Six Ponies (11 page)

“Is June such a much better rider?” asked the Major.

“Oh, yes, George,” said Mrs. Holbrooke. “However much you dislike Mrs. Cresswell, you’ve got to give the kid her due, and it’s obvious, even to a layman like myself, that she’s in quite a different class to the others.”

“Ah, well, we shall see,” said Major Holbrooke, smiling in rather an irritating way he had when he wasn’t going to argue.

“Mummy,” said June on the way home from Folly Court, “I’m going to back Grey Dawn this afternoon.”

“Are you sure she’s ready for it?” asked Mrs. Cresswell. “Major Holbrooke seemed to think we were taking her too fast.”

“That’s only because he doesn’t want me to get ahead of the others,” said June. “I expect he’s afraid that he’ll have to give me special instructions on how to teach ponies the flying change while he’s still trying to drum the turn on the forehand into them—if they ever get as far.”

“Yes, perhaps that’s it,” said Mrs. Cresswell, “though it hardly seems fair to hold you back just because the rest are dolts. Of course, I think he’s made a mistake. How can that spoilt Barington-Brown child or those two hopeless boys turn out a properly broken pony? Now, if I had been the Major,” she went on, “I should have asked you to help me with the lot, and then I should have known that the job would be done properly. But there it is—there’s such a lot of jealousy and spite about, that those who can do anything are never given the credit for it.”

They drove on in silence for a few minutes, and then Mrs. Cresswell said, “I noticed that you got plenty of black looks to-day when you were telling the Major just what Grey Dawn can do.”

“Yes,” said June. “They all looked pretty small, didn’t
they? Especially Susan—fancy
admitting
that you can’t make a pony lunge to one side.”

“Dreadful,” agreed Mrs. Cresswell. “So humiliating. I should
die
of shame if you had to; but that’s not likely to happen, thank goodness.”

The backing of Grey Dawn was very successful. Following the Major’s instructions, June began by putting her foot in the stirrup as if to mount, and increasing her weight on it each time. Then she lay on her tummy on Grey Dawn’s back, and finally as, like all properly brought up ponies, she made no fuss, June mounted. Except for a slight stiffening of her back, under the unaccustomed weight, Grey Dawn did nothing, and after she had been given several handfuls of oats by Mrs. Cresswell, who was holding her, she relaxed and allowed herself to be led a few steps round the box.
This, Major Holbrooke had told them, was the most they should do at the first lesson; so June dismounted, and when they had given Dawn some more oats they hurried jubilantly into tea.

At Hogshill Priory all was not going so smoothly. Roger and James had gone for a ride, but Margaret had said she would stay at home and help Hilary and Evelyn back their ponies. They began by lungeing, and Hilary asked Rocket to canter for the first time. He cantered very calmly and on a loose lunge-rein, which caused Evelyn to remark to Margaret that she did wish Hilary would wake him up, for he looked like a worn-out hireling and was a disgrace to the stable. Romany certainly didn’t need waking up; in fact, it was impossible to make her walk on the lunge-rein until she had cantered round for some time, and was so out of breath that she couldn’t do anything else. When Hilary pointed this out, Evelyn said happily that Romany had a hotter temperament than lazy old Rocket, and since she could ride stubborn old Pixie if she wanted to use her legs, it was a jolly good thing. Hilary was furious. She said that Evelyn was being perfectly beastly about Pixie, and that if she had paid the slightest attention to Major Holbrooke she would have heard him say that you should use your legs for turning, pulling up, and back-reining, not to mention collection.

“Gosh,” said Evelyn, “you didn’t take in all that rot, did you? That’s only for training show horses. I don’t want Romany to be one of those silly ponies that have to be told what to do with their legs and are always falling flat in the hunting-field.”

“I can’t say I’ve seen many of Major Holbrooke’s horses fall flat out hunting,” said Hilary shortly.

“Old Georgie Holbrooke is different,” said Evelyn. “He’s gifted; he’s quite exceptional. You’re not so jolly conceited as to think you’ll ever be able to ride like him, are you? Good hands are born, not made, remember, and you’re just as mutton-fisted as the rest of us.”

“If you think I intend to go on riding as badly as I do
now all my life, you’re mistaken,” said Hilary with dignity. “I shall certainly do all I can to improve.” And she marched out of the field leading Rocket.

“Gosh,” said Evelyn to Margaret, “she
is
getting touchy. She seems to fly off at the least little thing nowadays. It’s queer, for she never used to be like that.”

“I expect it was because you said Rocket was lazy,” said Margaret.

“Well, so he is,” said Evelyn, “and if Hilary thinks I’m going to say he’s wonderful, when I don’t think so, she’s mistaken. I don’t believe in saying all sorts of rot I don’t think just so as not to hurt people’s feelings—it’s their own fault if they’re hurt, for having such feeble feelings.”

For a while she lunged Romany in silence. Then she said, “I say, Marga, do you think you could hold Romany while I back her? It’s no good me asking Hilary if she’s got the sulks.”

Margaret was delighted. She said of course she could hold her;
she
was jolly nearly as strong as Hilary. So they led Romany into one of the loose-boxes, and Margaret took her head while Evelyn put her weight in the stirrup several times and then mounted.

“Hurrah,” shouted Margaret, frightening Romany, who threw her head up and hit Evelyn a blow on the nose. “You’ve done it!”

“For goodness’ sake shut up,” said Evelyn. “Can’t you see you’re frightening her?”

“Whatever does she want to be so jolly nervous for?” asked Margaret impatiently.

“Perhaps Georgie Holbrooke’s cousin was beastly and chased her with whips,” suggested Evelyn. “Poor old lady,” she went on. “Give her some more oats, Marga.” And when Margaret had given her another handful, “Now lead her round the box.”

At first Romany was very nervous, and, as Margaret found her hard to control, they went round in rushes and jerks, but she soon became quiet to all outward appearances, though an experienced horseman would have known her
rigid back and tense muscles for a “go-slow” signal. Unfortunately, Evelyn was not an experienced horseman, nor did she remember the advice of one who was. Common sense and Major Holbrooke’s words were scattered to the winds. “Marga,” she asked, “do you think you could hold her if we went outside?”

“Yes, easily,” said Margaret. “She’s awfully quiet now, and I’m sure no one—not even June—has got on half as fast as this.”

Thus encouraged, Evelyn said, “Come on, then; open the door, but for goodness’ sake don’t let her go.”

Margaret led Romany out across the gravel yard to the little paddock at the back of the house. All went well until they passed the corner by the back door for the second time; then some tea towels which Mrs. Hunt—the cook—had hung out to dry, flapped idly in the breeze. Romany, already keyed up to breaking point, was terrified. She leaped forward with a snort, and Margaret and Evelyn, who had been chattering gaily about the surprise they would give Hilary, were taken by surprise themselves. The head-collar rope was jerked out of Margaret’s hand, and Evelyn shot forward in the saddle and clutched at Romany’s mane, frightening her still more. She bucked, and Evelyn flew through the air to land on the muddy ground with a smack. “Oh, you are feeble,” she said to Margaret as she scrambled to her feet. “Why on earth did you let her go?”

“I couldn’t help it,” said Margaret. “It all happened so suddenly. Anyway, it wasn’t a very big buck, so I don’t know why you came off.”

“Well, if I hadn’t she would only have gone on until I did,” said Evelyn disagreeably. “For goodness’ sake help catch her,” she went on, “instead of standing there with your mouth open.”

Romany allowed herself to be caught, but, when Evelyn tried to remount, she twirled round and round, and in spite of all Evelyn’s instructions Margaret was unable to hold her still. In the end they had to take her back to the loose-box, and even there it was some time
before Evelyn managed to scramble on. When she was in the saddle Margaret gave Romany some more oats, and then, as they heard the sound of Northwind and Darkie returning from their ride, they decided it was time to stop.

While they unsaddled Romany, Evelyn said, “Mind you don’t say anything about riding in the paddock or me falling off to any one, Marga, or there’s sure to be a fuss.”

“Not even to the others?” asked Margaret.

“No, not to any one,” said Evelyn, “or I shan’t let you help again.”

Later, at tea, when Hilary, who had quite recovered from her outburst, asked how Romany had behaved, Evelyn replied, “Fine, thank you,” and asked Roger to pass the cake.

After tea Hilary, with Roger’s help, backed Rocket. He was very quiet, and they were able to lead him a few steps round the box without mishap.

Two days after the second rally, John Manners was sitting on his garden gate in the depths of despair. He had to go back to school the following week, and, for lack of an assistant, he still hadn’t ridden his pony. Once more he wracked his brain for someone to help him. He didn’t want his father to, for Colonel Manners was inclined to take charge of anything he entered into and always made you do it his way, and John, though he hadn’t actually admitted it to himself, was beginning to have a sneaking feeling at the back of his mind that perhaps Major Holbrooke was right when he said some of dad’s ways were old fashioned. He knew his father’s farm hands would say they were too busy, whether they were or not, and he was far too independent to consider asking any of the other Pony Club members.

There’s no one, thought John, no one at all. That beastly June Cresswell will beat me again, and he fell to kicking the gate savagely with his heels.

Mrs. Manners was weeding the rockery. She knew John was in a bad temper, and at intervals she cast anxious glances at him and wondered whether she dare ask him what
was the matter. At last she could bear his scowling face and the drumming of his heels on the gate no longer. She stood upright with a grunt—her back ached from stooping—took off her gardening gloves, and pushed back a few wisps of her greying brown hair, which had escaped from beneath her shady hat. What a pity it is, she thought, that in youth one is always bothering about small things—what one wears, what people think of one, and when, as middle age draws near and one develops a sense of proportion, one is too old to enjoy life to the full.

“John,” she asked, “how is little Blackie getting on?”

“Not at all,” said John in a cross voice, kicking the gate harder than ever.

“Why, what’s the matter with her?” asked Mrs. Manners.

“Nothing’s the matter with her,” said John. “But how’s a person to break a pony with no one to help them?”

“Couldn’t dad help you?” suggested Mrs. Manners.

“No, thanks. I don’t want to be organised,” said John shortly.

“Oh, John, you mustn’t speak of your father like that,” said Mrs. Manners reproachfully. She bent down and absently pulled a sow thistle from the gravel path. Then she asked, “What has the assistant to do? Would I be any help?”

“You don’t mean you’d help, do you, Mum?” asked John in surprise. Perhaps you will think it odd that John had never thought of asking his mother to help him, but he had inherited from his father, who had spent the greater portion of his life in India, a Kipling contempt of “mem-sahibs,” as Colonel Manners always called women. They were helpless, hysterical creatures, pleasantly ornamental and sympathetic, but quite unsuitable for any work beyond light household duties and, possibly, a little gardening.

“Would you really help me, Mum?” John asked again as he jumped down from the gate.

“Of course,” said Mrs. Manners, “if I don’t have to do anything too complicated.”

“No, it’s quite easy,” said John. “You just hold her and
give her handfuls of oats occasionally. I’d better go and catch her,” he added, and ran to the stable to fetch some oats and halters, feeling as if a load had been taken off his mind.