The Wild Boy and Queen Moon by K M Peyton

Nobody would take it from there.
    ‘Is our friend Sneerwell coming down tonight?’ Polly asked. ‘That horse is tragically wasted on that young man. I’ll give him lessons, if he wants.’
    ‘He doesn’t think he needs them.’
    Polly gave a snort of derision. ‘Poor deluded soul.’
    She led Charlie’s Flying out of his box and hopped up into the saddle, quick as a sparrow. Charlie’s faults: too long a back, sloping rump, dishing action, cow hocks, bowed tendons – all seemed to disappear when his rider collected him up and sent him on at a perfectly collected trot. Polly was an ace rider.
    Sandy felt gloomy, fingering the twenty-pound note that nestled in her groin. Polly’s information was bad news. She would have to tell her parents.
    She went to fetch George and Puffin, who now came in at night. They were waiting by the gate, and Leo came down on her bicycle to coincide with Sandy in the gateway. They led the ponies with baler twine; they would have come home without anything. Leo rode her bike and held Puffin’s mane, and Puffin pulled her along. Sandy told Leo about Polly’s twenty-pound note disappearing. ‘But don’t tell anyone else!’ She wasn’t going to tell Leo about Duncan’s penknife. Not anybody.
    George and Puffin seemed to get smaller and smaller. After handling King of the Fireworks the contrast was marked. Or were they – their riders – growing? Panic seized Sandy when she thought of being too big for George. Her father would never buy her another, not when he couldn’t even afford a new baling machine.
    ‘Anyway, George, I don’t want another one. Only you. Why can’t you grow too?’
    George was only interested in his feed bucket. Sandy knew he wasn’t anything special, but she loved him. He was a goer and a fun ride and hardy: he never got tired. Polly said he should pull a cart. His markings were good – more brown than white, evenly distributed, and he had a pretty head and good eyes – a touch of quality, Sandy liked to think. Everyone thought their pigs were pearls. She wasn’t the only one. Only Sneerwell, who had a peerless horse, didn’t think he had anything special. He was pig ignorant and couldn’t see a pearl when it was under his nose. Sandy fed Sneerwell’s pearl as its owner appeared, as usual, not to be coming.
    By the time she had done this the two police cars had arrived in the front drive. Sandy came out of Fireworks’ stable and, as she did so, Julia rode in on Faithful (having been for a smart canter in the dusk) and said, ‘The wild boy is coming along the sea-wall, if the police want to see him. Shall I tell them?’
    Without waiting for an answer she rode through the archway into the drive and approached the policemen, who were talking beside their cars. One of the policemen got back into his car and drove it out down the drive and into the lane, blocking it. This movement looked very threatening, Sandy thought, although she could see it was perfectly practical. Literally ‘stopped by the police’. She and Leo wanted to hang around to witness the taming of the wild boy but without making it obvious. It was a bit tricky. Then one of the policemen came over to Sandy and asked her if she could let ‘the liveries’ know they would like to ask them if they had seen anything untoward the evening before. Was there a room they could use, to take notes?
    ‘You can use the tackroom. There’s a table and chairs.’
    ‘That will be fine. Thank you.’
    Leo then said, cleverly, ‘Shall we stop the boy on the grey horse and tell him you want to speak to him?’
    ‘That would be very helpful. Then we needn’t wait up there.’
    Sandy and Leo scampered down the driveway to the junction with the lane and peered through the dusk in the direction of the sea-wall. They were just in time, for the boy was coming up at his usual gallop. Fortunately, he could see the police car blocking his way and started to pull up before he reached the girls. Even with only