Season of Ponies by Zilpha Keatley Snyder Read Free Book Online Page B

about the swamp or anything else for long.
    Sometimes they took the ponies to Shadow Glen to graze. They had a favorite spot on a ledge near a little waterfall where they liked to sit and talk while the ponies ate. Once, on a Saturday, they spent the whole day there. Pamela always remembered that Saturday picnic; partly because it was such a wonderful day and partly because it was the first time she really heard about the Pig Woman—although afterwards it seemed she had always known.
    Every Saturday Mrs. Tibbets from down the valley came to Oak Farm to clean and scrub. Sometimes, in nice weather, old Mr. Tibbets came too, to take the aunts to town. It was a long ride to town, so they always spent the entire day shopping and visiting with old friends. It occurred to Pamela when she heard of a coming trip, that grumpy old Mrs. Tibbets would never notice or care if she was gone all day.
    Ponyboy probably wouldn’t like her suggesting a certain time for him to come. She never knew when she would see him. But the prospect of a whole day’s adventure made her want to try.
    The next time she saw Ponyboy, she told him about the approaching shopping trip. “And I could come in the morning and stay all day,” she said brightly. “It always seems like such a short time from after dinner till I have to go home.”
    Ponyboy’s slanting eyebrows began to dip fiercely as she had feared they might. He didn’t like things to be so expected. But suddenly she had an inspiration. “I could pack a picnic lunch,” she added quickly.
    Ponyboy’s eyebrows, on their way down, wavered. Then they started up again. “A picnic? What sort of picnic?”
    “Oh, chicken sandwiches, and pickles, and olives, and lemonade, and cookies; maybe even doughnuts.”
    The eyebrows were back to normal. “Well, I don’t know for sure,” he said. “I might be too busy, but if you want to pack a lunch Saturday and take a walk up the cowpath to the north pasture I might...,” he waved his hand vaguely, “be around.”
    The lunch was easy. Aunt Elsie loved to cook, and the pantry was always full of good things to eat. Mrs. Tibbets was no problem either. She didn’t know enough about children to realize that a one-girl, all-day picnic wouldn’t be much fun. She seemed glad Pamela wasn’t going to be underfoot.
    Pamela was excited as she started out along the north pasture cowpath early Saturday morning. It was so different to know, or almost know, that she was going to see Ponyboy and the ponies. But when she reached the gate at the end of the pasture, there was no sign of ponies or boy. She waited and was beginning to wonder if he had decided not to come, when a bird called sharply from a clump of trees on the hillside just beyond the gate. A bird, or was it?
    Pamela quickly opened the gate and in a moment was among the trees. She looked around. Nothing stirred. Short, sun-dappled grass, tall pines and oaks, but nothing else. Perhaps it was only a bird.
    Just then a giggle directly over her head made her jump. There, stretched out on a limb, was Ponyboy—his hands under his chin. He sat up and shoved himself off the branch, landing lightly beside Pamela.
    “Hi,” he said. “I’ll carry the lunch. I left the ponies farther up the hill.”
    Shadow Glen was beautiful that day. The sun was warm, but it was cool and dusky under the trees that edged the brook. While the ponies grazed, Pamela and Ponyboy made boats of tree bark, manned them with people made from hoarhound sprigs, and ran them over the rapids. While the daring hoarhound boatmen shot the waterfall, Pamela made up names and life histories for each limp green hero.
    “This is Stanley Drudger,” she announced, shoving a boat out into the current. “He’s a street sweeper. His wife and eleven children are watching down there by the waterfall. He entered this race because he needs the prize money to buy shoes for his children.”
    Pamela and Ponyboy leaned over the bank and watched the tiny