National Velvet by Enid Bagnold Page B

what she adored. Sometimes she walked down an endless cool alley in summer, by the side of the gutter
in
the old red brick floor. On her left and right were open stalls made of dark wood and the buttocks of the bay horses shone like mahogany all the way down. The horses turned their heads to look at her as she walked. They had black manes hanging like silk as the thick necks turned. These dreams blew and played round her bed in the night and the early hours of the morning.
    Â Â Â Â  She got up while the sisters were sleeping and all the room was full of book-muslin and canaries singing. “How they can sleep!” she said wonderingly when she became aware of the canaries singing so madly. All the sisters lay dreaming of horses. The room seemed full of the shapes of horses. There was almost a dream-smell of stables. As she dressed they were stirring, shifting and tossing in white heaps beneath their cotton bedspreads. The canaries screamed in a long yellow scream, and grew madder. Then Velvet left the room and softly shut the door and passed down into the silence of the cupboard-stairway.
    Â Â Â Â  In her striped cotton dress with a cardigan over it she picked up the parcel of steak that had been left on the kitchen table and drank the glass of milk with a playing card on the top of it that Mrs. Brown had left her overnight. Then she got a half packet of milk chocolate from the string drawer, and went out to saddle Miss Ada.
    Â Â Â Â  In the brilliance of a very early summer morning they went off together, Miss Ada’s stomach rumbling with hunger. Velvet fed her from a bag of oats she had brought with her up on the top of the hill. There were spiders’ webs stretched everywhere across the gorse bushes.
    Â Â Â Â  Coming down over the rolling grass above Kings-worthy Velvet could see the feathery garden looking like tropics asleep down below. Old Mr. Cellini by a miracle grew palms and bananas and mimosa in his. Miss Ada went stabbing and sliding down the steep hillside,hating the descent, switching her tail with vexation.
    Â Â Â Â  Velvet tied Miss Ada to the fence, climbed it and crept through the spiny undergrowth into the foreign garden. There was not a sound. Not a gardener was about. The grass-like moss, spongy with dew so that each foot sank in and made a black print which filled with water. Then she looked up and saw that the old gentleman had been looking at her all the time.
    Â Â Â Â  He had on a squarish hat and never took his eyes off her. He was standing by a tree. Velvet’s feet went down in the moss as she stood. His queer hat was wet, and there was dew on the shoulders of his ancient black frock-coat which buttoned up to the neck; he looked like someone who had been out all the night.
    Â Â Â Â  Raising one black-coated arm he rubbed his lips as though they were stiff, and she could see how frail he was, unsteady, wet.
    Â Â Â Â  “What have you come to do?” he said in a very low voice.
    Â Â Â Â  “Sir?”
    Â Â Â Â  He moved a step forwards and stumbled.
    Â Â Â Â  “Are you staying? Going up to the house?”
    Â Â Â Â  “The house.”
    Â Â Â Â  “Stay here,” he said in an urgent tone which broke.
    Â Â Â Â  Velvet dropped her own eyes to her parcel, for she knew he was looking at her and how his eyeballs shone round his eyes.
    Â Â Â Â  “How did you come?” (at last). She looked up. There was something transparent about his trembling face.
    Â Â Â Â  “On our pony,” she said. “I rode. She’s tied to the fence. There’s some meat here for the cook, to leave at the back door.”
    Â Â Â Â  “Do you like ponies?” said the rusty voice.
    Â Â Â Â  “Oh . . . yes. We’ve only the one.”
    Â Â Â Â  “Better see mine,” said the old gentleman in a different