“Go at once!” He watched Charles go from the room. Then he turned to Jennifer.

“You heard what I said. Get the child ready.” His eyes rested briefly on Carolan, and he tried to prevent a softness creeping into his voice.

“It’ll be the worse for you, girl, if you keep me waiting!”

Then he strode out of the room.

Jennifer stood up and jerked Carolan by the arm.

“Come on, you little tell-tale. You have to be got ready to go riding with the squire. I hope your horse throws you! I do. I do indeed.”

Margaret shrugged her shoulders. She was used to scenes. She gave one disgusted glance at the brown paper and its contents still lying on the floor, and went into her room.

Jennifer pulled Carolan along the corridor to the room next to Margaret’s, which was Carolan’s. She threw her in and shut the door. Jennifer leaned against the door; her eyes were brilliant, and there were dark patches under them.

“Get your things off,” cried Jennifer.

“Did you hear or did you not hear the squire say you were to go riding with him?”

Carolan did not answer. She went to the cupboard and took out the fawn-coloured riding habit which had been Margaret’s and which Margaret had said she could have. It was still a little too big for Carolan. She took off her frock.

“Skin and grief!” jeered Jennifer, and hated the green eyes and the red hair which the squire was so taken with. The beast, she thought; trust him to be taken with a girl not his own daughter! She watched Carolan’s struggling into the habit. There she stood, shabby yet devilishly attractive. Nine! She had the same look in her eyes as her mother had had. Did she know, the little harlot, that she looked like that? Could she, at nine? Oh, to be nine again! thought Jennifer; nine, with no knowledge of the terrible problems that beset one’s later days!

“Better comb your hair,” she said.

“It looks like a bird’s nest!” She came over and stood by Carolan.

“Do you know what the squire is doing to Charles now?” she asked.

“He is whipping him,” said Carolan.

“Yes. Because of you, you little harlot!”

Carolan paused, the comb in her hand.

“What is a harlot?”

“Well enough you know,” said Jennifer, and whispered venomously: “It is someone like you, and like your lady mother. That is a harlot.”

“Like me and my mother!” Carolan screwed up her face in concentration, trying to imagine in what way she was like her mother.

“I saw you!” said Jennifer.

“Smiling at the squire! Egging him on!”

“What?” said Carolan, puzzled “Ha!” said Jennifer.

“I wonder that Charles’s dear mother does not come and haunt you that I do!”

Carolan put out her tongue. In broad daylight it was not so terrifying to think of Charles’s dead mother.

“You can be saucy. Miss. If tonight she came into your room …” Jennifer made claws of her fingers and stared down at them.

“Everard says there are no such things as ghosts.”

“Doubtless it was because his mother told him not to frighten little girls. There are ghosts, so there!”

Tired and wearied was Jennifer, too tired for tormenting. She though longingly of the gin she kept locked up in her room.

“You had better not keep the squire waiting, unless you want a whipping.”

Carolan went down to the stables. She would rather have ridden alone than with the squire; she had never before ridden with him. They said he was a marvelous horseman. Carolan shivered in an ecstasy of terror.

One of the grooms came up to her and touched his forehead. “Morning, Miss Carolan.”

“Good morning, Jake.”

Jake’s chin was wagging, which it always did when he was amused; he was very amused this morning.

“Happy birthday to you. Miss Carolan!”

Carolan smiling dazzlingly. Fancy Jake’s knowing it was her birthday!

“Oh, thank you, Jake! Is the pony ready?”

Jake’s chin began to wag again.

“Is it, Jake?” she asked; she was fearful of another scene. If she was to ride with the squire, and her pony was not ready, there would be trouble; the squire hated waiting.

“Well, Missie, the pony bain’t ready…”

“Oh, but Jake, did you not know “I weren’t told to get no pony ready. Miss Carolan.”

“Well, let us get him ready now …”

“No, no, Missie, you durst not go in there!” She stared at him, round-eyed.

“What is in there, Jake?” “Twouldn’t be for me to tell you. Miss Carolan.” Then the squire came into the yard. He was whistling jauntily. He had enjoyed thrashing that arrogant youngster; it made him feel oddly young again.

“Ah!” he said, in ripe good humour.

“Ah! Mistress Carolan, eh? And Jake.” He winked at Jake, and Jake’s chin started to wag all over again.

“Very important day today, did you know, Jake?” The squire was waggish. Jake chortled; he looked as if he was going to burst with suppressed laughter.

“Aye, sir, I do know what day it be!”

“Very important indeed. Now, Jake, lead the way, man! Stop standing there like a plaguey donkey, and lead the way.”

They went into one of the stables, and there already saddled up was a smallish mare, strawberry roan in colour. She was a lovely little creature, spirited and full of personality, and as they came in, her ears pricked and she whinnied.

“Well, there she is! And a nice little thing at that, eh, Jake?”

“Aye, sir… a pretty little thing, and no mistake!”

“And what do you say, Mistress Carolan?”

“She is beautiful,” said Carolan, a sudden possibility occurring to her which could not, simply could not, be true. She could not bear the suspense, so she said: “Whose is she?” The squire laughed.

“Well, Jake,” he said, ‘is it your birthday today, Jake?”

“No, master, bain’t my birthday.”

“Well, it bain’t my birthday either!” The squire slapped his thigh.

“Do you mean …” said Carolan, looking at him very direct.

“Do you mean… she’s mine?”

“That’s about it,” said the squire.

“A birthday present?”

“Well, as Jake says, it bain’t his birthday, and it bain’t mine!”

“Oh!” cried Carolan.

“Oh!”

And when she looked up, the squire’s eyes were swimming with tears. She could see the red in them behind the tears.

“Thank you!” she said in a small voice.

“Oh, thank you.” Then, because she was so happy, she forgot to be afraid; she forgot everything but that the strawberry roan was hers no more ponies for her! Charles had a horse; Margaret had a pony; and she, Carolan, had this lovely strawberry roan. She could hardly believe it. She leaped high in the air, threw aside that restraint she had always worn in the presence of the squire, and said: “I wanted a pony! I wanted a pony… I didn’t think of a horse.”

The squire said briskly: “Not much good having a horse, if you cannot ride it. Think you can?”

“Ride it!” screamed Carolan.

“Well, let us see.”

It was strange to be riding alongside the squire. Always before, she had been out with one of the grooms; usually with Charles and Margaret too. And perhaps it was because she had ridden with Charles in those early days that she had learned to ride so quickly, and sat her horse so well and with such confidence. In the early days when she had been a little frightened, Charles used to whip up his horse to a furious gallop and in a little while he would have her mount and Margaret’s galloping wildly after him. Charles thought it good fun to see Carolan, white-faced, clinging to her saddle.

The squire watched her as she rode beside him; the sight of her straight little back delighted him. A good little horsewoman! Charles was good on a horse, and fearless enough, but he did not really like Charles. How pleased with the mare the child had been! The squire did not know when he had enjoyed anything so much. She had not expected a present from him either. There was a rare smile on the squire’s face; it was pleasant to look into the future. A daughter to dote on her old father. He pictured them, riding together through his estate. Why should they not be the best of companions? The squire and his daughter a good squire now. because he had no longer a roving eye for every village slut; he had eyes only for his daughter who was growing into a young woman more beautiful than any of them.