Read Season of Ponies for Free Online

trying desperately to look through the heavy fog for a glimpse of something—something frightening, known and yet unknown.
    She glanced at the boy and saw that he, too, was staring, fascinated by the scene before them. But just then he caught her eye and laughed, a little uneasily.
    “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”
    Pamela was burning with curiosity, but she remembered in time about questions so they rode on silently.
    The crest of the hill dropped, and the ponies wound their way down to a broad valley. Here the two rode slowly with the herd bunched behind them, except for Solsken who galloped on ahead, bouncing sideways on his gangly legs and flicking his tiny tail.
    The boy took a small flute from a cord around his neck and began to play. The music was very much as Pamela had remembered it. A strange wild sound that was not quite a tune, as if all the sounds of the forest were shaped to the clear sweet tones of the flute.
    The ponies seemed to like it, too, for they lifted their feet higher and arched their slender necks more sharply.
    Pamela was having such a wonderful time she didn’t realize how late it had become until quite suddenly she noticed that the sun was very low. “Oh, I’ll be late for dinner!” she cried. “I’ll have to hurry home.”
    “All right, we’ll hurry,” the boy said. He made a quick sound with his tongue, and the ponies sprang into a run. Up hill and down they swept, so fast they seemed to be sailing on the wings of the wind. Cirro and Nimbus raced side by side like pale shadows over the ground. Pamela and the boy lay close to the ponies’ necks, half-buried in the flowing manes. A little way behind them ran the rest of the pony herd, the thunder of their racing hooves filling Pamela’s head like the crescendo of a symphony.
    When Pamela felt the ponies slowing down, she sat up and found herself in the familiar woods back of the old barn. They moved slowly now and very quietly. The excitement of the wild run down the valley had left Pamela feeling a little limp. She swayed softly with the pony’s gentle motion. Near the barn they stopped, and all the ponies crowded around as if to say good-by.
    The sun was low in the west, and Pamela knew she must hurry. She patted each velvet nose quickly. She looked up at the boy who was still sitting on Cirro’s back.
    “Good-by. I had a wonderful time—” She paused. “Why, I don’t even know your name.”
    The boy frowned. “I don’t like names. I don’t have one, and I don’t want to know yours. I’ll call you Girl.”
    Pamela laughed. “Then I’ll call you Ponyboy. I’ve called you that to myself since I first saw you.”
    “All right,” he said. “I don’t mind that.”
    “Good-by, Ponyboy.” She started away. Then she turned back. “But the ponies have names.”
    “That’s different. Ponies’ names are just to call them by. They don’t try to carry them on or live up to them or worry about having a good one.”
    Pamela looked thoughtful. “Oh,” she said. “Well, good-by.”

On a Stormy Night
    P AMELA WAS QUITE LATE for dinner that night. Aunt Sarah was very upset. “Where ever have you been?” she began icily as Pamela came into the dining room.
    Pamela was frightened. What could she say. She couldn’t tell the truth, and yet Aunt Sarah always knew a lie.
    “I’m sorry, Aunt Sarah,” she began. “I was reading in the barn—and—and—I’m not sure exactly what happened.”
    Just in time Aunt Elsie came to her rescue. “She must have fallen asleep, Sarah. I’m sure she didn’t mean to be late.”
    “Really, Elsie,” Aunt Sarah snapped. “You and I have been over this very topic enough times for you to know how I feel about excuses of that nature. ‘Not meaning to’ is no excuse for any sort of failure. I’m quite aware that you excuse your own weaknesses in that manner, but I do not mine—nor shall Pamela be encouraged to excuse hers.”
    Aunt Elsie’s small face looked