Adventures with Waffles by Maria Parr Page A

that were as intelligent as Molly.
    “But, Trille dear, we send sheep to be slaughtered every single year, and you never make such a fuss about that!” said Mom, trying to dry my tears.
    “Molly’s no sheep!”
    They didn’t understand a thing!
    The next day, Molly was all I could think about. That good-natured horse who had never done anything wrong to anyone but who was going to die. During math class, I almost started crying. That would have been pretty embarrassing! I glanced at Lena. She was looking out the window. There are no retirement homes for horses, she’d said.
    Suddenly I stood up, tipping over my chair.
    “Ellisiv, Lena and I have got to have the rest of the day off,” I said, distressed.
    Lena had no idea what I was talking about. Still, she stuffed her math book into her bag determinedly, put on a serious face, and said, “It’s a matter of life and death!”
    And while Ellisiv and the others watched in astonishment, Lena and I stormed out of the classroom with our bags half open.
    “Have you got ants in your pants?” Lena exclaimed breathlessly as we ran through the woods on our way home.
    “We’re going to start a retirement home for horses!” I shouted enthusiastically.
    Lena stopped dead in her tracks. Apart from some birds singing and us panting after all that running, it was completely quiet. I looked at her anxiously. What if she didn’t like the idea? But then came the beaming response: “What an incredibly brilliant idea to come up with right in the middle of math class, Trille!”
    Grandpa was the only one who was home. That was good. He was the only one who would be any help. I sat down next to him on the porch.
    “We can keep Molly in the old stables, Grandpa. She can live there. Imagine how happy Hilltop Jon will be if he doesn’t have to send her to the slaughterhouse! I’ll cut the grass and rake it up and dry it and look after her and feed her, and Lena can help. Right, Lena?”
    Lena nodded. She might as well help a bit with that old horse, she said. I could see that she was happy because of missing math.
    “And maybe you could help too, Grandpa?” I asked weakly, hardly daring to look at him. Grandpa rubbed his tanned, wrinkled hands on his knees and looked thoughtfully out to sea.
    “For example, maybe you could be the grown-up who gives us permission,” I said, even more weakly.
    It was difficult to ask for something like this. I could feel that the tears were on their way again, and I fought to hold them back. Grandpa fixed his gaze on me.
    “Oh, suffering sticklebacks, all right! There’s no reason young Trille and the girl from next door couldn’t cope with looking after a horse,” he said eventually.
    There were two good reasons for riding in the moped box this time, Grandpa said. First, we had to make it up to Hilltop Jon before he sent Molly away on the slaughter truck. Second, we had to make it up to Hilltop Jon before Grandpa had time to think again.
    “Because right now I must be out of my mind!” he said.
    We braked suddenly in the farmyard up at Hillside. There was a car there. It was Vera Johansen’s. Hilltop Jon is her uncle. She was helping him with the packing and the cleaning before he went to the retirement home. As for Hilltop Jon himself, he was sitting on a chair, looking helpless. Grandpa stuck his hands into his overall pockets and nodded silently to his best friend.
    “The young boy’s got something he wants to ask you,” he said, clearing his throat and pushing me across the floor.
    “I . . .” I whispered. “I was just wondering whether I could take Hillside Molly. We’re going to start a retirement home for horses. Lena, Grandpa, and me . . .”
    It turned so quiet that you could have heard a pin drop, and I barely dared to look at Hilltop Jon. He brushed his hand quickly over his good eye.
    “Bless you, boy,” he said. “But Molly left on the ferry twenty minutes ago.”
    As I stood in front of Hilltop Jon, looking into his