craft bobbing precariously over the rapids. The boat plunged over the waterfall and disappeared under the swirling water.
“Oh, oh,” said Ponyboy. “There go the new shoes.”
“And daddy, too,” sighed Pamela. “It’s sad, isn’t it?”
Just then the boat popped up beyond the whirlpool, still carrying its hoarhound sailor.
“Hurrah!” shouted Pamela and Ponyboy. “Hurrah for Stanley Drudger!”
Pamela picked out an especially handsome hoarhound man, long and limply graceful.
“Next will be Sir James Diddle-Dumpling, from a noble British family. He’s shooting the rapids to impress his sweetheart Lady Gwendolyn. She says he’s a sissy.”
“I don’t blame her,” said Ponyboy. “He looks like one to me with that head.”
Well I think he’s handsome. He can’t help it if his head happens to be a daisy.”
Sir James was launched and soared grandly over the fall. The boat landed right side up in the whirlpool, spun round and round, and disappeared as if it went down the bathtub drain. After a long moment the capsized boat appeared—without Sir James.
Pamela and Ponyboy exchanged tragic glances. Ponyboy shook his head slowly. “He should have stayed a sissy,” he said solemnly. Pamela giggled.
After a while they ran out of boats and decided to hold a funeral for the race’s unlucky victims, Sir James and another unfortunate named Percival Poppyhead. They had a grand funeral procession which Solsken joined until they had to disqualify him for frisking. The heroes were buried near the site of their glorious deaths.
“Let’s eat lunch,” suggested Ponyboy. “Mourning makes me hungry.”
Fear Comes Closer
P AMELA AND PONYBOY SPREAD their picnic on the ledge and ate until they were stuffed. Solsken decided he much preferred cookies to grass and hung around getting in the way, almost stepping in the lemonade. Finally, they took what was left of the cookies up to where the fork of a huge old oak tree made a comfortable nest-like seat. Solsken wandered around below, looking up at them and stamping his tiny hooves.
“Why don’t your aunts take you with them when they go shopping?” Ponyboy asked suddenly. “Don’t they like you very much?”
Pamela was startled by the question. “No,” she stammered. “I mean—no, they do like me—and they would take me if I wanted to go. But they were used to not having children around for so long that it makes them sort of nervous; and it makes me nervous to be around people that I’m making nervous. So I’d rather stay home. Besides, they sit and talk to other ladies for hours. It’s not much fun.”
Ponyboy considered this for a moment. “How about your father?” he asked. “I guess he doesn’t want you along with him either?”
“He does, too,” Pamela said indignantly. “But he can’t take me.”
“Why not?”
“Well, he travels all the time, and lives in dingy hotels, and has to eat at restaurants, and—”
Ponyboy’s shrug dismissed all those things as unimportant.
“Besides, there’s Aunt Sarah. You see Aunt Sarah is my father’s sister. She’s older than he is, and she took care of Aunt Elsie and my father after their parents died. I guess they just got used to doing what she said when they were little, and it’s hard for them to stop.”
Ponyboy shook his head disapprovingly. Pamela was beginning to feel unhappy in the midst of such a wonderful day. But Ponyboy suddenly changed the subject.
“Let’s tell some more stories,” he said.
Pamela knew by now that this meant she would tell stories and Ponyboy would comment on them, but she didn’t mind. Some of his comments were fascinating and very puzzling.
“That’s silly!” he’d say when she finished a story. “Goblins don’t do things like that. I’ve never known a goblin that acted that way.” Once, after a story about a troll, he said, “I met a troll once. He was ugly, but he really wasn’t very dangerous.”
Pamela was fascinated, but she never
“Oh, oh,” said Ponyboy. “There go the new shoes.”
“And daddy, too,” sighed Pamela. “It’s sad, isn’t it?”
Just then the boat popped up beyond the whirlpool, still carrying its hoarhound sailor.
“Hurrah!” shouted Pamela and Ponyboy. “Hurrah for Stanley Drudger!”
Pamela picked out an especially handsome hoarhound man, long and limply graceful.
“Next will be Sir James Diddle-Dumpling, from a noble British family. He’s shooting the rapids to impress his sweetheart Lady Gwendolyn. She says he’s a sissy.”
“I don’t blame her,” said Ponyboy. “He looks like one to me with that head.”
Well I think he’s handsome. He can’t help it if his head happens to be a daisy.”
Sir James was launched and soared grandly over the fall. The boat landed right side up in the whirlpool, spun round and round, and disappeared as if it went down the bathtub drain. After a long moment the capsized boat appeared—without Sir James.
Pamela and Ponyboy exchanged tragic glances. Ponyboy shook his head slowly. “He should have stayed a sissy,” he said solemnly. Pamela giggled.
After a while they ran out of boats and decided to hold a funeral for the race’s unlucky victims, Sir James and another unfortunate named Percival Poppyhead. They had a grand funeral procession which Solsken joined until they had to disqualify him for frisking. The heroes were buried near the site of their glorious deaths.
“Let’s eat lunch,” suggested Ponyboy. “Mourning makes me hungry.”
Fear Comes Closer
P AMELA AND PONYBOY SPREAD their picnic on the ledge and ate until they were stuffed. Solsken decided he much preferred cookies to grass and hung around getting in the way, almost stepping in the lemonade. Finally, they took what was left of the cookies up to where the fork of a huge old oak tree made a comfortable nest-like seat. Solsken wandered around below, looking up at them and stamping his tiny hooves.
“Why don’t your aunts take you with them when they go shopping?” Ponyboy asked suddenly. “Don’t they like you very much?”
Pamela was startled by the question. “No,” she stammered. “I mean—no, they do like me—and they would take me if I wanted to go. But they were used to not having children around for so long that it makes them sort of nervous; and it makes me nervous to be around people that I’m making nervous. So I’d rather stay home. Besides, they sit and talk to other ladies for hours. It’s not much fun.”
Ponyboy considered this for a moment. “How about your father?” he asked. “I guess he doesn’t want you along with him either?”
“He does, too,” Pamela said indignantly. “But he can’t take me.”
“Why not?”
“Well, he travels all the time, and lives in dingy hotels, and has to eat at restaurants, and—”
Ponyboy’s shrug dismissed all those things as unimportant.
“Besides, there’s Aunt Sarah. You see Aunt Sarah is my father’s sister. She’s older than he is, and she took care of Aunt Elsie and my father after their parents died. I guess they just got used to doing what she said when they were little, and it’s hard for them to stop.”
Ponyboy shook his head disapprovingly. Pamela was beginning to feel unhappy in the midst of such a wonderful day. But Ponyboy suddenly changed the subject.
“Let’s tell some more stories,” he said.
Pamela knew by now that this meant she would tell stories and Ponyboy would comment on them, but she didn’t mind. Some of his comments were fascinating and very puzzling.
“That’s silly!” he’d say when she finished a story. “Goblins don’t do things like that. I’ve never known a goblin that acted that way.” Once, after a story about a troll, he said, “I met a troll once. He was ugly, but he really wasn’t very dangerous.”
Pamela was fascinated, but she never
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