Now she cuddled Poppy in her lap, and with a sense of companionship, enjoyed the landscape of silvered loveliness and peace. A sort of sad enjoyment, but pleasantly sad. Occasionally she sighed, but it was a sigh of deep content. Such things as perching dizzily atop a horse's back, even cantering in graceful insouciance, seemed far, far away.
Yet, after she was in her little white bed, in smiling dreams she saw herself, smartly accoutred in gleaming boots and pepper-and-salt riding-breeches, galloping up to Pieker's grocery and there, in the admiring view of the Post Office loafers and of a dumbfounded Arthur, cantering insouciantly across the sidewalk and into the store!
Her dream might have ended there, nothing more than a fleeting phantasm, had not Tess, the following week, come into possession of Gypsy.
Gypsy was a black pony with a white star on her forehead and a long wavy tail. She was a pony with a personality--from the start Missy recognized the pony as a person just as she recognized Poppy as a person. When Gypsy gazed at you out of those soft, bright eyes, or when she pricked up her ears with an alert listening gesture, or when she turned her head and switched her tail with nonchalant unconcern--oh, it is impossible to describe the charm of Gypsy. That was it--“charm”; and the minute Missy laid eyes on the darling she succumbed to it. She had thought herself absurdly but deep-rootedly afraid of all horseflesh, but Gypsy didn't seem a mere horse. She was pert, coquettish, coy, loving, inquisitive, naughty; both Tess and Missy declared she had really human intelligence.
She began to manifest this the very day of her arrival. After Tess had ridden round the town and shown off properly, she left the pony in the sideyard of the sanitarium while she and Missy slipped off to the summerhouse to enjoy a few stolen chapters from “The Duchess.” There was high need for secrecy for, most unreasonably, “The Duchess” had been put under a parental ban; moreover Tess feared there were stockings waiting to be darned.
Presently they heard Mrs. O'Neill calling, but they just sat still, stifling their giggles. Gypsy, who had sauntered up to the summerhouse door, poked in an inquisitive nose. Mrs. O'Neill didn't call again, so Tess whispered: “She thinks we've gone over to your house--we can go on reading.”