Fly-by-night by K M Peyton

Author:K M Peyton [K.M. Peyton]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Random House Children's UK
Published: 2014-08-30T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER VII

PETER TAKES A FALL

BY THE TIME the Pony Club Trials at Brierley came round again Fly-by-Night, in Ruth’s opinion, was not even fit to take to a Pony Club rally, let alone jump in a Hunter Trials. Ruth longed for the summer, for long evenings, for more riding and — most of all — for more grass. The brown bill from Mr. Richards did not come, but Ruth looked for it every day. Try as she might, she had managed to save no more than five shillings towards paying it, but she thought if she could wait until the grass came through, so that there was no more hay to buy, she would be able to save more. ‘Worry, worry, worry,’ Ron said. But he did not know about Mr. Richards. Nobody knew except Pearl.

And at school Peter McNair was still an unattainable presence, a quiet boy, lately absent quite a lot. Ruth studied him in assembly, but could see no signs of ill health apart from, once, a black eye. Ruth put the black eye down to Woodlark, but had no way of knowing. She had given up any hope now of ever receiving any advice from Peter McNair, or even of speaking to him, and when she went to the Brierley Hunter Trials she expected — correctly, as it turned out — that he would see her without betraying any sign of recognition.

Ruth went to the Brierley Hunter Trials determined that next year she would ride in it. And it was a sign of her progress to remember that last year, standing on the same ground, she did not even possess a pony, or even dare to hope that she ever might. However unsatisfactory she might consider her schooling of Fly-by-Night, at least she now had a potential entry. ‘It’s just up to me,’ she said to herself, which was in no way a comfort. But she went to Brierley this time, knowing what she wanted. ‘Just to get round, next year.’ Not even to win.

It was warmer, this year, the air full of the smell of spring. The little wood was full of catkins, and the stream was swollen, the banks soft and peaty. Ruth walked the course, while the stewards were still pushing in the marker flags and the riders were converging at the gate at the top of the hill. The course was basically the same as the year before, but with variations. This year one jumped the course through the wood in the opposite direction, so that one jumped into it over a rail and down the steep bank, and left it by passing through the gate. Having considered all the difficulties, Ruth went back to the collecting-ring to wait for the start. She felt tight and nervous, thinking of next year. ‘Whatever shall I feel like next year?’ she wondered, and started to shiver.

The girls’ faces this year were familiar. The girl whom Peter McNair had asked to pair with him was there, and the girl on the lazy grey who had objected to the idea.

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