Then far away on the edge of a bed of bracken in the bottom, something like a piece of brown paper caught his eye. It rose and fell and flapped in the wind.
Boy saw it, too, and darted off.
"Call Billy Bluff!" she cried over her shoulder; but Billy had already trotted off to the yard to renew the pleasant task of tormenting Maudie and the fan-tails.
The girl made at a canter for the brown paper struggling on the edge of the bracken.
As she came closer she raised a swift hand to steady the man pounding behind her.
The brown paper was a new-born foal, woolly, dun of hue, swaying on uncertain legs. The little creature, with the mane and tail of a toy horse, looking supremely pathetic in its helplessness, wavered ridiculously in the wind. It was all knees and hocks, and fluffy tail that wriggled, and jelly-like eyes. Its tall, thin legs were stuck out before and behind like those of a wooden horse. It stood like one dazed, staring blankly before it, absorbed in the new and surprising action of drawing breath through widespread nostrils; quavered and then collapsed, only to attempt to climb to its feet again.
Close beside her child lay the mother, her neck extended along the green, her eyes blood-shot.
As the girl rode up, the old mare raised her gaunt, well-bred head and snorted, but made no effort to rise.
Boy dismounted.
"Hold Ragamuffin, will you?" she said.