THE HORSE IT WAS THAT DIED

By JOSEPHINE BLUMENFELD

" NOW, with your pony, Rowena. One and two! Rise and fall! One, two and one again. In with those toes. Out with that chest. Up, down—up, down. Easy now. Good."

Miss Walker's shrill voice clanged against Rowena's thumping heart. Her heart always thumped on riding days. Fear grasped her thin little body ; her long fair plaits flew out behind her as though trying to escape the torment ; her knees trembled inside the new jodhpurs, and however hard she tried to keep them pressed in, they jumped away from the saddle, shivering and quaking like her plaits.

" The child adores it," her mother said to inane women at luncheon. " She's crazy about horses. A stable-yard urchin if ever there was one."

Rowena could not battle against the talk of her mother ; if mother said you adored horses, you adored horses ; it was the same about swimming, although she went blue all over with nasty patches of white showing where the blood refused to run. " She's really just a mermaid," her mother said. Of course her mother never went swimming or riding, she was too busy ; a woman with thick shiny calves in- structed Rowena in diving and the crawl, while Miss Walker rode up the drive on Sancho, her old chestnut, with Snowball the pony, every Tuesday and Friday afternoon at two. From two o'clock till three-thirty was the allotted period. It came to seven-and-six a time. Rowena thought of all the things she could buy for seven-and-six twice a week ; but it only made it worse.

" One, two, Rowena ; there's a good girl. Do you think you could manage a small ditch today?—No? Oh, but you must be brave, Rowena! Your mother wants you to be able to jump ; you know she wants you to ride in a show one day. Then think how proud you'll feel!"

Miss Walker talked all the time they were out. Perched high on her enormous chestnut she looked like the guy the village children built for the top of the annual bonfire. Rowena felt sure if you pricked Miss Walker with a needle a lot of shavings and old sticks would fly out ; she looked so stuffed and thick. Her large cardboard bosom never shifted even at a canter ; she and her bowler were all of a piece, as it were. Rowena felt very much below salt on Snowball, who only came up to the bit where Sancho's tail was fixed on; she had to crane her neck and rise in the saddle to hear what Miss Walker said, then she nearly always lost her balance, or her stirrups, or her crop, and they had to stop and start off all over again.

Today Miss Walker was more talkative than ever.

" We'll have a jolly good canter today, Rowena, what do you say? When we get beyond the wood along the flat bit you can let him have his mouth ; he's feeling just ripe for a run today, aren't you, Snowball? You, too, Sancho, old boy, I know."

Neither Snowball nor Rowena nor Sancho made any answer, but that didn't worry Miss Walker, who bowed graciously to a tradesman's boy who was looking the other way.

Soon they were away from the road and past the wood. Rowena's heart thumped harder than ever ; this was worse than cold water any day. Snowball was getting excited, blowing and snorting through his nostrils and sending up little showers of wet spray into her eyes. Sancho was look- ing expectantly ahead with cocked ears ; he pawed at the grass and swished his tail, while Miss Walker bent down to adjust Rowena's reins.

" Now, remember, Rowena, for the last time—do not hang on by your reins or by the saddle ; knees are the things to hang on with ; press them well in and keep your hands and heels well down. Now, are you ready? We're off I " The horses bounded ahead. Rowena felt herself rushing through the world in a state of helpless terror. Her knees shook and wouldn't press in ; her legs were all over the place; her hands flapped madly about with the reins in mid-air, and everything hurt. Miss Walker, a few yards ahead, seemed quite unmoved. She rose and fell in the saddle like an automatic pump handle ; perhaps it was easier, riding side-saddle.

On they went, heedless of rabbit holes or ditches, but down-hill was the worst. Rowena gave up all hope of everything going down-hill ; it was so horribly uncomfort- able, and sort of unnatural, going down-hill.

They did the circular tour. People mushrooming in the fields or taking strolls turned to watch them as they tore by ; birds flew out of the trees and disappeared and cows moved off into other corners. Nobody else had to do this awful riding ; they didn't know how lucky they were. Rowena prayed to be a poor man's child and not have to ride, but God never seemed to listen when you wanted Him to, and on they went.

As they neared the wood again Miss Walker gradually slowed Sancho up. Snowball followed suit of his own accord, and soon they were trotting along, more or less in comfort, side by side.

Miss Walker looked hot and pleased.

" Jolly good run, eh, Rowena? Sancho certainly can pull his weight at a canter ; little Snowball did his bit too, didn't he? I hope you kept your knees in and your hands well down." She leaned forward to pat Sancho, who shook his head as if to say " Leave off."

He was slowing down considerably and seemed winded. He made funny noises in his neck and his sides were blow- ing in and out like the drawing-room bellows.

" A bit winded, eh, old boy?" said Miss Walker, as she leaned over him again. " Come on, now, be a man. You're not going to tell me that little run tired you out?" She pulled at the reins and made noises through her back teeth, but Sancho slowed down all the more, and when they got back to the road, stopped altogether and refused to move.

Miss Walker went red in the face and used her crop on his hind-quarters. " Come on now, Sancho, come on," she kept saying and tugged at the reins. But Sancho only blew the harder and gtr-gled in his throat.

Rowena wanted to laugh, they looked so silly ; but she thought it would be rude, so she patted Snowball's neck, said " Nice Snowball," and hoped there would be crumpets for tea.

Miss Walker had to dismount at last because Sancho looked so strange ; he hung his head and started to kneel down, and when his knees touched the ground he rolled right over and lay on his side. Miss Walker seemed to be getting into a state. She pulled at the bridle and kicked at his heels ; then when he still didn't move, she started to rub him. She felt his legs and looked into his mouth, and rubbed his chest and blew in his ears, then with a quick gesture she knelt down, put her ear to his heart and Rowena saw her go white. When she looked up again her red face had changed into a much smaller grey one. " He's deid, Rowena," she said. " It's awful! You must ride home by yourself right away."

Rowena's heart started thumping again. It didn't seem true. How could Sancho be dead? He'd been alive only a few minutes ago and now he was dead. She wanted to stay and say: "How can he be dead?" but Miss Walker said: " Now, at once!" and the look on Miss Walker's face made her go.

She urged Snowball along the road at a quick trot ; she wasn't frightened of riding any more now, only of death and that thing that had once been Sancho lying in the road. She had never seen a dead thing before—not a big dead thing—and now she was frightened. He had been so stiff and still—blown-out-looking and stuffed, rather like Miss Walker herself. His huge eye had rolled round and looked at her as he lay down ; it hadn't shut either, even after he was dead.

She tugged at Snowball's mouth and dug his ribs with her heels, took the drive at a canter and tied Snowball up to a tree.

Her mother was lying down in the drawing-room. Rowena ran to her and dragged her hand.

" It's Sancho, Mother! It's awful!" she shouted. " He's quite dead in the road. Please come quickly! It's awful! "

Miss Walker was sitting in the same place by the side of the road when they got back. Her bowler hat had slipped to one side and her huge body seemed to have had all the air let out. With one hand she kept patting Sancho's neck, with the other she beat her boot automatically with her crop. When she saw Rowena and her mother she startea weeping: " He dead! " she whimpered, " he's dead. He was only twelve years old. I've had him since he was a yearling."

Rowena's mother started bustling, as she always did when things went wrong ; she patted Miss Walker, then she patted Sancho: then she said she would get the carrier to come and take Sancho away. Rowena couldn't look at Miss Walker or Sancho ; so she followed her mother to the carriers.

The carrier was shocked, too. " What, dead?" he said. "Miss Walker's old Sancho dead. Well, I never!"

Rowena felt she was going to burst. A thick lump in her throat seemed to be taking charge of her whole body. She gulped and sniffed as she trotted along beside her mother, who was walking very fast and frowning all the time.

There were crumpets for tea after all. The butter oozed through the holes ; they were done just right, and Mary had remembered to lay the salt ; but Rowena could still see Sancho's eye, so she said " No, thank you," when the dish was passed.