Six Ponies (6 page)

“Yes, but Valerie’s twenty-two,” said Susan, “and she certainly wouldn’t do anything with me. She says I’m spoilt. Anyway, all she ever does is to grumble about living in the country, because, she says, there aren’t any decent cinemas or shops.”

“I suppose it’s because she’s so much older than you,” said Noel thoughtfully. “I mean, she counts as a grown-up.”

“That’s right,” said Susan. And she went on, “Have you any idea what the time is?” Noel hadn’t, but she went into the cottage to look, and found, to her amazement, that it was a quarter to one. Susan was horrified. She said that she would be hours late for lunch, but she wasn’t going to spoil Beauty’s legs by trotting on the roads for any one, and she hurried off down the lane shouting, “See you to-morrow.”

Thursday was a wet, windy day, and to John Manners, walking up the winding road which led to Folly Court, it seemed that the first breath of autumn was in the air. He thought, regretfully, that the holidays were almost over, and soon he would be back at school. It wasn’t that he minded school; and next term it was football, which would be super, but it was more fun to ride about on Turpin, drive the tractor or help on the farm, than to do lessons, and though it was nice to have a lot of other chaps to fool about with, that didn’t make up for having to tear around at the bidding of a lot of beastly bells instead of doing what you liked. The real trouble about going back to school was that he would only have a fortnight in which to break his pony, and by the Christmas holidays it would have forgotten everything he had taught it. That, thought John, is where the girls are going to have an advantage, for none of them are at boarding-schools, and, though it will be dark in the evenings, they will have the week-ends in which to school their ponies. But whatever happens, he thought, I must beat June Cresswell. It looks as though I shall have to mug up some of this fancy riding, otherwise I can just see her pony
doing the change of leg, passes, and collection, while the rest of us wander round with no difference between our collected and extended paces.

By this time John had reached the gates of Folly Court, and he was hailed by shrieks from Noel and Susan, who were approaching from the opposite direction. John waved and waited—secretly he was very glad to see them, for, like most self-conscious people, he hated to arrive by himself.

“Hallo,” said Susan, as they drew closer, “I see you walked over too.”

“Yes,” said John. “I thought it would be hopeless to try to lead an unbroken pony off Turpin.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Susan. “So Noel is going to ride Beauty home, and I hope my pony will follow her.”

They were walking up the drive during this conversation, and suddenly Noel, who was riding Beauty and could see over the hedges, said, “There they are!”

“Where?” asked John and Susan both at once.

Noel pointed. There, sure enough, in a little paddock close to Folly Farm, grazed the six ponies—a grey, a skewbald, two bays, a chestnut, and a black.

“Don’t they look lovely?” said Susan, separated from them by several acres of pasture, but determined to be pleased.

Meanwhile the long, grey rambling Priory, where the Radcliffes lived, had been the scene of a good deal of argument and excitement. The Radcliffes had decided to go to Folly Court in full force, for, in spite of Major Holbrooke’s assurance that the ponies were quiet, they all felt sure that they would have a difficult journey home. They had each prepared themselves for any eventuality, and as they hurried along the quiet country road, Margaret and James in front, riding Pixie and Darkie, and the elder three, who were going to lead the youngsters, walking behind, their pockets bulged with things that
might
be useful. James had a compass, in case the ponies galloped away into a wood and everyone lost their sense of direction, a long piece of cord to rescue people from chalk quarries, and a box of matches
so that they could light a fire as a beacon if they were lost, or to warm them if they had to spend the night out. Margaret had a very large handkerchief to bind up any one—horse or human—who cut his arteries, and some acid drops in case they all fell into a quarry and shouted themselves hoarse. Hilary had oats for the ponies and bars of chocolate for the humans; while Evelyn had enough apples for everyone; and Roger carried the halters and some money to tip farm labourers who caught the ponies if they let them go.

The walk to Folly Court seemed very short. They spent it imitating the other Pony Club members and inventing the things they would say when their ponies were naughty. Evelyn was June Cresswell when she had been bucked off into a puddle; she complained bitterly that she had been made to look a fool, and told Hilary to send for Dr. Radcliffe, as she had swallowed a mouthful of muddy water. Hilary replied that she would never be able to bear the shame of Evelyn looking so scruffy, though she granted her that it wasn’t every girl who could find a puddle to fall into. Margaret was alternately Noel, when she said in a squeaky voice, “Oh, dear! Whatever shall I do? I’m
sure
I shall
never
be able to catch her.” And Susan when she whined, “Daddy, Daddy, the horrid pony’s bucked me off. I
must
have another groom to exercise her.” Roger imitated Richard Morrisson. He told his sisters that they were
only
girls and couldn’t do anything. James’ thoughts were far away. His secret ambition was to be an explorer, and in his imagination he stood at the helm of his good ship
Dauntless
and steered her through the coral reefs with unerring judgment.

Jill was very pleased when Richard asked if she would ride over to Folly Court with him and then lead Wendy home off Peter while he walked with the youngster. Generally he wouldn’t let her ride Peter, saying she would spoil his mouth or let him have his own way, and it was very flattering to be thought capable of leading one pony off another when you were “only a girl.”

Mrs. Morrisson annoyed them both by telling Richard
that he wasn’t to let Jill be kicked by the unbroken ponies or bolted with by Peter. Jill replied that she could look after herself and Richard said rather rudely that it would be Jill’s own fault if she was kicked, and, if his mother was afraid of Peter bolting, she had better buy Jill a fairy cycle.

Mrs. Morrisson said Richard had been quite impossible since he went to a boarding-school, and Richard said whose fault was that—he hadn’t wanted to go to a beastly boarding-school. Then Mrs. Morrisson said he was thoroughly impertinent, and she would speak to his father about him, and Richard said he didn’t care if she did, and flounced out of the room, slamming the door.

However, by the time they had groomed and saddled their ponies Richard had quite recovered his temper, and they rode to Folly Court in the best of spirits, imagining all sorts of triumphs for his youngster. They arrived to find John, Noel and Susan gazing across the fields at the ponies. They all admired and discussed them for a few minutes, and then John said he thought they ought to go up to the house in case everyone else had arrived.

They found the Radcliffes talking to the Major, who, after everyone had said, “Hallo” asked if they would like to see round the stable while they were waiting for June. Everyone said, “Yes, please,” except Noel, who was casting anxious glances at the rose garden, and he led the way into the stable yard and introduced them to Nothing Venture, Gay Crusader, Harmony, two thoroughbred youngsters called The Merry Widow and Black Magic—and an Arab mare called Southwind. Then he showed them the saddle-room, and the clean, shining tack put a good many members to shame when they thought of the state of theirs. They were in one of the big shady paddocks looking at the broodmares and their foals when they heard the sound of a car, and on going back to the stable yard they found that Mrs. Cresswell and June had arrived, complete with trailer. Mrs. Cresswell apologised for being late, and the Major said that it was quite all right, and led the way across the fields towards the Home Farm. Mrs. Cresswell kept up an unending
stream of conversation about June, to whom, she said, the breaking would be a wonderful experience, for, though she hadn’t much more to learn about riding, she had never done anything with young horses, not that she thought it would come amiss to her, as she had always schooled Wonder and kept her up to the mark. Mrs. Cresswell said all this and a good deal more, in what, she thought, was an undertone, but which could be heard quite plainly by the members following behind, all of whom—except June, whose look of superiority never changed—felt inclined to giggle. Major Holbrooke replied with absent-minded um’s and ah’s, which Mrs. Cresswell took to be agreement; but Noel wondered what he really thought, and she felt rather sorry for June, for she knew how embarrassed she would feel if her mother said she hadn’t much more to learn about riding, however good she might be.

The sight of the ponies stopped Mrs. Cresswell’s flow of words. Hearing the Major’s call, they all hurried across the field and began to look in people’s pockets in the most friendly manner. They were all about the same size—between twelve-two and thirteen-two—and four of them were mares, and two, the chestnut and one of the bays, were geldings.

“Oh, aren’t they lovely?” said Susan.

“I want the black one,” said John.

“We
must
have the skewbald,” said Margaret Radcliffe.

“No, no, the grey,” said Evelyn.

Mrs. Cresswell turned to June and said, in an undertone, “I do hope you don’t get the skewbald—she’s too ‘circusy’ for words.”

“I’m going to give you five minutes to make up your minds,” said the Major; “and then, if more than one person wants any pony, they’ll have to draw lots.” And he sat on the gate and admired the beauties of nature while they decided.

“Oh, we
must
have the skewbald,” said Margaret.

“For goodness’ sake shut up,” said Evelyn. “It’s not you who’s having a pony, and anyway, I want the grey.”

“ ‘A good horse is never a bad colour!’ ” quoted Hilary, “but personally I rather like the chestnut.”

“Yes, he’s awfully nice,” agreed Roger, “such a glorious golden chestnut, and I like his star.”

“I like the black,” said James. “You could be a highwayman on her.”

“Ugh,” said Evelyn. “I hate blacks! It’s such a gloomy colour and it reminds me of funerals. Anyway, you can be a highwayman on a grey. What about Katerfelto?”

“A black’s better, though,” said James, “because you can’t be seen at night.”

“Well, I don’t want to be a highwayman,” said Evelyn, “and I don’t want the black. I’m going to have the grey.”

“If no one else wants her,” said Roger.

“Mummy,” said June, “don’t you think the grey has the best hocks?”

“Don’t talk so loud,” whispered Mrs. Cresswell, “or all the others will want her too.”

“I don’t know which I want,” said Susan. “They’re all so lovely. Which do you think, Noel?”

“I’ve no eye for a horse,” said Noel drearily. She was feeling very envious. “But I don’t think colour matters
much, and you can’t tell what their characters are like until you’ve known them some time. I should just let fate take its course.”

“Have you decided which you want, Richard?” asked John.

“The grey, I think,” said Richard. “But I don’t really mind; they’re all so wizard. Have you settled on the black?”

“Yes, I like her the best,” said John.

“What will you call the grey if you have her?” asked Jill.

“Well, I haven’t got her yet,” said Richard, “but I shall have to think up a really super name. The Major’s horses have all got pretty good ones, though some of them are rather a mouthful.”

Then the Major, tired of the beauties of nature, and feeling rather cold, got off the gate and said time was up, and who wanted which?

“The grey,” shouted June, Richard and Evelyn all at once; while John said, “The black”; and Hilary, “The chestnut.”

“Oh, heavens,” said Major Holbrooke, “one at a time,
please
—you nearly deafened me. Now who wants the grey—and please don’t shout.”

“Me,” said June, Evelyn and Richard more quietly.

“Well, you’ll have to draw lots, then,” said the Major. “But first of all, what about you other people?”

“Can I have the black?” asked John. As no one else wanted her, he was settled. Hilary asked for and was given the chestnut, and then, as Susan still hadn’t decided which pony she wanted, the Major made three lots, and June drew the longest, so, to Evelyn’s intense disgust, she chose the grey. Then Susan, Richard and Evelyn drew for the three remaining ponies. Richard, who got the longest lot, had the bay gelding, which was the tallest pony; Susan, who got the middling lot, had the bay mare; while Evelyn, who had the shortest lot, had the smallest pony, which was the skewbald. She was very cross, but Margaret was delighted,
and whispered to James that they would be able to have a circus.

“Thank goodness, that’s settled,” said the Major. “I only hope everyone knows which pony they’ve got, for I certainly don’t. And now,” he went on, “if you will all come back to the stables, I want to show you a few things about lungeing on one of my youngsters.”