This van bore what the movers call “a swinging load.” On the back of the wagon were tied all the pieces of furniture that couldn’t be crammed or squeezed into the van itself.
The horses pulled and strained up the little hill until they were directly opposite Susan’s gate, and then, with a crash, something fell off the back of the wagon.
“Look, look!” cried Susan, hopping up and down. “Look, Grandfather, it’s a rocking-horse!”
Sure enough, a dapple gray rocking-horse, with a gay red saddle, was rocking away in the middle of the road as if he meant to reach Banbury Cross before nightfall.
“There will be somebody for me to play with!” cried Susan, climbing up on Grandfather’s desk in her excitement. “Maybe I will have a ride on that rocking-horse. Won’t there be somebody for me to play with, Grandfather?”
And Susan, her eyes shining, put both arms around Grandfather’s neck and gave him a great hug.
“It looks that way,” said Grandfather, as soon as Susan let him breathe again. “It looks as if that rocking-horse was about your size, too. But here comes your grandmother. Perhaps she has heard something about it in the village.”
Like a flash Susan was off down the road, and by the time Grandfather had put on his hat and shut the office door Susan had learned all the news that Grandmother had to tell.
“Grandmother knows all about it,” called Susan, flying up the road again. “Miss Liza Tallman has rented her house for a year. And, Grandfather, there is a little boy as old as me and his name is Philip Vane.”