forelock, he was distrustful of humans, and prone to

bite, at least at first. . . .

“ But Silky’s behavior was not his fault, for he had known

no kindness or tender care in his life. Alas, his new own-

ers, the Krupps, were so cross at having been tricked into

buying such a difficult pony for their darling Drusilla

that they could not find one grain of sympathy in their

hearts for the untrained, unfriendly beast.

“Poor Silky! Soon he would have even more reason

to be mistrustful, for in their frustration the Krupps

arranged to sell him to Mr. Alpo, the dreaded horse

retirer. Mr. Alpo was a shady character who bought

unwanted ponies like Silky and promised to ‘retire’

them to faraway meadows, while all along planning to

deliver them to the slaughterhouse—

“No! Edith-Anne couldn’t bear to think of it, but

what could she do? It was her own Rainbow—dear,

sweet Rainbow!—who had the patience to run alongside

Silky, hour after hour. Who took the carrots Edith-

Anne gave her and nosed them through the fence at her

snorting, unhappy friend. Who showed Silky, through

patient example, how pleasant it was to be groomed

by an adoring little girl, to have one’s hooves rubbed

with oil, and then to have all those bright red ribbons

braided through one’s mane!

“When Mr. Alpo arrived, halter in hand, to take

his prize, how shocked he and the Krupps were to see

Drusilla perched happily on Silky’s back! His clean coat

shone in the sun as he and Rainbow trotted side by side

through the course Edith-Anne had prepared for them:

circling to the left, circling to the right, a wide figure

eight, then diagonals across and back, and a perfect

finish in the center. The ponies even took a bow.”

Penelope had to stop there—partly because the tale

was over, partly to wipe her eyes (the story always

touched her deeply), but mostly because of the dread-

ful noise emanating from Mrs. Clarke.

Naturally Mrs. Clarke had been amazed by the sight

of three filthy children slowly settling themselves into

the dirt and hay at Penelope’s feet, drawn by her voice

and rapt as kindergartners, although surely they could

not understand a word of Penelope’s story—but Mrs.

Clarke herself was now weeping uncontrollably at the

tale of Rainbow and Silky. It took several moments for

her to compose herself enough even to blow her nose.

“I think that is all the story we have time for now,

children,” Penelope said gently. “Now you three must

stay here in the barn quietly for a bit, while I go make