Some riders were dismounting and holding their ponies to rest them. Ginny did the same. She saw Michael nod his approval. He was on the side of the ring. The loudspeaker crackled briefly. The show vet was being called.
He came into the ring. He spoke to the judges. Then he walked along the line of waiting ponies. He looked them over with swift, expert care. He didn't touch them. He didn't pay any more attention to one than to another.
The ponies were then asked to jog again. This time Ginny led Mokey at a trot. Most of the others were doing the same. It must have been hot. Later, Ginny found her shirt soaking wet under her coat. Her hair was under the black helmet. It was wet as though she had been in a shower. But she didn't notice now.
The vet wrote something on each of the judges' cards. He shook hands with them and left the ring. The judges signed their cards. They handed them to the ringmaster. Then they walked across to the judges' stand.
Time stood still. Ginny could hear two other riders whispering. They were wondering which pony the judges had been unsure about. The girl with the bright bay pony was now fourth in line. She was behind Mokey. She joined them. Ginny heard her laugh. The girl said, “I just know they called the vet to look at that spotted thing. You can tell it's blind in one eye. The rules say that's an unsoundness.”
Ginny felt her face flushing with anger. Mokey wasn't blind, just because her eyes didn't match! She fought to look as calm and collected as she could. Wouldn't the judges know? The vet could tell, couldn't he? After all of this awful waiting, could they take Mokey's ribbon away? Just because she had one blue eye and one brown?
At last the announcer's voice came over the loudspeakers. “We have the results of Class Twelve, Pony Working Hunters.”
The blue ribbon and a silver plate were won by a boy on a seal-brown pony. The red ribbon went to a blaze-faced chestnut. Then the ringmaster was tipping his hat to Ginny. He pinned the golden yellow ribbon for third place on Mokey's bridle.
Ginny never knew who was fourth. She never remembered leaving the ring. Michael's usually stern face was full of smiles. “Very nice, Miss Ginny,” he said.
Pam was speechless with delight. She gave Mokey a big hug and found her voice at last. “Terrific,” she said.
They led Mokey to the trailer. The yellow ribbon was fluttering on her bridle. Quiet and happy, all three helped to take the saddle and bridle off the tired pony. They put on her halter. Ginny held her in silence. Michael sponged her off.
When he was done, he reached for the lead rope. But Ginny shook her head. “Please,” she said. “Let me take her.”
She put the yellow ribbon in her pocket. She led Mokey away from the crowds and the ring. They went toward the far edge of the polo field. The grass grew long under the trees there.
Ginny sat down. She leaned back against a tree trunk. Mokey cropped the grass quietly. She was at the end of the lead rope. The late-afternoon sun slanted across the field. It was throwing long shadows and blazing in the tops of the trees.
Ginny took the ribbon out of her pocket. She smoothed it on one knee. She was in a tired haze of happiness. She put her head back. She squinted through her lashes up at the patterns of leaves above her.
Suddenly Ginny sat up. She scrambled to her feet. The yellow ribbon had meant so much just a moment before. But now it fell into the grass. Ginny didn't notice. She looked at the branches above her.
There. She had seen it again. She didn't know why she hadn't seen it before. There was a patch of red-gold leaves just over her head.
Slowly she found the ribbon. She stuffed it into her pocket. She went over to Mokey. It wasn't just the late sunlight that was setting the trees on fire. The leaves were starting to turn. Summer was almost over.
“Of course it is all quite impossible.” Mr. Anderson tapped his pipe firmly in his hand. “We have no place to keep a pony in the winter. Not even if we could afford to buy her, which I very much doubt.”
“I know,” Ginny said helplessly. She and her father leaned on the top rail of the paddock. They watched Mokey. She was shaking the seeds out of her hay so she could eat them by themselves.
Ginny giggled suddenly. “There was a gray pony at the show last weekend. It cost eighteen thousand dollars.”
Mr. Anderson turned to stare at Ginny. He couldn't believe it. “Now, young lady, that simply can't be true.”
Ginny was sure. “Everybody at the show was talking about it. It was a beautiful pony.”
“I should hope so!” said Mr. Anderson. “And I guess your wonderful Mokey beat it in the hunter class?”
Ginny giggled again. “That would be something, wouldn't it! But they weren't even in the same classes.”
“Probably just as well,” said her father. “It wouldn't do at all to have a rented summer pony beat eighteen thousand dollars on the hoof.”
“Handsome is as handsome does,” said Ginny firmly.
“Quite right.”
Mokey wandered over to the paddock fence. She gazed with longing at the grass. It was out of her reach. She pushed with annoyance at the rails. They blocked her way. But each rail in the entire paddock had been nailed firmly into place. That was done the day after she had escaped and found the apple orchard. She could not push them down. She gave a bored sigh. Then she turned back to her hay.
Ginny and her father walked in silence to the house. They had had this talk several times before. Mokey did not belong to them. She belonged to Mr. Dobbs. And to the awful Sweet-briar Pony Farm. She had been rented only for the summer. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, Ginny could do.
She had thought wildly of so many answers through so many sleepless nights. All of them were either crazy or impossible. She'd even thought of asking Pam if her father would buy Mokey. But then she had met Mr. Jennings one day. He was tall and scary and stern. He did not look at all like the kind of person who would take in a rather strangely spotted pony with unmatching eyes. Not in his stable full of beautiful horses.
Ginny finished cleaning Mokey's stall. She dumped the wheelbarrow down by the garden.
She had the pony bedded on peat moss now. Mokey would not eat it like she had eaten her straw bedding. This was much better for her. Mr. Anderson was happy. The peat moss was good for his beloved vegetable garden.
Ginny was tired of worrying. She was tired of not being able to find an answer. She rattled the wheelbarrow angrily back to the garage. She took the bridle off the hook. At least she could still ride. This always made her feel better.
But by now, there were too many signs that summer was over. The trees were all changing colors. In the open fields, the grass was drying to a soft russet red.
Ginny spent the whole afternoon on Mokey's back. But it did not help very much. She finally turned toward home. She knew she was being silly and unfair. She knew her mother and father felt almost as bad as she did. She promised herself not to make things any more difficult or unhappy than they already were.
Ginny was feeling older and wiser. She was happy with her decision. She jogged down the driveway. Then she pulled up with a jerk. It brought the surprised pony to a sliding stop. Mr. Dobbs's battered green pickup truck was standing by the garage.
Ginny spun Mokey around. She kicked her into a gallop. Small stones scattered wildly from the pony's flying hooves. They crossed the road. Ginny pressed her pony on deeper into the woods. It was getting darker.
There was a fallen log across the path. Ginny and Pam had jumped it a few times over the summer. It was old and streaked with moss. And it was almost impossible to see in the failing evening light. Mokey was galloping too fast. She couldn't check herself when the log loomed out of the shadows. She hit it with her knees and turned over.
Ginny opened her eyes and blinked with surprise. It was almost dark. Blurry stars were shining in little patches. They shone through the swaying branches of the trees. Ginny was on her back in the ferns and dead leaves beside the path. Her head ached terribly.
She sat up slowly. But the
woods spun and tilted around her. They made her so dizzy she had to lie down again. The crushed ferns smelled good. She closed her eyes.
She felt a warm breath down the side of her neck. It was Mokey. She was pushing at Ginny with her muzzle. “Hi, Moke.” Ginny tried to sit up again. She faintly saw the reins were broken. They were trailing in uneven lengths from the pony's bit.
Ginny held on to a tree. She swayed to her feet. She grabbed at Mokey's mane to keep her balance. “I think we've got some kind of a problem,” she said in an uneven voice. “I've broken the bridle that doesn't even belong to me.” It seemed a great problem.
Ginny stood by her pony. She was dizzy and worrying. “The only thing to do is go home now, I guess. And tell Pam.” She turned her head slowly. It hurt. Mokey's back looked a long way up.
Ginny could never remember later how she finally managed to get on Mokey's back. Or how she had picked up the broken reins and turned toward home. The pony walked slowly. Ginny sang a little to herself. But this made her head ache more. So she went back to worrying about the broken bridle again.
There were lights on everywhere when she got home. Her head was clearing slightly. She dimly saw Michael. He was in the floodlights outside the garage. He was up on one of Mr. Jennings's big hunters. Pam was white-faced. She was trying to calm her frantic Firefly.
“We can't find her anywhere,” she heard Pam say. Then Mokey whinnied a loud greeting to Firefly.
“Hi,” said Ginny. She suddenly felt very foolish. “I broke your bridle.”
There were cries of relief. Then suddenly people were holding Mokey and helping Ginny down. Her knees felt very strange when she walked. But Ginny insisted on leading Mokey into the lights by the garage. She wanted to make sure the pony wasn't hurt.
“I really did it this time,” Ginny said to Michael. “I jumped alone. I jumped without my helmet. I don't think I will ever do it again.”
“I believe that is very true,” said Michael. He said nothing more. Ginny knew that he would never talk about it again. She was grateful.
Ginny felt faint and confused. She leaned against her father's arm. “Whatever happened to Mr. Dobbs?” she asked finally. “Did he give up and go away?” Then she grinned at Mokey. “If he did, it was worth it,” she said.
Mrs. Anderson came up beside her. “For two cents I'd send that pony right back where she came from!” she said in a shaking voice. “Ginny, what a stupid thing to do! Mr. Dobbs was here because your father and I asked him to come. We wanted to find out, at least, how much he might want for Mokey.”
“Oh,” said Ginny. She blinked up at the lights over the garage. There seemed to her to be two lights wherever there should be just one.
“There was talk of the humane society closing his place down,” said Mr. Anderson. “But now that won't have to happen. A supermarket chain has bought his land. It paid a great deal of money. He is selling off his ponies as fast as he can. It is very lucky for us because he must get rid of them. He offered us Mokey for very little more than we've already paid to rent her.”
He stopped for a moment. He shook his head. “He didn't seem to think she was worth very much. But then he hasn't seen what you've done with her this summer.”
“You mean that Mokey is mine?” said Ginny.
“Yes.”
“And she can stay here always?”
“That's right.”
“In the garage?”
“No. We've decided to keep our car for another year, not to buy a new one. We'll use the money to build a small stable down near the paddock instead.”
“And so I fell on my head. And almost broke Mokey's neck. For no reason at all.”
She leaned her aching head against Mokey's warm shoulder. She was surprised to feel tears sliding down her cheeks.
Mrs. Anderson quietly went into the house. She called the doctor. Then she turned down Ginny's bed. Pam and Michael whispered a smiling “good night.” They rode off into the dark. Silently, Ginny looked up at her father.
“It's been quite a summer,” he said.
Together, they put Mokey away in her stall. The pony rattled her feed tub in demand. Ginny thought she was making it quite clear that there had been enough excitement for one day. It was late. It was long past dinnertime. Mokey was hungry.
Ginny was restless in bed the next afternoon. She was bored. She no longer was seeing double. But her head ached when she tried to read.
There was a light knock on her door. Pam came in. She was holding an apple in one hand. Just as she had the first time they had met early in the summer. It seemed so long ago.
“Hi!” Pam pulled up a chair. She sat down by the bed. “You look pale and awful. Just like your mother said you did. How do you feel?”
Ginny grinned. “Fine,” she said. “I'm really glad you came. I've got nothing to do but feel silly. I'm tired of that.”
“Michael and my father and mother all send their best wishes,” said Pam. She bit into the apple. “This is for Mokey, actually. Not for you,” she said. “And I'm sure she won't mind if I have a little. Your mother said you couldn't eat an apple, anyway.”
“Nothing but tea and toast. And hot, hearty soup,” said Ginny. “Yuck.”
“My father says,” Pam went on, “that you have given yourself a royal concussion. He hopes you've knocked some sense into your head. Because even Mokey can't jump in the dark.”
Ginny stared at her.
“Even Mokey?” “Even Mokey.” Pam nodded. “He says that Mokey has more sense than the two of us put together. He's one of her biggest fans. And he would like you to let us take care of her for you. Just until you can do it again yourself.”
“You're kidding.” Ginny shook her head. Then she stopped quickly. It made her dizzy. “You mean in your stable? With Firefly and all those beautiful horses?”
“That's right. And Michael says he will let me help.” Pam grinned. “I never was very interested in caring for horses and ponies. Michael had about given me up as hopeless. But you've had so much fun with Mokey. Taking care of her seems to be such a nice part of it. I feel I've missed a lot.”
Ginny sat up straighter in bed. She clasped her arms around her knees. “The doctor said I can't ride for at least four more weeks. Will you exercise her every single day? Even after school starts?”
“Oh, sure,” said Pam. “That will be the best part of all.”
Ginny stared at her friend. “You mean you've wanted to ride Mokey before this?” she asked.
“For ages.”
Ginny leaned her head back against the pillows. The room was tilting a little bit around the edges. “Thank your father very much,” she said. “Mokey would love to visit. But will you be sure to tell Michael that she gets three quarts of mixed crushed oats and sweet feed? Morning and night. And that she should have a little grass every day. And that she's very fussy about her water being clean …” She stopped. She laughed at herself. “Okay, I guess he knows how.”
Pam smiled. “I'll tell him,” she promised.
Ginny stood by the window of her room. She watched Pam ride Mokey down the driveway. The pony was striding along cheerfully, as she always did. Ginny saw Pam lean forward. She patted the pony on the shoulder. Ginny sighed in envy.
A light breeze sprang up. A shower of yellow leaves spun down from the maple tree on the lawn. The afternoon smelled of sunlight and falling leaves. There was even a little hint of frost in the air.
Ginny smiled to herself. Then she went back to bed. Her father was right. It had been quite a summer.
About the Author
Jean Slaughter Doty wrote fourteen children's books, including Can I Get There by Candlelight?, The Crumb, The Monday Horses, and Winter Pony, the sequel to Summer Pony. In her spare time, she bred Welsh ponies, showed hunters, foxhunted, and judged equitation and pony classes at major shows, including the National Horse Show. Her stories about horses and ponies have been treasured by generations of riders—and readers—everywhere.
&n
bsp; About the Illustrator
Ruth Sanderson has illustrated over seventy books for children since 1975. She is well known for her lavishly illustrated fairy-tale picture books. In 2003, she won the Texas Bluebonnet Award for The Golden Mare, the Firebird, and the Magic Ring. Earlier in her career, she illustrated the first paperback covers for the entire Black Stallion series, as well as a number of chapter-book horse stories. She lives with her family in Easthampton, Massachusetts, and her favorite hobby is horseback riding. Visit her on the Web at www.ruthsanderson.com.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 1973 by Jean Slaughter Doty.
Illustrations copyright © 2008 by Ruth Sanderson.
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Random House Children's Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York. Originally published by The Macmillan Company in slightly different form in 1973.
RANDOM HOUSE and colophon are registered trademarks and A STEPPING STONE BOOK and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.
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www.randomhouse.com/kids
Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at www.randomhouse.com/teachers
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Doty, Jean Slaughter, 1924–1991 Summer pony / by Jean Slaughter Doty; illustrated by Ruth Sanderson. p. cm.
SUMMARY: Disappointed with the half-starved and unkempt pony she has rented for the summer, Ginny hesitantly tries to help her.
eISBN: 978-0-307-49147-3
[1. Ponies—Fiction.] I. Sanderson, Ruth, ill. II. Title.
PZ10.3.D7197Su 2008
[Fic]—dc22
2006101902
Summer Pony Page 6
