And the colts, the enchanting colts, from the fluffy infant, with hair inches long, running beside or under its mother, to the shaggy gawk, with big, watery blue eyes, who thought he could kick the sky.
“They’re all—all full of mischief this morning,” whispered Pemrose between her teeth. “Una is the only one who has a ‘soft snap.’ Revel stands still to be caught. And Unie—‘Jack’—scores in another way, too, she owns her horse. Oh! what would I not give to call you mine, Revelation—teasing imp though you are.” Pem’s knuckles pressed her lips, to hold in the longing. “Ah, here comes the farmer—Menzies, who has charge of the horse-farm—and his little son, Donnie, Menzies to give us lessons in riding and jumping—Donnie, with a tan puppy under his arm! What! Revel—Donnie! Curls—what!”
Pemrose’s eyes were wide and round as the colts’ now—limpid, shining. They were fixed upon a group, thirty yards away, where of all the girls—with some experience in horseback riding before—who were to learn this summer to catch and bridle their own mounts, Una was the only one whose apple fell easily into her mouth. The only one who did not have to run or pant—or spill oats into her shoes!
Except on rare occasions Revel, beguiled by a lump of sugar, would stand still, gentle image of motherhood, to have the halter thrown over her short, fair head by her girl rider.
A beautiful little horse she was, with her coat of cinnamon silk, her form more chunky than that of her six-year-old son, Revelation—neck thicker, shoulder heavier.
And now—now, to the group, two figures were added: Menzies, the horse-breeder, and his tiny son, not yet four, whose flaxen curls, in this out-of-the way region, were, like the colts’ fluff, still unshorn.
Una had exhausted her bribe of sugar—was waiting for the other girls to catch their horses. But Revel knew where more was to be found, Donald had some, generally, in the pocket of his little blouse for her. But Donnie was, at present, taken up with displaying the pup under his arm. And Revel found other amusement.
Stealing up behind the child, until her soft mother breath was on his cheek, gently she nibbled at his curls, taking them one by one into her “nuzzling” mouth, letting them stray through it—heaven’s hay.
Other horses, Harmony, Fox—Flying Fox—were curious about those flaxen curls, too, had come near enough to smell of them; Revel alone fondled them in her mouth.
“What a—picture!” breathed Pemrose. “If Unie has one friend that she loves more than me, it’s Revel—and on her back she is seldom afraid. Oh-h! this is a won-der-ful morning. It puts even radio in the background.”