THE sun was shining, but the roads and hedges were still wet from the last shower when they reached Stonefell Park at ten o’clock. Isabel was due to ride in the dressage test at ten-thirty. The novice event came first, and the open would be ridden later, over a slightly larger course. Stonefell Park was very impressive, and Isabel grew even more nervous as the box turned in between the imposing stone pillars of the gateway. The dressage arenas were laid out in front of the lovely Elizabethan house, and the cross-country course lay across the rolling parkland beyond them. The show jumping ring looked extremely professional and Isabel’s hands were shaking as she tried to unfasten the box door.
“I’m sure I shall forget everything, and get lost in the cross-country,” she told Bobby, as the box ramp was lowered.
“Don’t be silly. You’ll be perfectly all right,” Bobby assured her, as the partition was unbolted, and Phoenix greeted the in-rush of fresh air and sunlight with an eager whinny.
He came out eagerly, and stood gazing around him as his rug was stripped off, and his saddle put on. Bobby bridled him, and Isabel put on her hat and gloves. The powerful, fit chestnut with his bold head and tremendous quarters looked ready for anything, and Isabel’s nervousness vanished once she was in the saddle. He was rather excited at first, but he did not take long to settle down, and by the time ten-thirty drew near, and the horse before Phoenix entered the test N arena he was going beautifully.
Bobby and Heath followed the chestnut up to the arena, and joined Guy and Mrs. Goldman at the Goldmans’ car. Another shower swept across the park, people turned up their mackintosh collars, and pushed their hands into their pockets; Mrs. Goldman threw Guy’s old mackintosh round Bobby’s shoulders, as she had forgotten to bring her own, and Phoenix entered the arena.
He was a little fresh, but Guy assured everyone that it should not matter, as the judge expected it at the start of an event such as this. Apart from a rather too strong canter, and a great willingness to go on, Phoenix went well. One turn on the forehand could have been better, and he jogged once during the free walk, but there was a loud ripple of applause as he left the arena on a loose rein, and Guy said, “That was pretty good. So far, I should think only Buccaneer was better, and he hasn’t a lot of scope across country, or he hadn’t, in the spring.”
Isabel looked much happier when Bobby and Heath met her at the boxes.
“Didn’t he go well?” she exclaimed, dismounting. “I never thought he’d be that good. But he did feel fresh. I thought he was going to decide to buck me off.”
“Guy thinks you were very good,” Bobby told her.
“Does he? How wonderful,” exclaimed Isabel, helping Bobby and Heath to unsaddle and rug up her horse. “Do we walk the course now? I’m sure it’s frightful.”
“Yes, we’d better go round,” agreed Bobby. “Do you mind hanging on to Phoenix, Heath?”
“No, of course not,” Heath assured them. “You go on.”
Bobby and Isabel set off, Bobby wishing that Guy could have gone with them to give advice. But that, of course, was impossible, though he had ridden here himself the year before, and would know whether the course had been changed much when they described it to him.
The cross-country looked very fair to Bobby, although Isabel looked rather unhappy. The highest fence was three foot six, and the first just three feet. Some of the spreads were quite large, but nothing that Phoenix would be unable to jump. There was a quarry, but it was comparatively simple, a very low fence with a reasonably gentle slope below it, and a post and rails just before the steeper slope up on the other side. The worst obstacle seemed to be the road crossing, a post and rails on to a low, stone faced bank, down on to tan bark, across the road, and out over a ditch with a cut and laid hedge beyond it. The ground was by now not very good. It was still hard, but there was a thin coating of greasy mud on top. Back at the car Guy was eager to hear about the course, and said that he did not think it had been changed much from last year.
“It was a good course to ride then,” he told Isabel. “Phoenix should get round easily, given reasonable luck.”
“A good course.” Bobby remembered Guy driving into the yard late in the evening a year ago, with the Open class rosette on his windscreen, delighted at his favourite horse’s performance after the split pastern that Sergeant had suffered the season before. If only Phoenix could repeat that success in the novice. His dressage marks should be out by now, she realised. She said as much to Isabel, and they hurried over to the board to join the small crowd of anxiously waiting competitors. Phoenix’s marks were up, and they were delighted to find that he was standing second to Buccaneer with 42 penalty marks. A grey was at present in the arena, and did not appear to be going very well, her rider looked hot and flustered, and the mare was peeping at the markers, and refusing to go straight.
When the novice tests ended Isabel had dropped to fourth place, and Buccaneer was second to a bay gelding ridden by a well-known combined training expert, Rowland Green. His horse was called Emerald Isle.
There was a lunch break of three-quarters of an hour, and the novice section of the cross-country would start at one-thirty. Isabel ate little lunch, and Bobby did not do much better. She knew that Guy was feeling much the same, although he was talking cheerfully enough to Mrs. Goldman. Heath, as usual, seemed calm enough, but it was always difficult to know what the red-haired girl was thinking, and Bobby suspected that she was just as tense as the rest of them.
At last it was time to get Phoenix ready again. It was dry at the moment, although there were dark clouds on the horizon, looming slowly over the old oak trees which dotted the park. Phoenix was excited again, and did not want to stand while his jumping studs were screwed in, his bandages put on, his rugs removed, and his saddle put in place. But at length he was ready, and Isabel collected her hat and stick, and mounted. She had removed her black jacket, and replaced it with a yellow sweater, which made her skin look more sallow than usual, but showed off her long black hair to perfection. She and Phoenix looked very professional as she rode him away towards the start, the chestnut dancing a little, tail carried high, and neck arched, with the green and yellow circingle strapped over his jumping saddle, and the white nylon girth, plaited leather reins, and bridle with the drop noseband, his rider quiet and competent with her short stirrups, sitting down well at the walk in her deep-seated saddle, the reins long, her legs slim in black boots and fawn breeches, the black and white number, ninety-three, standing out against the yellow of her jersey, and her plaits hanging straight beneath her black cap.
“Let’s hope the rain holds off until she’s started, anyway,” said Heath, glancing at the lowering sky.
Mrs. Goldman had got permission to park the station wagon at a good vantage point, from which most of the cross-country course was visible, and the girls joined them there. Phoenix was due to start at two-fifteen, and there were several horses still to go before him. The going was obviously very slippery. Two horses skidded into fence eight, the stile into the copse, and refused, and Buccaneer fell at the last fence but one, rails with a ditch on the landing side, but he was remounted, and finished the course.
“She’ll be the next to start,” exclaimed Bobby, turning to Guy. “Number ninety-two’s just gone.”
“Good. I don’t think it’ll rain for another few minutes,” replied Guy, glancing from the slowly drifting dark clouds to Phoenix, a brilliant, moving shape down by the start.
“They must do well,” said Bobby, in a low voice, as Isabel told Phoenix to trot, and began to circle behind the start.
“Don’t worry, they will,” Guy assured her, with more confidence than he actually felt.
Bobby looked at him, surprised that he could sound so calm when so much of his future could depend on how Phoenix went. And it would be her future as well, Bobby realised, for some day she knew she was going to marry Guy. Watching her anxious, eager face as they waited for the whistle that would start Isabel and Phoenix on their way, Guy noticed, not for the first time, how much Bobby had grown up during that long, difficult summer. He had realised it first when he came home from hospital, something in her eyes and her manner, the way she spoke, and the way she behaved with the children. But she was still very young, not yet nineteen, and for a while Guy was content to wait. There would be plenty of time to ask her to marry him when she was a little older, and when things at Bracken were more settled. Down at the start, the whistle blew, and Isabel turned Phoenix between the posts, starting at a steady hand gallop on the way to the first fence.
“Number ninety-three, Miss Isabel Goldman riding Mrs. Goldman’s Phoenix, has started the cross-country phase,” announced the loudspeakers, as Isabel began to steady her horse for the first plain brush fence. Phoenix jumped easily, ears pricked, wanting to gallop on after landing, but there was a sharp left-handed turn followed by the second fence, a post and rails, and Isabel kept him going steadily until this was behind them. Then she let him gallop on towards fence three, the oak tree log, which Phoenix cleared with a scornful flick of his tail, as though it was hardly worth bothering about. Isabel was riding well, keeping Phoenix going in to his bridle at a good, steady hand gallop, as they approached fence four, the Trakehner. Phoenix took off too soon, but Isabel managed to catch up with him, and leave his quarters free, and with a slight scramble they made it, and were galloping on towards the road crossing.
“Number ninety-three, Miss Goldman on Phoenix, is approaching fence five,” said the loudspeakers.
“Oh, be careful,” breathed Mrs. Goldman, as her daughter steadied Phoenix for the jump into the lane. Bobby held her breath, as Isabel slowed her horse almost to a trot. Phoenix took the double jump down easily, landing well out from the bank, and kicking up the wet tan as he crossed the road, and jumped out over the ditch and cut and laid into a rather rough field crossed by tractor ruts. Phoenix crossed the ridges like a cat, to jump out over a five-barred gate, and turn right, towards the bullfinch which led back on to the road. Mrs. Goldman handed Bobby the binoculars and shaded her eyes with her hand as the sun broke momentarily through the cloud. Phoenix took the bullfinch fast, too fast, Bobby thought, but he was through, and across the road, entering the next field through a gap in the hedge, and going on again towards the stile into the copse that had caused so much trouble. It was on a slight downward slope, and after jumping it Phoenix and Isabel would be out of sight to the watchers on the hill until they came to fence eleven, the open water. The chestnut jumped in slowly, and they all waited breathlessly, counting the seconds until she should reappear, having jumped the wall out of the copse, and a ditch and brush. “Any moment now,” said Guy, who was timing her, and as he spoke Phoenix appeared, galloping strongly, with Isabel standing in her stirrups, her black plaits streaming behind her.
“He can’t have made any bad mistakes then,” said Heath, as Phoenix came fast towards the open water, which he cleared with a great, arching leap, as though jumping a five-barred gate as well. There was a ripple of movement among the onlookers around the jump, which meant applause, though the Bracken people were too far away to hear it, and Phoenix was galloping on towards the quarry, which was partly hidden by a small pine enclosure. They saw him jump in, and then he was out of sight until he came out on the other side, and went on downhill towards the pond jump, a small post and rails into a shallow pool, at which Phoenix, who had not seen one before, hesitated. Isabel used her legs hard, and he jumped in, crossing the pond with much knee action and tremendous splashing, to plunge out on to dry land with such obvious relief that the group of onlookers laughed and clapped as he went on towards the drop fence.
“Miss Goldman riding Phoenix, number ninety-three, is approaching fence fifteen, going very strongly,” said the loudspeakers.
Phoenix took the drop fence fast, landing so far out that he hardly noticed the drop, and Isabel let him gallop on towards the last fence but one, the rails and ditch at which Buccaneer had fallen.
“Steady girl,” exclaimed Guy, who now had the glasses. “She’s going much too fast,” he told Bobby.
Phoenix was not looking at the rails, his ears were back, his head down, and he was galloping hard. Isabel suddenly appeared to notice how close she was, and took a frantic pull at her horse’s mouth. Phoenix saw the fence, and at the last moment tried to steady himself. Then the fence was on top of them, and he jumped, awkwardly, hitting the top rail hard with his forelegs, and somehow bucking over with his hind legs. He landed on his knees with his hind legs in the ditch, and Isabel clinging desperately to the mane, and leaning right forward with the reins loose, giving her horse as much freedom as she could while remaining on his back. With a scramble and a snort Phoenix regained his feet, Isabel pushed herself back into the saddle, and gathered up the reins. The chestnut broke into a canter again, and the loudspeakers said, “Number ninety-three, Phoenix, pecked at fence sixteen, but is now going on.”
Phoenix cleared the last fence, a ditch and brush, without trouble, and Isabel pushed him on for the run in. They passed the finishing line fast, and then Isabel brought her horse back to a walk, and flung herself forward to hug him. Everyone piled into the station wagon, and Mrs. Goldman drove back to the boxes as fast as she dared over the rough ground. Isabel had just dismounted, and was loosening the girths when they arrived, and everyone scrambled out to congratulate her, and pat Phoenix, who was dark with sweat, but not blowing unduly hard, and whose attention was chiefly on what Isabel was finding for him in her breeches pocket. The sun finally gave up its struggle with the clouds, and the rain came sweeping down across the park.
“Quick, get him into the box,” cried Bobby, pulling Guy’s large and ancient mackintosh over her head, and rushing to open the partition.
Phoenix’s rugs were thrown over him, and he was bundled inside, where his bridle was exchanged for a head collar. Outside the rain drove in drifts across the park land, and in the distance they could see a black horse galloping towards the open water, head down, his rider’s shoulders hunched against the rain. Guy was still sitting in the station wagon, as he could not climb into the high passenger compartment of the box, and the others stood in the doorway, watching the rain. Bobby put her hands into the deep pockets of her mackintosh, wondering how Phoenix would behave in the jumping, and her fingers touched paper. Bobby pulled the crumpled envelope out, and looked at it without much interest. Then the address caught her eye. The Greenlands Insurance Company Ltd. Suddenly excited, Bobby tore open the flap. Inside was a short note, and a cheque to cover the Insurance premium on Bracken Hills Riding School. For a moment Bobby stared at it unbelievingly. Then she flung herself out of the box, and handed it wordlessly to Guy, while everyone else looked on in startled silence.
“Well, of all the … Heath, look at this,” exclaimed Guy.
Heath looked, and gasped. “So that’s what happened to it,” she said. “But what about the carbon of the letter? We never found that either.”
“I think I know what happened,” cried Bobby. “Do you remember that pouring wet day when all the ponies got out of the field, and Linton’s phoned to say that they were in the kale? You were typing then, Heath, and Guy was stamping envelopes when I fetched you. He did put something into his pocket to post. And when we got back we found that someone had left the window open, and all the papers were on the floor. The carbon must have got thrown away or something then.”
“My stars,” gasped Heath. “But if only we’d remembered all that earlier.”
“I know. I could kick myself,” said Bobby crossly. “I ought to have remembered.”
“You mean I shouldn’t have been so careless, and forgotten to post it,” replied Guy. “If it hadn’t been for that you wouldn’t have had nearly such a bad time this summer.”
“I don’t know. In a way perhaps it turned out best,” said Heath thoughtfully. “If it hadn’t been so essential for us to put everything possible into getting going again we might have let things get us down. As it was, we hadn’t time to get too morbid about it. And it looks as though everything is coming right again now.”
“Yes, thank goodness,” agreed Guy. “By the way Isabel, what happened at that post and rails? Didn’t you see it?”
“I forgot it was there,” replied Isabel. “I was thinking we just had a long gallop to the last fence, the brush.”
“You stayed on jolly well,” Heath told her.
“It looked horrible,” said Mrs. Goldman. “I couldn’t watch.”
Outside, the cloud moved away over the oak trees, and the sun came out once more, glinting golden on wet leaves and grass, and shining on the wet metal of cars and horse boxes. The sky directly above them was once more clear and blue, with a very clean, washed look, but the clouds still rose up in dark layers around the horizon, as they left Phoenix for a few minutes, and walked across the park to look at the show jumps, with Mrs. Goldman driving ahead to park by the ring side.
It was a small course, but very twisty, and Isabel’s spirits fell a little as they walked round with a few of the other competitors who had already ridden over the cross-country course, among them Rowland Green, who had finished with one refusal and a bad peck at the stile.
“Your horse went very well,” he told Isabel, as they left the ring. “Have you had him long?”
“No, about six months,” replied Isabel. “I never expected him to go as well as he did. He was wonderful.”
“You were both well taught,” Rowland Green told her, grinning. “You couldn’t have found anyone much better than Guy Mathews and his staff for the job.”
“Thank you,” Bobby overheard the remark. “Though I don’t know that we deserve such praise at present. We weren’t doing so well a few weeks ago.”
“Through no fault of your own,” replied Rowland seriously. “I hear you’re about ready to re-open properly again. Would you think of taking on two more liveries? I’m going to be too busy in town for the next few months to spend enough time on Emerald and Sapphire.”
“I’m sure we would,” Bobby told him, wondering incredulously if she would wake up in a moment, to find that the entire wonderful day had been a dream. “Would you like to discuss it with Guy?”
“Very much,” agreed Rowland.
Bobby left Guy and the young combined training expert talking and went with the others to fetch Phoenix from the box. The chestnut was still on his toes, in spite of the cross-country, and he made his way gaily up to the ring. A horse called Silver Son was now standing first, and Phoenix had risen, miraculously, it seemed to Isabel, to third place. Mr. Joyce joined the others by the ring to watch Phoenix jump.
The course was nothing to Phoenix. Several horses seemed tired after the cross-country, but the chestnut entered the ring as eagerly as he had started the day. He sailed round, jumping as cleverly as a cat, and getting round the sharp corners and awkwardly placed combinations like a seasoned show jumper. There was quite a storm of applause as they cantered out, and Bobby hurried round to congratulate them. They remained by the ring, walking Phoenix in circles, to watch Emerald Isle, who was now standing second, jump. The bay gelding went beautifully, Rowland’s riding was a joy to watch, and Emerald seemed quite recovered from his exertions in the cross-country phase. They got a clear round with ease. Silver Son was not so lucky. The cross-country seemed to have taken too much out of him, and he hit three fences and had one refusal.
“Then Emerald should be first,” said Bobby.
“Yes, and Phoenix second,” agreed Guy, smiling at her. They had led Phoenix round to join the others by now.
“Second?” cried Isabel. “But I couldn’t be.”
“Why not?” Guy wanted to know. “You didn’t have a single refusal on the cross-country, and your time was excellent. And you didn’t hit anything in the show jumping.”
“But Silver Son can’t have dropped back that much,” objected Isabel.
“Well, we’ll soon see,” said Mrs. Goldman cheerfully. “Whether you’re second or third Isabel, I think Miss Morton and Mr. Mathews have worked wonders. If anyone had told me the evening after Kensington that you’d be second in an event like this only a few weeks later I’d have laughed at them.”
“So would I,” agreed Isabel. “I think Phoenix is wonderful, and all of you,” she added, turning to the Bracken staff.
“You’ll have to be thinking about Badminton now,” Guy told her. “It’s only seven months away, you know. After a season’s hunting it’ll be nothing to him.”
“Badminton,” gasped Isabel. “Mr. Mathews, do you really think we could?”
“I shouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t,” replied Guy.
“What do you think Mummy?” asked Isabel.
“If Mr. Mathews, Miss Morton, and Miss Graham go on helping you, your father and I will certainly agree,” replied Mrs. Goldman.
“Oh. It’ll be wonderful,” cried Isabel. “Thank you Mr. Mathews. You will keep Phoenix for me, won’t you?” she added, on second thoughts.
“Of course,” replied Guy, laughing. “You don’t think I’d throw him out, do you?”
The novice section of the show jumping ended, and the open class competitors began to appear. Bobby and Isabel took Phoenix back to the box, watered him, and settled him with a full hay net. When they got back to the ring side the open class was in progress, in another heavy shower, which once more left every blade of grass glistening, and the ancient trees dripping silver drops over the sheltering audience and competitors. Rowland Green, who was only riding his novice horse today, was once again talking to Guy, and Bobby suddenly saw Inga and Dora Jacobs approaching them across the wet grass. They both wore riding mackintoshes and head scarves. Inga led the way up to the car, and Guy looked round and saw her.
“Good afternoon,” he said. “Miss Jacobs, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” agreed Inga. “We’ve come to congratulate you on Phoenix’s performance. I’m sorry I said such things about your schooling of him, Bobby. If I hear of anyone else who wants a horse schooled I’ll definitely recommend you. Oh, and I had a letter from the headmistress of Bracken House School a few days ago, asking me if I could arrange to take some of her girls for riding lessons. I wrote back refusing, but recommending you. I hope that’s all right?”
“Thank you very much,” said Guy. “It certainly is.”
“There’s no need to apologise for the Kensington affair,” said Bobby. “I’d have said just the same if I’d been you.”
“Perhaps. But it was quite untrue,” replied Inga. “Phoenix and Isabel were terrific today. We think you’ve worked wonders.”
Bobby thanked her, and Guy said, “You know, you’re still welcome to use our paddock if you’d like to. I know there’s not much room to school at Low Lane.”
“Thank you very much. We’d love to,” agreed Inga. “I’ll telephone, shall I?”
Guy agreed, and the Jacobs walked on.
“That was decent of her,” remarked Heath. “She need never have come near us again.”
“Yes, it was. I wonder what Miss Wilson’s reaction to her recommending us will be,” said Bobby. “Horror, I should think.”
“Probably,” agreed Guy, smiling at the memory of Bracken House’s stern, Eton cropped headmistress. “But whether that comes to anything or not, we’re going to be busy this winter.”
He and Bobby smiled at each other, both thinking how wonderful those words sounded, after the months of struggle and uncertainty. Bobby pictured frosty mornings and full stables, horses clipped out for hunting, lessons in the indoor school on snowy days, all the fun, excitement, work, and bustle that she knew and loved in life at Bracken stables, and had been so afraid of losing. And she would have lost Guy as well. But now, for both of them, the future was suddenly secure.
Then Rowland was asking if it would be all right for him to send Emerald and Sapphire over to Bracken the following Wednesday, and suddenly Isabel cried, “It’s over. They’ll be announcing the winners.”
There was a breathless silence. It seemed that Phoenix must be in the first three, but they could be mistaken. There was a long pause. Then the loudspeaker suddenly clicked, and came to life.
“Here are the results of the novice class,” it said. “First, Mr. Rowland Green on his own Emerald Isle. Second, Miss Isabel Goldman on Mrs. Goldman’s Phoenix. Third, Mr. Don Hammond on Mrs. Bertrand’s Silver Son, fourth Miss Juliet Douglas on her own Buccaneer, fifth … ”
“We are second,” cried Isabel. “Oh Phoenix, I love you.”
“Congratulations,” said Rowland Green, grinning at her.
“Oh, and you were first. That’s marvellous.” Isabel told him. “Bobby, this is all thanks to you. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”
“Don’t thank me, thank the stables,” Bobby told her.
“Come on, you’re supposed to collect your prize,” Rowland told her.
He and Isabel went up together, followed by the other prize winners, to collect their prize money and rosettes. Isabel returned grinning uncontrollably, and someone behind Bobby said, “Surely that isn’t the same girl who got run away with on that mad chestnut at the Kensington inter-club competition? I never expected to see her in an event like this.”
“Perhaps she’s found someone good to teach her and the horse,” suggested her friend.
“No, it’s the same people, the Bracken Hills Riding School,” said the first girl. “I saw their box.”
“Well, they are very good,” her friend told her.
Bobby could have sung as they moved away. Everything was turning out wonderfully, and already Phoenix’s win was beginning to do them good. Half an hour later Mr. Joyce was turning the box out between the stone pillars of the gateways, with another brisk shower rattling against the sides of the box.
Phoenix was glad to get home, and out of the box into his own comfortable stable, with a good feed in the manger, and a full hay net hanging from a hook. Bobby entered the tack room carrying his muddy leg bandages to find Heath speechless with delight over a letter which had been waiting for them on the tack room floor. Silently she handed it to Bobby, who read it with a broad smile spreading slowly across her face. For it was from Miss Wilson, headmistress of Bracken House, asking them for a quotation of terms for twelve weekly pupils.
When they had finished praising Miss Wilson, Inga Jacobs, and Captain Roberts, for leaving the district, Bobby eventually returned to help Isabel clean and settle Phoenix. When he was finished Isabel flung her arms round his neck, and kissed him. Phoenix turned a bran covered muzzle to nudge her, and Isabel gave him a large, juicy apple, cut in half. He chewed slowly, with great relish, and Isabel watched him adoringly.
Bobby remembered her own reactions to Shelta’s first big win, and moved on down the row of boxes to speak to her own horse, who leaned over her box door, her delicate nostrils quivering, as her owner stopped outside. Bobby unfastened the bolt, and went inside to straighten Shelta’s summer sheet, and to give her a carrot.
Then she stood beside the mare, with one arm over her neck, looking out across the field towards the half rebuilt yard, and the pale blue of the darkening sky, with the few remaining clouds infinitely high, drifting in pale, dun coloured streamers behind the motionless poplar trees beyond the stable yard, their misty edges still faintly touched with the rose and gold of the sunset. Shelta stood still at Bobby’s side, her head high, ears pricked, as she gazed out into the clear evening. The scents of a damp dusk hung on the quiet air, rich earth and cut grass, damp wood, pine, and wet bracken, and Bobby drank in the peace of the evening, and felt her own deep happiness. Then she heard a car stop in the main yard, a door slammed, and Bobby heard voices. Mrs. Goldman and Guy had come to collect them, and drive them back to Cedarwood for a celebration supper that Mrs. Joyce was preparing. Mrs. Costello and Yoland would be coming later to join them. Heath was calling Bobby, who gave Shelta a last carrot, and opened the box door. Isabel was bolting Phoenix’s door, and Bobby waited for her before hurrying down the cinder causeway to join the others. Guy was waiting for her at the gate, and Bobby paused beside him for a last glimpse of Shelta’s lovely head, before they followed the others to the car.
The world was suddenly a very wonderful place to live in.