Читать книгу Snowball the Pony - Enid blyton - Страница 4

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The little pony was surprised to find how big the world was. The lane was a long one and led into a main road, which seemed enormous to the little creature.

He jogged along by the farmer, looking in astonishment at the houses they passed. He had only seen the farm-house before far away in the distance. Then suddenly a great red animal roared by, and the tiny pony leapt in fright, trying to jump into the ditch to hide.

“What’s that?” he thought. “Will it eat me, oh will it eat me?”

“Now, now,” said the farmer, laughing, “that was only a bus. It won’t hurt you! Come along.”

Soon they left the main road and went into another lane. This led over the blue hills that the pony had so often seen from his field. He saw corn-fields on each side, growing green, with a poppy or two flashing a red eye at him now and again.

They came to the top of the hill and the pony looked in surprise at the valley below. Why, the world was even bigger than he had thought! It was an enormous place!

“Now, there’s your new home, down there,” said the farmer, and he nodded at a pretty farm-house nestling down in the valley. “You’ll like living there. There are three children to ride you, and they’re nice children, so don’t you try any silly tricks with them.”

The pony pricked up his ears. Three children! He would like that. He was shy of boys and girls, but once he knew them it would be great fun to play with them. He jogged on happily, feeling more and more excited.

They came to the farm. A little white gate led to the farm-house. Swinging on it were three children, waiting for them. They saw the tiny pony and shouted in delight.

“There he is! Look, there he comes! Oh, isn’t he sweet? He’s the nicest little pony we’ve ever seen!”

They jumped off the gate and rushed to meet the farmer and the pony. He was afraid and ran back, nearly pulling the rope from the farmer’s hand. But the farmer pushed him forward.

“What, you’re shy! Don’t be silly! Just show how beautiful you are!”

“He is beautiful,” said Willie, a big boy of ten. “The most beautiful pony I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh the darling!” said Sheila, who was seven, and she put her arms round his neck.

“I want to ride him now, now, now!” cried Timmy, the youngest. He was five. The farmer lifted him up and put him on the pony’s back, holding him there. The pony jumped in fright. He was not used to having anyone on his back, and he didn’t like it.

“Now, now!” said the farmer. “You’ll have to get used to this. Well, Timmy, how do you like him?”

“I love him,” said Timmy, his round face red with joy. “Take me off again. I want to look at him.”

“Well, I must leave him now,” said the farmer. “Where’s he to be kept?”

“In the field just here,” said Willie, and he pointed to the field near the farm-house garden. “I’ll take him. Oh, isn’t he lovely? Has he got a name?”

“No,” said the farmer, giving the rope to Willie to lead the pony away. “I left it to you children to name him. Well, I hope he’ll be good. He’s a dear little fellow. Now I’ll go and have a word with your father. I can see him in the fields up above.”

He left the pony with the children. They led him into the field and shut the gate. He stood and looked at them with his bright, puzzled eyes. Everything was so strange to him. He wanted his mother there.

“You’re the dearest pony in the world, and you’re ours!” said Sheila, rubbing his nose gently. “But first we must give you a name.”

“Not Sooty or Blackie or Cinders,” said Willie.

“But he’s very black!” said Sheila. “We ought to call him something black.”

“I don’t like black names,” said Willie. “I shan’t call him a black name.”

“Oh well, call him Snowball or Snow-white or Snowdrop!” said Sheila, laughing. The others stared and Willie laughed too.

“Good idea! We’ll call him Snowball! That will make people laugh. Anyway, it’s a nice name. Snowball, do you like your new name?”

The pony turned his head to Willie. He liked Willie. He didn’t know what a snowball was. He had never seen snow. He thought it was a nice name, and he was very glad to have a name of his own. He hoped his mother would like it too.

“Snowball!” said Sheila, softly, in his ear. “That’s your name, little pony. Snowball! Now, when you hear us calling that, you must always come trotting over to us. See?”

“Snowball,” said Timmy, and he patted the pony on the neck. “You’re a black snowball, and you’re ours and we love you.”

“We won’t try to ride him to-day,” said Willie. “He’s shy and frightened because he’s been brought away from his home. We’ll just talk to him and trot him about. He’ll soon settle down and be happy!”

“Come along, Snowball, come round the field,” said Sheila.

And Snowball trotted off with the three children in delight.