National Velvet by Enid Bagnold

blood ran down like Time into her flying children; Easter Hero, the Lamb, that pony stallion.
    Â Â Â Â  “Race?” said Mi. “
All
the time.” And Velvet knew she was right.
    Â Â Â Â  “If I won that piebald,” said Velvet, “I might ride him in the Grand National myself.”
    Â Â Â Â  “Girls can’t ride in that,” said Mi contemptuously.
    Â Â Â Â  “Girls!” said Velvet, stopping still beside him so that they all drew up. “Who’s to know I’m a girl?” She cupped her face in her two hands so that her straight hair was taken from it.
    Â Â Â Â  “ ’Tisn’t your hair,” said Mi, and his eyes fell on her chest. “Flat’s a pancake,” he said. “You’d pass. There’s a changing room though.”
    Â Â Â Â  “What’d you undress for?”
    Â Â Â Â  “Change your day things for your silks.”
    Â Â Â Â  “But you needn’t undress to your skin. You could keep the same vest.”
    Â Â Â Â  “It
could
happen . . .” said Mi. “It never has. You got to get your horse first.”
    Â Â Â Â  There was a silence as they walked.
    Â Â Â Â  “There he goes!” said Mi. The piebald was galloping below them, making as usual for the village. “Heavy galloper. Plunges as he goes.”
    Â Â Â Â  “He’s lovely,” breathed Velvet, simply. They started to run. Below them they could see a sweeper at the entrance to the village wave his broom at the horse.
    Â Â Â Â  The piebald leapt round him and galloped on. He disappeared between the first houses on the street. Soon he was out again, driven away by men and boys whom they could see standing by the sea wall, and headed up the curve of the Hullocks again, still galloping, his white mane and tail flying.
    Â Â Â Â  “Carthorse and Arab in that animal,” said Mi, pausing to look. The piebald tired on the steep hill and slowed to a trot, then stood still. He looked over his shoulder at the village below him.
    Â Â Â Â  “He’s homesick,” said Velvet suddenly. “He wants people. He hates it up there on that high field. Would he let me get near him?”
    Â Â Â Â  “Never while he’s loose like that, an’ after he’s galloped,” said Mi. “Not worth the trouble. What about those muslins?”
    Â Â Â Â  “Come along,” said Edwina. “We’ve got to get them done. Don’t keep staring at him, Velvet. He’ll never belong to any of us, and if he did the Lord knows what father’d say!”
    Â Â Â Â  After tea they did the muslins.
    Â Â Â Â  “Ironing’s lovely” said Meredith. They had forgotten their antagonism to the frocks. The irons were hot and had polished shoes that slid over the steaming damp of the muslin surface. There were two irons and Meredith and Mally ironed while Velvet waited sitting by the cactus window. They used the supper table. The frail muslin hardened and blanched as the irons poked and slid, and Edwina made a racket in the room above looking for her blue leather belt. Father passed through the room in his gum boots. He had been hosing.
    Â Â Â Â  “They want a steak. Over at Kingsworthy. Got to be there before breakfast,” he said.
    Â Â Â Â  “Before breakfast!”
    Â Â Â Â  “That’s what I said,” said father. The door shut.
    Â Â Â Â  “What sort of a cook wants a steak before breakfast?” said Mally, shooting the nose of her iron in among the front pleats.
    Â Â Â Â  “Man-eating cook,” said Edwina, standing in the doorway with her belt over her wrist. “Sucks ’em raw before she lights the stove.”
    Â Â Â Â  “It’s Mr. Cellini’s, Kingsworthy,” said Velvet.