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Farmer Hodgson’s mare yawned dismally. “I am sorry, Maggret, I ca
Mettle took the white-hot horseshoe from the hearth with a little pair of tongs and hammered it daintily on the anvil; “Now your shoes are little fairy shoes, Pony Billy”; tick, tock, tap, tock! hammered Mettle merrily and sang, “Shoe the horse and shoe the mare, but let the little colt go bare! Now lift up your foot till I fit it. Have you ever gone short of fern seed since that night in the snow, Pony Billy?” “Never,”said Pony Billy, shaking his mane to feel the precious packet nestling against his neck. Tap, tap, tap! hammered Mettle, “Here a nail and there a trod; now the horse is well shod! Yes, Cheesebox and I will be coming to the circus this evening.”
Then Maggret pricked her ears and whi
Pony Billy walked up a stony lane picking his footsteps carefully. It is not agreeable to trot amongst stones with four newly-shod back-to-front shoes. He stepped in the softest places. By banks and hollows and turnings, by muddy places and dry, always leaving back-to-front horseshoe marks behind him, as though he had come down the lane, instead of having gone up. He turned into another lane, crossed a shallow ford; came roundabout behind the wood, and looked over a tumble-down wall.
THE FAIRY HILL OF OAKS
Pringle Wood lay before him, silent, still; crowned with golden green in a pale spring afternoon. Almost silent, almost still; save for a whispering breath amongst the golden green leaves, and a faint tingle ringle from the bluebells on the fairy hill of oaks. How blue the bluebells were! a sea of soft pale blue; tree behind tree; and beneath the trees, wave upon wave, a blue sea of bluebells. Below the low stone wall, between it and the wooded hill, was a tangly boggy dell, matted with brambles and wild raspberry canes, and last year’s withered meadow-sweet and keshes. Young larch trees and spruces struggled through the briars; a little stream slid gently round the hill, beneath ellers [13] and hazel bushes.
Pony Billy came over a gap in the wall, and pushed his way through the tangle, leaving back-to-front footsteps as he squelched through the black earth and moss. Briars tugged his mane; raspberry canes pulled his tail as though they were fingers; he left tufts of his shaggy coat upon the brambles. He whi
Pony Billy got out of the bog with a jump and a scramble up the steep grassy slope of the hill. Round and round and round he went underneath the oaks; always going widdershins, contrary to the sun; always leaving back-to-front misleading marks behind him. Six times round he went; and he saw nothing but the bluebells and the oaks. But the seventh time round he saw a little Je
Whatever might be the matter, Paddy Pig’s behaviour was odd. He got up on a tree-stump, and he tried to climb into the saddle. First he climbed too far and tumbled over the other side; then he climbed too short and tumbled; then he fell over the pony’s head; then he slipped backwards over the crupper, just as though someone were pulling him. He sat upon the ground and sobbed, “Leave me to my fate. Go away and tell my friends that I am a prisoner for life in Pringle Wood.” “Try once more. Sit straight, and hold on to the strap of lockets,” said Pony Billy, trampling through the bluebells.
He came out from under the trees into the sunshine. He trotted across the green grass of the open meadow, and carried Paddy Pig safely back to camp.
CHAPTER XVI
The Effect of Toadstool Tartlets
It was four o’clock of the afternoon when Pony Billy trotted into Codlin Croft orchard with Paddy Pig. Sandy and the farm dogs barked joyfully; the turkey cock gobbled; Charles crowed; and Je
“He looks poorly,” said Sandy, anxiously, “fetch a shawl, Je