single women were concerned.
“Max, could we have a word with you about the picnic?” Carole asked. When Max nodded, she plunged right in, telling him how they’d invited some friends to the picnic and how holding an introductory class mightbe a good idea. “It might even bring some new riders to Pine Hollow,” she finished brightly.
“Great. Sounds like an excellent idea. I’m always happy to show Pine Hollow and the horses to anyone who wants to see them. And in return, I have a favor to ask of you,” Max said.
Stevie, Lisa, and Carole stared. Their minds raced, wondering if there was anything Max could say to ruin the now-perfect plan.
“I was thinking we could have a mounted-games demonstration,” Max said.
All three of them let out a collective sigh of relief. “I’ve been trying to get some more students interested in signing up for the Pony Club games,” Max continued, “but it’s always easier to interest people once they’ve seen them played—especially by a crack team like you three.”
The Saddle Club was so relieved, that the compliment—one of Max’s rare ones—hardly sank in. They immediately set about planning what games they would play. A few were definites.
“I always like the costume race,” Lisa said. That game involved riding down to the end of the ring, dismounting, dressing up in a costume, getting back on, racing back to the starting line, and undressing so that your teammate could then dress up in the same clothes.
“Me too,” Carole agreed. “And you can’t leave out thetraditional relay race with the batons. It’s simple, so everyone can understand it.”
“Simple but boring,” Stevie said. “Personally, I think the one that has the most crowd appeal is the Super Soaker Target Shoot.”
Lisa and Carole had to admit that she was right. Spectators seemed to love to watch riders squirting huge water guns and—most of the time—missing the target and soaking each other, the horses, and even the spectators themselves. In any case, whichever games were chosen, they would be a great diversion for the extra guests—all eighteen of them. Saturday could hardly come fast enough.
“N OW
THIS
IS what I call a good, old-fashioned Fourth of July picnic,” declared Mrs. Reg. She paused with her case of soda to survey the scene at Pine Hollow. Carole, who was helping her carry drinks from the car to the tables, paused beside her.
Together they looked out over the grounds. A long buffet table covered in a red-checked tablecloth had been set up on the grass. People swarmed around it, helping themselves to pasta salad, cole slaw, and drinks. The waitress from TD’s had contributed two gallons of ice cream that was keeping cold in a cooler of ice. There were groups of young students—the picnic was
supposed
to be for them—standing and talking or sprawled on the lawn. In the background horses grazed contentedly, perkingan occasional ear to hear what was going on at the picnic. The weather report had called for a “partly cloudy” day, but so far the only clouds in the sky were huge, white, fair-weather clouds.
“It’s funny, though,” Mrs. Reg observed, heading toward the refreshment table with her case, “I have never, in all my years at Pine Hollow—and that means in all my years period—seen so many attractive young women attend the picnic.”
Carole’s eyes quickly traveled to where Lisa and Stevie had settled, along with their charges, under a big elm tree.
“I guess it’s just what you said, Mrs. Reg,” Carole said.
“What did I say?” Mrs. Reg asked.
“You know, about there being a trend and all that for women learning to ride.”
Mrs. Reg frowned. “Hmm, so I did. But then—”
“Probably one of them takes lessons, and she brought all of her friends,” Carole added hastily.
Mrs. Reg seemed to accept Carole’s explanation. “I never can keep track of the adult students. They’re always changing their hairdos or going on diets.” She
“Max, could we have a word with you about the picnic?” Carole asked. When Max nodded, she plunged right in, telling him how they’d invited some friends to the picnic and how holding an introductory class mightbe a good idea. “It might even bring some new riders to Pine Hollow,” she finished brightly.
“Great. Sounds like an excellent idea. I’m always happy to show Pine Hollow and the horses to anyone who wants to see them. And in return, I have a favor to ask of you,” Max said.
Stevie, Lisa, and Carole stared. Their minds raced, wondering if there was anything Max could say to ruin the now-perfect plan.
“I was thinking we could have a mounted-games demonstration,” Max said.
All three of them let out a collective sigh of relief. “I’ve been trying to get some more students interested in signing up for the Pony Club games,” Max continued, “but it’s always easier to interest people once they’ve seen them played—especially by a crack team like you three.”
The Saddle Club was so relieved, that the compliment—one of Max’s rare ones—hardly sank in. They immediately set about planning what games they would play. A few were definites.
“I always like the costume race,” Lisa said. That game involved riding down to the end of the ring, dismounting, dressing up in a costume, getting back on, racing back to the starting line, and undressing so that your teammate could then dress up in the same clothes.
“Me too,” Carole agreed. “And you can’t leave out thetraditional relay race with the batons. It’s simple, so everyone can understand it.”
“Simple but boring,” Stevie said. “Personally, I think the one that has the most crowd appeal is the Super Soaker Target Shoot.”
Lisa and Carole had to admit that she was right. Spectators seemed to love to watch riders squirting huge water guns and—most of the time—missing the target and soaking each other, the horses, and even the spectators themselves. In any case, whichever games were chosen, they would be a great diversion for the extra guests—all eighteen of them. Saturday could hardly come fast enough.
“N OW
THIS
IS what I call a good, old-fashioned Fourth of July picnic,” declared Mrs. Reg. She paused with her case of soda to survey the scene at Pine Hollow. Carole, who was helping her carry drinks from the car to the tables, paused beside her.
Together they looked out over the grounds. A long buffet table covered in a red-checked tablecloth had been set up on the grass. People swarmed around it, helping themselves to pasta salad, cole slaw, and drinks. The waitress from TD’s had contributed two gallons of ice cream that was keeping cold in a cooler of ice. There were groups of young students—the picnic was
supposed
to be for them—standing and talking or sprawled on the lawn. In the background horses grazed contentedly, perkingan occasional ear to hear what was going on at the picnic. The weather report had called for a “partly cloudy” day, but so far the only clouds in the sky were huge, white, fair-weather clouds.
“It’s funny, though,” Mrs. Reg observed, heading toward the refreshment table with her case, “I have never, in all my years at Pine Hollow—and that means in all my years period—seen so many attractive young women attend the picnic.”
Carole’s eyes quickly traveled to where Lisa and Stevie had settled, along with their charges, under a big elm tree.
“I guess it’s just what you said, Mrs. Reg,” Carole said.
“What did I say?” Mrs. Reg asked.
“You know, about there being a trend and all that for women learning to ride.”
Mrs. Reg frowned. “Hmm, so I did. But then—”
“Probably one of them takes lessons, and she brought all of her friends,” Carole added hastily.
Mrs. Reg seemed to accept Carole’s explanation. “I never can keep track of the adult students. They’re always changing their hairdos or going on diets.” She
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