unsaddled the horses and was careful to leave the stables by the back way to avoid Emma. Arthur’s voice startled her.
“Hi, Beryl!” he said cheerfully. He’d been lying in wait for her.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Beryl said. “I’ve been trained—you don’t know what I might do.”
“I bet Dad doesn’t know you rode the Baron. He’d be mad. But I won’t tell. Do you want to play?”
She stared at the raw slashes on his face. “Do those hurt?” she asked.
“Like the dickens!” he bragged cheerfully. “I was nearly killed!”
Beryl cringed.”Look, Little A—” She took a deep breath and said in a rush, “I’m really sorry. What happened yesterday was my fault. I shouldn’t have told you to play with Simi.”
Arthur was silent for a few moments. Then he beamed up at Beryl. “But then you saved me.” He stuck out his hand. “We’re even.”
“That’s decent of you.” Beryl shook his hand and turned to leave. “I have to go to the village.”
He grabbed her arm.”Take me with you, please. Please!” Arthur was not allowed to visit the village, but that never stopped him from begging to go with her.
“Little A, you know I can’t.” With luck, she would be in time for one of Arap Maina’s lessons.
“Just this once?” he pleaded. “I’ll bring the mail up to the house for you.” Arthur looked up at her with a puppy’s longing eyes.
“Maybe next time. But you have to practice your jumping while I am gone.”
“I will, I will.” Arthur sprang up and down enthusiastically as Beryl watched with a critical eye.
“Not like that! Your toes must stretch downward. You must believe you can fly.” Beryl began to leap straight up, gaining more height with each leap. Arthur’s delighted laughter helped her spring even higher.
“Beryl, I think you did it that time. You jumped over your head.” He was still jumping, and his words puffed out to coincide with his landings.
Beryl was pleased, too, even if she wouldn’t admit it. “Maybe I did, but only because I practice all the time. See that you do, too. I’m going now.”
Leaving Arthur bouncing in place as if his life depended on it, she loped toward the village. She had to find Arap Maina.
The Nandi village had grown in the past year. Now there were several dozen huts arranged in two circles, one inside the other to protect the cattle. Beryl waved at the women with their colorful red shukas and their beaded necklaces that extended in collars as wide as their shoulders. She gave a huge smile to Kibii’s other mother, Naipende, who was her favorite.
“Hello, Naipende. Working as hard as ever?”
“Greetings, Beru. Who else will prepare the meals, or build the house, or care for the children?”
“Not the boys!” Beryl laughed. “They hunt to get away from women’s work.”
“And you have always preferred to be with them. The women still remember your thatching.” Naipende burst out laughing. “The boys are at the other side of the meadow.”
Beryl thanked her and set off at a run. The boys stood in a circle around Arap Maina. His thick hair was captured in narrow plaits that hung down to the small of his back. Today his bracelets were gold, green, and red, tied high and tight on his forearm. His toga was knotted at his shoulder; his chest was bare to show off his iron cable necklace. Beryl’s father said that whenever the government tried to build a telegraph line, giraffes knocked down the poles and the Africans stole the wire for jewelry. As far as Beryl was concerned, the lack of telegraph service to Green Hills was a small price to pay for Arap Maina’s splendid necklace.
Arap Maina spoke quietly, with authority. How could her father think of him as an animal?
He asked his students to identify the dung on the ground.
“Gazelle?” suggested Kibii, with a doubtful voice.
“No.”
“Water buffalo.” It was Mehru, a boy who was always trying to
“Hi, Beryl!” he said cheerfully. He’d been lying in wait for her.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Beryl said. “I’ve been trained—you don’t know what I might do.”
“I bet Dad doesn’t know you rode the Baron. He’d be mad. But I won’t tell. Do you want to play?”
She stared at the raw slashes on his face. “Do those hurt?” she asked.
“Like the dickens!” he bragged cheerfully. “I was nearly killed!”
Beryl cringed.”Look, Little A—” She took a deep breath and said in a rush, “I’m really sorry. What happened yesterday was my fault. I shouldn’t have told you to play with Simi.”
Arthur was silent for a few moments. Then he beamed up at Beryl. “But then you saved me.” He stuck out his hand. “We’re even.”
“That’s decent of you.” Beryl shook his hand and turned to leave. “I have to go to the village.”
He grabbed her arm.”Take me with you, please. Please!” Arthur was not allowed to visit the village, but that never stopped him from begging to go with her.
“Little A, you know I can’t.” With luck, she would be in time for one of Arap Maina’s lessons.
“Just this once?” he pleaded. “I’ll bring the mail up to the house for you.” Arthur looked up at her with a puppy’s longing eyes.
“Maybe next time. But you have to practice your jumping while I am gone.”
“I will, I will.” Arthur sprang up and down enthusiastically as Beryl watched with a critical eye.
“Not like that! Your toes must stretch downward. You must believe you can fly.” Beryl began to leap straight up, gaining more height with each leap. Arthur’s delighted laughter helped her spring even higher.
“Beryl, I think you did it that time. You jumped over your head.” He was still jumping, and his words puffed out to coincide with his landings.
Beryl was pleased, too, even if she wouldn’t admit it. “Maybe I did, but only because I practice all the time. See that you do, too. I’m going now.”
Leaving Arthur bouncing in place as if his life depended on it, she loped toward the village. She had to find Arap Maina.
The Nandi village had grown in the past year. Now there were several dozen huts arranged in two circles, one inside the other to protect the cattle. Beryl waved at the women with their colorful red shukas and their beaded necklaces that extended in collars as wide as their shoulders. She gave a huge smile to Kibii’s other mother, Naipende, who was her favorite.
“Hello, Naipende. Working as hard as ever?”
“Greetings, Beru. Who else will prepare the meals, or build the house, or care for the children?”
“Not the boys!” Beryl laughed. “They hunt to get away from women’s work.”
“And you have always preferred to be with them. The women still remember your thatching.” Naipende burst out laughing. “The boys are at the other side of the meadow.”
Beryl thanked her and set off at a run. The boys stood in a circle around Arap Maina. His thick hair was captured in narrow plaits that hung down to the small of his back. Today his bracelets were gold, green, and red, tied high and tight on his forearm. His toga was knotted at his shoulder; his chest was bare to show off his iron cable necklace. Beryl’s father said that whenever the government tried to build a telegraph line, giraffes knocked down the poles and the Africans stole the wire for jewelry. As far as Beryl was concerned, the lack of telegraph service to Green Hills was a small price to pay for Arap Maina’s splendid necklace.
Arap Maina spoke quietly, with authority. How could her father think of him as an animal?
He asked his students to identify the dung on the ground.
“Gazelle?” suggested Kibii, with a doubtful voice.
“No.”
“Water buffalo.” It was Mehru, a boy who was always trying to
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