Six Ponies

by Josephine Pullein-Thompson

  “Oh, I should love one,” said Susan, as the Major finished speaking. “Wouldn’t you, Noel?”

  “I’m not nearly a good enough rider,” said Noel gloomily. “I shouldn’t even dare to ask, for I’d probably be told to learn how to tie a pony up properly before I tried to break one in.”

  “Well, I don’t suppose mummy will let me have one, even if Major Holbrooke thinks I’m good enough,” said Susan, “and I expect it’s awfully difficult. I wonder who will have them,” she went on. “I expect June will.”

  “She’s sure to,” said Noel, “and the Radcliffes and Clarrissa, if she’s not too fat.”

  “I’m sure she weighs at least nine stone,” said Susan. “She’s awfully fat, but there’s Dick Hayward, he’s small; and John and Richard, besides Cynthia Burke and the Frenches, who are sure to want them, for they haven’t any ponies of their own.”

  “Do you think you’ll be allowed to have one, John?” asked Richard.

  “Goodness knows,” said John. “Dad won’t mind if I catch him in the right mood, but mum might think it was dangerous—she’s like that.”

  “I don’t think my father would mind,” said Richard. “He doesn’t really care what I do as long as I get a good report from school; but mummy may think an unbroken pony will kick her darling Jill.”

  “It would be pretty good if we could have them, though,” said John. “I bet June thinks she’s the only person who can break in ponies.”

  “I bet she does,” agreed Richard. “I think it would be a good plan if I asked my mother whether I can have a pony now,” he went on, “for she’s talking to Mrs. Cresswell, and she won’t like to say no if June’s having one.” And he hurried off across the lawn.

  “Mummy, mummy!” shrieked all the Radcliffes at once, “we must have at least one pony.”

  “For goodness’ sake be quiet,” said Mrs. Radcliffe. “I can’t hear a thing when you all talk at once, and of course you can have a pony—only James and Margaret aren’t to ride it until it’s quiet.”

  “Thanks awfully,” said Hilary.

  “Hurrah,” said Evelyn.

  “Oh, Mummy, why not?” asked Margaret, all at once.

  “I’m much too heavy,” said Roger gloomily. “I was nine stone two last holidays. Why didn’t you feed me on gin when I was a baby, Mummy?”

  “It’s too expensive, Roger,” said Mrs. Radcliffe absent-mindedly, “and Margaret, you’re too young.”

  “I can’t help my age,” said Margaret. “I can jump nearly as high as the others.”

  “Oh, you can’t,” said Evelyn; “and, anyway, you’re always falling off.”

  “Only sixty-nine times,” said Margaret. “I don’t call that many.”

  “For goodness’ sake stop arguing,” said Mrs. Radcliffe, “or I shan’t let you have the pony.”

  “Can’t we have two?” asked Hilary, “then we would each have a pony to ride?”

  “Yes, we must,” said Evelyn. “It would save all the arranging of turns.”

  “No,” said Mrs. Radcliffe, “I think one will be plenty. Major Holbrooke said they needed a good deal of exercise, and when Roger’s at school you won’t want more than four ponies to ride.”

  Major Holbrooke was unpopular in a good many homes that night. Tired fathers just back from the office were greeted with: “Can we have one of Major Holbrooke’s ponies, Daddy? Mummy said we were to ask you.” “You’ll drive me into a lunatic asylum if you mention those ponies again,” threatened exasperated mothers.

  The Frenches’ father said he would stop their riding lessons for the rest of the holidays if they uttered another word about the Major’s ponies; Mrs. Minton almost sent her family to bed; Clarrissa Penn nearly drove her parents mad because she spent the whole evening grumbling about her fatness, and saying she was going to slim; while Dick Hayward sulked because his parents said that, since he was away at school all the term and had to be coached all the holidays, he couldn’t possibly find time to exercise two ponies; Susan Barington-Brown, having persuaded her father that there was no safer or more fashionable amusement than breaking ponies, hastily retired to bed, and left him to tackle her mother; Margaret Radcliffe grumbled because she wasn’t allowed to ride Hilary’s and Evelyn’s pony; and Hilary and Evelyn grumbled because they weren’t allowed two ponies, and apparently it would be no fun at all if they had to share one. At first Mrs. Radcliffe stood firm, and said one unbroken pony would be plenty. But as the evening wore on she became exasperated by their grumbling, and finally she said she didn’t care what they did as long as they went away and left her in peace. So Evelyn said, “Hurrah!” and Hilary said, “Thanks awfully!” and they both rushed off to ring up Major Holbrooke before she could change her mind.

  Mrs. Kettering was nearly driven crazy by Noel wishing she were a good enough rider to have one of the ponies, and cursing fate, which, she said, had condemned her to be a rotten one. To her mother’s suggestion that they should save up for a few lessons at Mrs. Maxton’s, Noel asked what was the good when she didn’t teach you the diagonal aids, and what was the good of knowing the diagonal aids when Topsy wouldn’t go on the off leg whatever you did? Mrs. Kettering said that perhaps when daddy came home and wrote his book they would be richer, and then they would be able to buy Noel a pony. But Noel, who was in a bad temper, said that no one would want to read a book about boring remains in Egypt, so they would never be any richer, and she would have to go riding ponies like Topsy all her life, and she stamped off to bed in a rage, leaving Mrs. Kettering very upset. Noel was generally very good about being poor, and never grumbled when she had to wear her clothes when they were too small or her cousins’ out-grown ones, which were always too big, and Mrs. Kettering wondered whether she had been silly to let her ride when other children were so much better mounted.

  Long afterwards, while Noel dreamt that Topsy had escaped again and was wandering down a long corridor, hung with portraits of Major Holbrooke’s ancestors, while she tried to tempt her with a large volume on archæology, Mrs. Kettering sat gazing into the embers of the dying fire, wishing that she could think of a way to make money so that she could buy Noel a pony, and longing for Mr. Kettering, whose name was Charles, to come home so that she could tell him all her worries about Noel’s character. It didn’t occur to her that steel is forged by fire and characters strengthened by difficulties. She wasn’t consoled by the knowledge that people who are really determined to be good at something succeed in the end, and that only the lukewarm and the half-hearted are lost by the way.

  Chapter III

  DURING the week-end Major Holbrooke had several telephone calls, and on Monday he was able to wire his cousin that he had found people to break all six of his ponies, so would he send them off as soon as possible? Cousin Harry, who was a retired colonel with a walrus moustache, usually took weeks to arrange anything, but to the Major’s surprise he received a wire by return saying that the ponies would arrive next day on the ten-twenty train.

  Next morning he almost wished that he hadn’t started the idea, when he and Blake had to make three journeys to Brampton station to fetch all the ponies, none of which liked the thought of going into the trailer at all, and he cursed Cousin Harry heartily in the evening, when he had to ring up the Radcliffes, June Cresswell, John Manners, Susan Barington-Brown, and Richard Morrisson, and tell them all to come to Folly Court on Thursday at ten-thirty.

  Of course, all the people who were having ponies became very excited when the Major rang them up; they began to wonder what the ponies would be like, and how he would decide who was to have which. In fact, they talked and thought of nothing else until their parents wished they had never consented to them having a pony. Mr. Morrisson forbade the mention of ponies, or anything connected with them, at meals; Colonel Manners told John that children should be seen and not heard, when he had tried to tell a very dull golfing story for the whole of one lunch-time, and had been unable to get a word in edgeways; Dr. Radcliffe complained bitterly
that he had raised a family of horsy bores, and when Mrs. Radcliffe joined in, be retired to the consulting-room and re-read all his books on Philosophy. But Mrs. Cresswell and June had a new subject of conversation. They never ceased discussing how the other members would spoil their ponies and how riding would count and give June another victory. Susan Barington-Brown’s mother disapproved of the whole idea, and, if Susan mentioned the pony, she got a long lecture on how it would be her own fault if she broke her neck or spoilt her appearance, for she should be playing nicely with some other little girl instead of galloping about the countryside and coming home covered in mud. In vain did Susan point out that she didn’t gallop much—it would be bad for Beauty’s legs and manners—for her mother, spurred on by her elder daughter, Valerie, who was twenty-two and had been brought up in the days before Mr. Barington-Brown had made his money, was prepared to find fault with everything Susan did. Unfortunately, Mr. Barington-Brown, who was a very good-natured man and generally kept the peace, was away in Manchester on business, so Susan had no one to support her. On Wednesday morning, after a particularly unpleasant breakfast time, when Valerie said Susan was spoilt, bad-mannered, stupid, ought to be sent to a boarding-school, and couldn’t ride for toffee, and had complained to her mother of her rudeness when she had answered back, Susan felt she could bear it no longer; she saddled Beauty, without looking for Bob, and rode over to Russet Cottage to see Noel.

  Noel was also feeling fed-up, for Miss Lamb had gone to Ireland for a holiday, and she had turned Topsy out for one too. As Noel had particularly wanted to practise the diagonal aids, she felt very cross and grumbled that there was nothing to do. When her mother suggested occupations, she replied that she didn’t feel like doing that, or it was no fun by yourself. She had just taken Simple Simon, the golden cocker spaniel, for a walk, and was sitting on the five-barred gate into Farmer Trent’s forty-acre meadow, which was opposite Russet Cottage, trying to think of something else to do, when she heard the sound of hoofs and saw Susan riding up the lane.

  “Hallo!” shouted Susan, catching sight of Noel on the gate, and trotting up she said, “The ponies came yesterday, and we’re going to Folly Court to share them out to-morrow. Are you coming?”

  “I don’t think I’d better,” said Noel, getting off the gate and patting Beauty. “I mean, I’m not having one, and anyway the Major will probably say he doesn’t want an idiotic person, who can’t even tie her pony up properly, listening to lectures on breaking ponies.”

  “Of course he won’t,” said Susan. “He’s probably forgotten all about it by now.”

  “Not if the gardeners gave notice,” said Noel. “He might give me some weeding to do.”

  “That would be rather fun,” said Susan. “I’d help you, and when he wasn’t looking we could explore the stables.”

  “I hate weeding,” said Noel; “it makes my back ache.”

  “Oh, do come,” said Susan. “I’m sure he’ll have forgotten all about it.”

  “But I haven’t got Topsy, because Miss Lamb has gone away for a holiday; so how am I to get there?” asked Noel.

  “Well, if you could walk to my place,” said Susan, “we could take it in turns to ride Beauty to Folly Court, and then perhaps you could come to lunch with me afterwards. I’ll ask mummy. And then we could take it in turns to ride back here.”

  “I should love to,” said Noel, unable to resist the thought of so many turns on Beauty, “but I don’t see why I should ride your pony while you walk.”

  “Oh, don’t be so silly,” said Susan. “Anyway, you’ll come?”

  “O.K.,” said Noel. “What time?”

  “Well, we’ve got to be there by half-past ten,” said Susan, “so you’d better come pretty early—ten o’clock at the latest.”

  “O.K.,” said Noel again, “I’ll try to be there a bit before so that I can help you get Beauty ready.”

  “I expect Bob will do that,” said Susan. “But I’m awfully glad you’re coming; everything will be much more fun. Would you like a ride on Beauty now?”

  “I should love one,” said Noel, “but I don’t want to spoil her.”

  “I’ve done that already,” said Susan, “and I don’t suppose you’ll make her any worse. Is there a field you could ride her in?”

  “Farmer Trent lets me ride in here,” said Noel, opening the gate into the forty-acre meadow. Susan gave her Beauty, and she mounted and rode round the field several times. Then, coming back to Susan, who was sitting on the gate, she said, “She’s lovely—quite different from Topsy; she’s got such a soft mouth and she cantered on the right leg straight away.”

  “She is nice, isn’t she?” said Susan. “For, though she’s fresh, you can always pull her up and she’s never nappy.”

  “You are lucky,” said Noel, patting Beauty. “I wish I had a pony like her; but I expect she was awfully expensive.”

  “Daddy wouldn’t tell me how much she cost,” said Susan, “but I think it was quite a lot, because mummy said it was a waste of money, and Valerie said daddy had never bought her such an expensive present.”

  “Is Valerie your sister?” asked Noel.

  “Yes, worse luck,” said Susan.

  “Don’t you like having a sister?” asked Noel in shocked surprise. “I always wish I had one—it’s so boring doing things by oneself.”

  “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 duri
ng 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.