, then? Bob for apples?

Let’s leave the apples for Bob. I’ve got me eye on one o’ them cakes! said Wobbly, espying on a nearby community feast table a rich brown, moist, glaze-drizzled cake, no doubt filled with all manner of nuts, currants and spices.

All right, but let’s do a game first. That way we’ll really work up an appetite!

The two siblings headed for the three-legged race, which seemed quite an adequate means to that end.

It’s a good job we practiced, whispered Fanny, tying her left leg to Wobbly’s right as they stood at the starting line beside the other young contestants.

Ready—Steady—GO! yelled the official, and the race was on.

"OH, DEAR, WOT CAN THE MATTER BE? OH, DEAR, WOT CAN THE MATTER BE? OH, DEAR, WOT CAN THE MATTER BE? JOHNNY’S SO LONG AT THE FAIR!" sang Wobbly and Fanny at the top of their lungs as they ran stiff-legged down the field, with grim determination.

There was much laughter, tumbling, and confusion on the part of other pairs attempting the race, but the Barstools, united in the rhythm of their song, remained steady. "HE PROMISED HE’D BRING ME A BUNCH OF BLUE RIBBONS, HE PROMISED HE’D BRING ME A BUNCH OF BLUE RIBBONS, HE PROMISED HE’D BRING ME A BUNCH OF BLUE RIBBONS TO TIE IN MY BONNY BROWN HAIR!"

THE WINNERS! proclaimed the judge at the end of the course and brought his arm down in a broad gesture, pointing to Fanny and Wobbly.

Thunderous hurrahs rang out from the remainder of the Barstool family, newly arrived after having deposited their burdens of food.

Here, you two, it’s a race, not a singin’ contest! teased Bob, running over to help his brother and sister undo their bonds. We could hear you clear across the way. Drownin’ out the fiddlers, you were!

Go ahead and laugh, you! It worked, dinnit? retorted Fanny proudly.

I’d say our method, though uncommon, proved quite effective in this case, Wobbly added with a grin.

Fair enough! laughed Bob.

Not nearly fair enough by a long shot, brother; I’m here to have fun till sundown! quipped Wobbly, and after fortifying themselves with a generous slice of cake each, the three continued their merrymaking.

Bob displayed his skill at ring toss, claiming the grand prize of a much coveted green felt cap, which he promptly stuck over his tousled black hair and wore the rest of the day, drawing many admiring glances.

Wobbly, Fanny, and Bob then rejoined the rest of the family to hear Floyd give a talk on the subject of rocks and minerals, which he did while displaying some of his prized specimens.

Singing was Maggie’s shining talent, and after a word with an accordion player, she broke into The Bonny Gates of Wallamaroo (a song popular among Restinstumpians) with musical accompaniment. Her confident, capable voice, combined with her pleasant, relaxed style, engendered heartfelt applause.

Wobbly was refreshing himself at the punch bowl when he noticed Billy Barker striding toward him with a look of utmost cordiality on his face.

Young Wobbly Barstool! hailed Billy. Just the fellow I wished to meet!

Ho there, Bill. How’s your day been? responded Wobbly genially.

’Tis a day like no other, filled with innumerable wonders and delights and, Billy lowered his voice, a certain amount of anticipation with its concomitant trepidation.

How’s that, Billy?

Might I speak plainly, Wobbly?

You can try, Bill.

I have a certain regard for your sister Bella, Billy whispered with great solemnity.

The very leaves on Mrs. Fezzington’s peach tree across town know that, Billy, said Wobbly with twinkling eyes. In fact, he went on, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the sparrows talk about it among themselves in neighborin’ counties in their idle chitchat at the end of a long day o’ wingin’ their way back and forth between here and there, collectin’ various morsels o’ food and rumor.

Billy heaved a sigh. It may be as you say, my verbally precocious friend.

Oh, right, you’re one to talk! Wobbly laughed. How is it, then, that you come to be in the habit of speakin’ in the unusual way that you do—you know, all full of poetry and high breedin’ like?

My uncle, who is a university professor, has been kind enough to lend me a great number of learned texts that I have perused in my leisure hours following my duties as apprentice to my good father.

Ah.

But to return to the previous subject—Wobbly, your being the youngest member of dear Miss Barstool’s family, I find it somewhat less intimidating to ask you a very delicate question that is of supreme importance to me.

Charge ahead, guv.

Have you perchance gleaned, in the course of your daily familial intimacies, any indication, however slight, that your sister Bella might be inclined to return my feelings?

Wobbly stroked his chin, pursed his lips, and gazed contemplatively skyward.

Mmm…well, now…does she return your feelin’s? Hard to say on tricky matters like that. I’d say the best thing would be to ask her yourself, don’t you think?

Yes, yes, Billy breathed resignedly, it must be so. It has been such since time immemorial; the fortress of a woman’s heart remains all but impenetrable, and a man must risk his soul in an attempt to discover its secrets!

’Spect so, Wobbly replied sympathetically. However, he said brightening, I can tell you this much—I have noticed a bit of a blush on her when your name is mentioned. That, and a temporary loss of concentration on those occasions might be indicative of somethin’. Can’t say for certain, o’ course.

Billy, who had been hanging on his young companion’s every word, perked up considerably at this.

Your observations have lent me new courage, Master Barstool, and I am more grateful than I can express for the opportunity to have had this private conversation. I now beg to take leave of you for the moment, although I sincerely hope, and feel it may be likely, that we will meet again soon. Farewell!

Good luck, Bill!

After a warm handshake, Billy slipped away into the crowd.

Wobbly meandered over to where his parents and a sizable number of their friends lounged in the shade of a large, lush oak tree, sampling the comestibles and sharing stories. Sitting down and munching on a savory vegetable pie, Wobbly listened as his father entertained the group with one of his many tales, which was punctuated by timely and pithy parenthetical insertions by his wife.

…and there I was, hangin’ by me knees in the tree, strivin’ with all me might to reach that one last perfect red juicy apple to present to Nelly for her pie, (A more considerate man was never born than my Horace.) when I see a beehive that I’d failed to notice on the trunk end of the branch I’m on, with buzzin’ honeybees that had been jostled by me exertions, blockin’ me return and eyin’ me with some nervousness, (The feeling was mutual, I expect.) and a family of hedgehogs on the ground directly below me, makin’ droppin’ down a dicey proposition. (For all concerned.) Well, who should stroll up to my rescue but our cow, Buckets, who’s two hours overdue for milkin’. She looks up at me with a scornful look, as much as to say, ‘There you are, playing about up a tree, and me down here fit to bursting,’ (Quite understandable.) and she starts up to mooin’ like she’s the prima donna of the Royal Grand Opera. Fortunately, our eldest, Floyd, was just over the next rise, and he came over to see wot all the fuss was about. (Such a conscientious lad is Floyd.) He fathomed the situation straight away and brought the ladder ’round, takin’ care not to tread on the hedgehogs or worry the bees. With me son’s assistance, I was soon put right. Buckets got her milkin’, Nelly got her apples, (Can’t say you never went out on a limb for me, dear!) and I got another fine story to tell!

"Bravo! Hurrah!" shouted Mr. Barstool’s audience, applauding with vigor.

You’re like Hamlet’s ‘poor Yorick’ settin’ the table on a roar, eh, Horace? joked a friend, amid appreciative chuckles.

Aye, ’cept there ain’t no actual table, quite, and I’m in a bit better condition than he was, I’ll be bound!

The metaphorical table roared anew.

* * *

As evening began to fall, colorful lanterns were lit one by one in preparation for the dance. The musicians took their