okay?”
“Okay.”
Then Melinda took my hand for a moment. The first thing she said all day was, “He’s my pony.”
I said, “I know that, Melinda. I’m not taking him back.”
“But if he’s not good enough, Papa will sell him and get another one.”
I realized what she meant. I said, “How many chances does he get, Melinda?”
Melinda looked up at me. “I don’t know. Not many. I’m scared of another pony.”
Miss Slater glanced at me. She said, “Well, let’s not think about all of that now. He’s a good pony. Do you understand the course, Abby?”
I nodded. I understood the course and everything else, to tell the truth. My own opinion was that even if Melinda just wanted the pony to stand around and eat carrots, that’s what she should have. I went back to the barn, and the groom brought out Gallant Man. I mounted at the mounting block and went into the warm-up. The whole time, it was like the eyes of Mr. Anniston were freezing a hole in my back. It mademe mad. It made me sit up and lift my chin. I knew that Miss Slater liked the pony a lot, and if something happened, she would find the pony another home. I knew also that it wasn’t my worry or Daddy’s, but anyway. I sat up. I made myself float around the warm-up as if the other ponies were not worth looking at.
The bell rang. I heard my name. I passed the previous pony in the gate. We trotted to the end of the ring and did our circle.
This time, the jumps were higher, and so they were more fun. I could feel the pony curling underneath me, rising under me and then landing and cantering on. The jumps, the very centers of the jumps, came up one by one right between the pony’s ears, right between my ears, too. The other thing that the pony had to do correctly in order to win, which was change leads in the turns, he did perfectly well. He was automatic at that and it didn’t worry me. It was the pace and the style that would tell the tale. We came over the last jump. I asked the pony for his circle, then for the trot, then for the walk. I dropped the rein contact and lifted my chin. As we exited the ring, I took a deep breath, as if I were Mary A. or one of those other girls at school, ignoring everyone who didn’t make any difference. I pretended to be Mary A. all the way back to the barn. Miss Slater and Daddy clapped for us.
The pony came second, after a blond fellow, whose round I didn’t see. We got reserve champion. Since it was the pony who was being judged, not the rider, Melinda went into the ring, leading Gallant Man, wearing her best riding clothes. They gave her a long red and yellow ribbon and a silver dish for mints. She came out smiling and hugged me. I glanced overat Mr. Anniston. At last he was smiling, even though it was a small, only semi-happy smile. It got bigger when Melinda ran over to him. He picked her up and gave her a kiss on the cheek, but it all looked fake to me—not as if he didn’t love her and wasn’t happy for her, but as if he had lots of ideas and keeping the pony was only one of them. I saw his eyes follow the blond pony, who had won champion. But nobody knew those people, and Miss Slater said they were from down south. As we were untacking the pony, she said, “You can’t believe what horses cost down there. It’s a crime. It really is.”
On the way home from the show, I reported this to Daddy. He said, “Is that so? Is that so, indeed?” When we got home, he pulled Black George out of the paddock and had me stand him up so that his feet were square and his head was up, ears pricked. Then he walked around him, peering at him. After a few minutes, he said to me, “Now, Abby, look how he stands. His back legs are set right under his haunches and his front legs are set just a hair behind the straight, but his knees are a smidgen bent. That’s called being ‘over at the knee,’ and it’s not a bad thing. His croup has a nice slope, and his neck comes up out of his withers. And his throatlatch,
“Okay.”
Then Melinda took my hand for a moment. The first thing she said all day was, “He’s my pony.”
I said, “I know that, Melinda. I’m not taking him back.”
“But if he’s not good enough, Papa will sell him and get another one.”
I realized what she meant. I said, “How many chances does he get, Melinda?”
Melinda looked up at me. “I don’t know. Not many. I’m scared of another pony.”
Miss Slater glanced at me. She said, “Well, let’s not think about all of that now. He’s a good pony. Do you understand the course, Abby?”
I nodded. I understood the course and everything else, to tell the truth. My own opinion was that even if Melinda just wanted the pony to stand around and eat carrots, that’s what she should have. I went back to the barn, and the groom brought out Gallant Man. I mounted at the mounting block and went into the warm-up. The whole time, it was like the eyes of Mr. Anniston were freezing a hole in my back. It mademe mad. It made me sit up and lift my chin. I knew that Miss Slater liked the pony a lot, and if something happened, she would find the pony another home. I knew also that it wasn’t my worry or Daddy’s, but anyway. I sat up. I made myself float around the warm-up as if the other ponies were not worth looking at.
The bell rang. I heard my name. I passed the previous pony in the gate. We trotted to the end of the ring and did our circle.
This time, the jumps were higher, and so they were more fun. I could feel the pony curling underneath me, rising under me and then landing and cantering on. The jumps, the very centers of the jumps, came up one by one right between the pony’s ears, right between my ears, too. The other thing that the pony had to do correctly in order to win, which was change leads in the turns, he did perfectly well. He was automatic at that and it didn’t worry me. It was the pace and the style that would tell the tale. We came over the last jump. I asked the pony for his circle, then for the trot, then for the walk. I dropped the rein contact and lifted my chin. As we exited the ring, I took a deep breath, as if I were Mary A. or one of those other girls at school, ignoring everyone who didn’t make any difference. I pretended to be Mary A. all the way back to the barn. Miss Slater and Daddy clapped for us.
The pony came second, after a blond fellow, whose round I didn’t see. We got reserve champion. Since it was the pony who was being judged, not the rider, Melinda went into the ring, leading Gallant Man, wearing her best riding clothes. They gave her a long red and yellow ribbon and a silver dish for mints. She came out smiling and hugged me. I glanced overat Mr. Anniston. At last he was smiling, even though it was a small, only semi-happy smile. It got bigger when Melinda ran over to him. He picked her up and gave her a kiss on the cheek, but it all looked fake to me—not as if he didn’t love her and wasn’t happy for her, but as if he had lots of ideas and keeping the pony was only one of them. I saw his eyes follow the blond pony, who had won champion. But nobody knew those people, and Miss Slater said they were from down south. As we were untacking the pony, she said, “You can’t believe what horses cost down there. It’s a crime. It really is.”
On the way home from the show, I reported this to Daddy. He said, “Is that so? Is that so, indeed?” When we got home, he pulled Black George out of the paddock and had me stand him up so that his feet were square and his head was up, ears pricked. Then he walked around him, peering at him. After a few minutes, he said to me, “Now, Abby, look how he stands. His back legs are set right under his haunches and his front legs are set just a hair behind the straight, but his knees are a smidgen bent. That’s called being ‘over at the knee,’ and it’s not a bad thing. His croup has a nice slope, and his neck comes up out of his withers. And his throatlatch,
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