“Really, Elsie,” Aunt Sarah snapped. “You and I have been over this very topic enough times for you to know how I feel about excuses of that nature. ‘Not meaning to’ is no excuse for any sort of failure. I’m quite aware that you excuse your own weaknesses in that manner, but I do not mine—nor shall Pamela be encouraged to excuse hers.”
Aunt Elsie’s small face looked crumpled. Pamela was sorry for her, but she was relieved that Aunt Sarah had forgotten to question any further. When she turned back to Pamela she said, “Take your plate to the kitchen. You shall eat there alone for a week. And tomorrow you will write a five hundred word essay on the value of punctuality.”
The danger was over, but it had come too close for comfort. Pamela took her plate to the kitchen, thinking she would have to get home on time the next time. The next time! How marvelous to have a next time to look forward to!
Next time, however, didn’t come as soon as Pamela expected. A summer rainy spell set in, and for three days the rain fell steadily and the wind roared in the oak trees. Pamela, of course, was not allowed to leave the house. She fidgeted from room to room, looking out every window to see if the rain showed signs of stopping.
I wonder where they are, she thought. What are they doing? I hope they have a place out of the rain.
On the third night after dinner, Pamela was sitting on the window seat in her room listening to the moan of the wind and the beat of rain on her window. It was quite dark outside, and the lights from the house made strange patterns on the wet grass of the lawn.
As she watched the rain slant in sparkling splinters through the squares of light, Pamela could feel the weight of the amulet beneath her dress. What did it have to do with Ponyboy? It must somehow have brought him. How could she ask about it without making him angry? If only the rain would stop so she could go out.
Her musing was interrupted by a sudden movement beneath the oak trees at the edge of the lawn. A gray shadow caught her eye. It looked as if it might be—yes, it was—a pony! Pamela snatched her raincoat from the closet and tiptoed to the back stairs that led to the kitchen door. She was sure her aunts were in the parlor, but she held her breath as she glided across the kitchen. From a chair Brother watched her with narrow eyes.
“I’m glad you can’t talk,” Pamela whispered. “You’d just love to tell on me.”
Outside, she gasped as the cold rain-filled wind hit her face. Beyond the patches of light on the lawn, nothing was visible. There was only darkness under the oaks where the pony had been.
For a moment Pamela hesitated. What if she hadn’t really seen a pony under the trees? Or worse, what if it had been something else—something unknown and dangerous?
She stood undecided while the oak trees moaned and tossed and the rain beat through the patches of light. Then a door slammed somewhere in the house.
Aunt Sarah, coming to put Brother out! It was too late to go back, and Aunt Sarah would surely see her where she was.
Mustering her courage, she plunged into the wet darkness. She reached the oaks and dashed on, too frightened to stop running. Suddenly, just ahead, a pale shadow loomed. Pamela almost screamed as her outstretched hands touched something warm and wet. Something warm and wet and satin smooth.
“Nimbus!” she gasped in relief. Hastily she scrambled onto the wet back. Surely and quietly the gray mare picked her way among the oaks. They circled the house and took the wagon road to the barnyard.
They weren’t going to the forest. Pamela could tell that. But where were they going?
The ride was quickly over. Nimbus stopped before the door of the old deserted granary where Pamela had found the strand of pink hair. She slipped off the pony and pushed open the heavy sliding door.
The granary was full of a strange flickering light—and ponies! Ponies were everywhere. As Pamela stepped inside, their small fine heads turned towards her and one or two nickered a greeting. The firelight shone on their sleek hides and sparkled in their deep soft eyes.
In the Old Granary
“CLOSE THE DOOR,” PONYBOY said. “You’re letting in the rain.” He was sitting cross-legged on the floor near a small fire that burned in part of an old metal oil drum. The flickering light made strange shadows on his dark face.
Pamela closed the door and led the dripping Nimbus up to the fire. “She’s all wet,” she said. “Is there something I can rub her down with?”
Ponyboy nodded approvingly. He handed Pamela a grain sack. “I don’t suppose you brought anything—like cookies maybe?”
“No, I didn’t.” Pamela felt in her pockets just to be sure. “I’m sorry. I came away so fast I didn’t think.”
“Oh, never mind,” he said quickly. “I just thought you might have. It doesn’t matter.”
But Pamela thought he looked quite disappointed. She opened her mouth to say, “Are you hungry? Where do you get your food?” But just in time she remembered about questions.
The boy seemed to guess what she was thinking, however, because he said quickly, “I have lots to eat. The forest is full of things to eat, if you know where to look. It’s just that there’s not much of some kinds of things, like—like cookies, for instance.”
Pamela was busy rubbing Nimbus dry so she couldn’t see his face, but his voice had a wistful ring. “Next time I’ll bring cookies,” she promised.
“Don’t bother,” he said grandly. “Nuts are just as good. I brought some along. I’ll show you how to roast them.”
“All right, but first I want to say hello to everyone.”
Nimbus was almost dry now, so Pamela went around to all the ponies, patting their necks and whispering in their silky ears. Solsken trotted around with her trying to get more than his share of petting. Even the timid white mares, Neige and Nuage, greeted Pamela enthusiastically.
“They all remember me,” she said as she came back to where Ponyboy was fixing a comfortable seat of grain sacks near the fire.
“Of course. Ponies don’t forget their friends,” he said. “They’re not like people.”
It was quite warm near the fire. Ponyboy arranged some nuts to roast on the coals at the edge of the drum. Outside, the wind roared, and high overhead rain pattered on the roof.
“It’s nice in here,” Pamela said.
“We come here a lot when it rains. Either here or to one of the other buildings on the farm. We like to stay near Oak Farm in bad weather. There aren’t many other places where we can get indoors and know we don’t have to worry about Them snooping around.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Pamela. “That explains the pink hair I found on a splinter there by the door. Aurora must have swished her tail as she was going through. I wondered how it happened to be there.”
Remembering the pink strand made Pamela recall Brother’s strange behavior when the pink hair touched his face. She wanted to ask Ponyboy for an explanation, but she knew better. Perhaps if she just told the story—
“You know,” she began carefully. “There was something funny about that. I was taking that piece of hair to my room and Brother—that’s my Aunt Sarah’s cat—”
“I know who Brother is,” Ponyboy interrupted.
“Oh?” said Pamela, wondering how. But she was beginning to get used to his knowing things he had no way of knowing. “Well anyway, he was on the stairs and I tickled his face with the hair. You should have seen him! You’d have thought he’d seen a ghost.” She looked at Ponyboy hopefully. He was grinning. He leaned forward and carefully rearranged the nuts on the coals.
“Brother’s a realist,” he said finally.
“What does that mean?” The question popped out before she could stop it.
Ponyboy frowned slightly. “It means he was born without one of his senses,” he said in a tone that plainly meant he had no more to say on the subject.
Pamela still didn’t understand, but she said no more.
The nuts were ready soon, and Ponyboy raked them out of the coals. They were delicious. Pamela thought she had never tast
ed any that were quite so good. As they munched together, she decided to make one more effort to get some information. She took out her amulet and, leaning forward so that the firelight gleamed on its strange symbols, said, “You haven’t seen my necklace.”
Ponyboy glanced at the amulet. “Very nice.” He was grinning again.
“Uh—aren’t the symbols interesting,” Pamela persisted.
“Fascinating,” Ponyboy said. “You know, that thing looks as if it might be good for something. Too bad it doesn’t answer questions.”
Pamela glanced up quickly. Little teasing flames were leaping in his eyes. She felt her face getting hot.
She was relieved when he suggested, “Let’s tell stories. Your turn first. I like fairy tales.”
“All right,” Pamela agreed. “How about The Blue Princess?”
For the next hour they told stories; that is, Pamela told stories, and Ponyboy told what he would have done if he had been there. At the end of each of Pamela’s stories, he said something like, “Well, it turned out O.K., but if I’d been that prince I’d have—” And he would change everything around to suit himself.
While they were talking, most of the ponies went to sleep; but Cirro stayed near the door, alert and wide awake, guarding the herd. He tossed his head nervously from time to time, and his long mane leaped like a blue flame. Solsken folded his long baby legs and lay down right between Pamela and Ponyboy. Pamela stroked his warm duckling-soft coat as she talked.
It was a wonderful evening, but after awhile the rain died down and Ponyboy said, “You’d better go back now, while it’s not raining.” He called Nimbus and made a step with his hands to boost Pamela up. As he was sliding back the heavy door, Pamela had an awful thought.
“What if Aunt Sarah has locked the doors? She usually does by now. I won’t be able to get in.”
“Oh, that ought to be easy,” Ponyboy said. “I’ll go along and show you how.”
He went back into the granary and came out with the beautiful Luna. He shoved the door shut, leaving the rest of the ponies inside.
“Why aren’t you riding Cirro?” Pamela asked, remembering too late it was a question.
But apparently this wasn’t the kind of question Ponyboy minded because he answered cheerfully enough. “Cirro doesn’t like to leave the herd alone when we’re away from the forest. Besides, Luna’s better for going quietly.”
Pamela nodded. It would be hard not to be noticed on Cirro.
Nimbus and Luna moved so gently and silently they scarcely seemed to touch the ground. Side by side they came to the edge of the oaks and stopped. Ahead Oak Farm House loomed, a huge black shadow in the darkness.
“We’ll leave the ponies here,” Ponyboy whispered. “They don’t like houses.”
The two dismounted and tiptoed across the broad lawn, around the house to the kitchen door. With breathless caution Pamela climbed the steps and tried the door. It was locked!
“The front door,” she whispered, pointing. A broad veranda ran the length of the house in front. As they started up the stairs, something moved in the darkness and two green eyes glared at them from the veranda railing. Pamela gasped. Then she realized she had seen that bad-tempered stare before.
“It’s only Brother,” she breathed.
Ponyboy laughed softly. He stepped toward the cat and held out his hand. Brother exploded into a ball of bristling fur. “Me-your!” he yowled as he shot straight into the air. Coming down, he missed the railing and landed in a bush where he scrambled furiously for a moment before he reached the ground and disappeared in a furry streak.
Pamela and Ponyboy had to smother their giggles with their hands.
“He doesn’t like anybody but Aunt Sarah,” Pamela whispered. “But he just ignores me.”
“I make him nervous,” Ponyboy said, grinning. “But I suppose I’d make Aunt Sarah nervous, too.”
The front door was locked, but Ponyboy confidently motioned for Pamela to follow him. At one end of the veranda a vine climbed a sturdy trellis. Ponyboy went up as easily as if it were a ladder, and Pamela followed. The veranda roof ran just below Pamela’s window, and to her relief, she found that the window was unlocked. Ponyboy pushed it open, and Pamela slipped through.
“Good-by,” Pamela whispered.
“Good-by. Next time remember the cookies.” Ponyboy closed the window, and in a moment he had disappeared over the edge of the roof. A slim shadow moved across the lawn, then everything was still.
The storm was rising again and dark clouds raced across the sky. The branches of the oaks tossed and reared like a herd of wild black horses. But free and clear, through the roar of the wind, Pamela heard a familiar sound—Ponyboy’s flute.
Just then the racing clouds broke for an instant, the moon shone through, and Pamela saw them: the two ponies, pale and perfect, and a boy who waved a silver flute. Then they faded into the dark shadows under the oaks, and the black clouds rushed across the moon.
Shadow Glen
ONE DAY NEAR THE end of June, Pamela overheard Aunt Sarah and Aunt Elsie talking about her. She was playing jacks on the veranda, and her ball rolled off the edge into some bushes. She was under the bush looking for it, when she heard her aunts come out.
“She seems so much happier lately,” Aunt Sarah said. “She’s beginning to realize how much better it is for her to be living quietly with us instead of being dragged all over the country by her father.”
“Well, perhaps,” Aunt Elsie answered. “But there’s something about her now that worries me. Her mind seems to be miles away. It’s almost as if she were off in a dream world. Sometimes I could swear she’s listening for something all day long.”
“Nonsense,” said Aunt Sarah. “You’ll have to admit that she smiles a great deal more. Why, just a few minutes ago I saw her playing jacks right here on the front porch and she was whistling the oddest little tune, and every once in a while she would laugh—right out loud. I tell you she’s a much happier child.”
Aunt Sarah was right about that much. But she would never have guessed why. Pamela was happy because she knew that almost any time, most often when she was least expecting it, she would be off on another adventure with Ponyboy.
Even the days when she did not see Ponyboy seemed to be less boring. She spent much more time out-of-doors now. The ponies did not like to come near the house in the daytime, and Pamela knew places where they might be. While she waited and watched for them, she found new and interesting things to do. She learned to climb trees and look for birds’ nests; she caught lizards with weed lassos; and she almost tamed a squirrel that lived behind the old barn. In the evenings she was busy rereading all her favorite fairy tales so she could tell them better.
Often, when she had not seen Ponyboy during the day, he would send Nimbus for her in the early evening. Right after dinner Aunt Sarah and Aunt Elsie retired to the parlor, and Pamela was sent to her room to read or study. Fortunately her aunts disliked climbing stairs, so they slept in downstairs bedrooms. They rarely climbed the stairs for any reason, so it was quite safe to leave right after dinner.
From her window seat Pamela would wait for the sound of Ponyboy’s flute or the shadowy form of Nimbus among the trees at the edge of the lawn. She kept her jacket ready with the pockets full of cookies. She never knew when to expect them, but if bedtime came without a sign, she knew they wouldn’t come that night.
On nights when she heard the secret sound of the silver flute or saw the gray mare, Pamela would slip out her window and down the trellis. There was always something wonderful to do. Sometimes they found a jack rabbit to chase and played fox hunting, galloping over hills and through valleys. Once a fox hunt led them up the boulder-strewn slopes of Sleeping Lady Mountain, and once again Pamela felt the senseless surge of fear as she looked down on the mysterious cloak of fog below. But there was so much to do, there was no time to worry about the swamp or anything else for long.
Sometimes they took the ponies to Shadow Glen to g
raze. They had a favorite spot on a ledge near a little waterfall where they liked to sit and talk while the ponies ate. Once, on a Saturday, they spent the whole day there. Pamela always remembered that Saturday picnic; partly because it was such a wonderful day and partly because it was the first time she really heard about the Pig Woman—although afterwards it seemed she had always known.
Every Saturday Mrs. Tibbets from down the valley came to Oak Farm to clean and scrub. Sometimes, in nice weather, old Mr. Tibbets came too, to take the aunts to town. It was a long ride to town, so they always spent the entire day shopping and visiting with old friends. It occurred to Pamela when she heard of a coming trip, that grumpy old Mrs. Tibbets would never notice or care if she was gone all day.
Ponyboy probably wouldn’t like her suggesting a certain time for him to come. She never knew when she would see him. But the prospect of a whole day’s adventure made her want to try.
The next time she saw Ponyboy, she told him about the approaching shopping trip. “And I could come in the morning and stay all day,” she said brightly. “It always seems like such a short time from after dinner till I have to go home.”
Ponyboy’s slanting eyebrows began to dip fiercely as she had feared they might. He didn’t like things to be so expected. But suddenly she had an inspiration. “I could pack a picnic lunch,” she added quickly.
Ponyboy’s eyebrows, on their way down, wavered. Then they started up again. “A picnic? What sort of picnic?”
“Oh, chicken sandwiches, and pickles, and olives, and lemonade, and cookies; maybe even doughnuts.”
The eyebrows were back to normal. “Well, I don’t know for sure,” he said. “I might be too busy, but if you want to pack a lunch Saturday and take a walk up the cowpath to the north pasture I might...,” he waved his hand vaguely, “be around.”
The lunch was easy. Aunt Elsie loved to cook, and the pantry was always full of good things to eat. Mrs. Tibbets was no problem either. She didn’t know enough about children to realize that a one-girl, all-day picnic wouldn’t be much fun. She seemed glad Pamela wasn’t going to be underfoot.
Season of Ponies Page 4