Six Ponies by Josephine Pullein-Thompson

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 mattersmuch, 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