It was March 17, lucky St. Patrick’s Day, but Pippa MacDonald was not having a good day.
At breakfast, Pippa’s older sister, Miranda, had finished off her favorite cereal, leaving only the dust at the bottom of the cereal box.
“Bad luck,” Miranda had said. “The early bird gets the worm.”
Pippa didn’t want to eat worms, just a bowl of her favorite Clover Corn cereal. Instead, she had to make do with Mom’s boring oatmeal.
Then, in a rush to get to school, she tripped on the front steps in front of everyone. The older kids laughed at her, and Miranda said, “Get up, clumsy.”
Later, Pippa hurried to change into her gym clothes. But because she was ready first, her teacher Ms. Tilley asked her to run back to the classroom to fetch the whistle she’d forgotten. When Pippa returned with the whistle, gym class had started and her friends were already assigned to groups.
“You’re in teams of four today,” Ms. Tilley told Pippa. “Join in with Lucy’s group.”
“But I always work with Cody,” said Pippa, smiling as Cody waved her over.
“Cody’s team is full. Hurry along. Lucy’s waiting for you.”
“It’s not fair,” muttered Pippa.
Lucy hated gym class and so did her friends Sasha and Peter. They spent most of the time messing around, making it impossible for Pippa to focus on the exercises. Today the class was practicing climbing the ropes. Pippa didn’t like heights, though she tried her best.
“Look at me,” called Peter, swinging from his rope. “I’m a monkey.”
“You look like a monkey,” Lucy said with a laugh. She and Sasha started making monkey noises.
Peter kept bumping into Pippa, making it difficult for her to climb to the top of her rope. At the end of the lesson, Ms. Tilley called the group over.
“I’m disappointed in you four,” she said. “You can stay behind and pack the equipment away in the storage room.”
“That’s so unfair,” whispered Cody. She hung back to help Pippa, but Ms. Tilley sent her back to the classroom.
“This is just not my lucky day!” groaned Pippa.
The afternoon was just as bad. In art class, her favorite green glitter pen ran out before she’d finished her St. Patrick’s Day picture. Then Cody accidently knocked a jar of dirty painting water over, ruining the picture completely.
“I’m sorry!” wailed Cody. “Here, have my picture instead.”
“That’s okay.” It was kind of Cody, but she hadn’t meant to spoil Pippa’s work. It was just bad luck.
“Today can’t get any worse,” Pippa grumbled out loud as she walked home from school, her umbrella up to stop her from getting wet in a sudden heavy downpour. She thought longingly of sunny Chevalia and her best pony friend, Stardust. If only she were there now. That would be a lucky day!
Whoosh—Splat!
A car sped through a muddy puddle, spraying Pippa from head to toe.
“Bad luck, Pippa,” said Miranda. “Lucky for me, I didn’t get splashed.”
When they got home, Pippa started heading upstairs to change out of her muddy school clothes, but her mom stopped her. “There’s a special surprise in the kitchen. Go and say ‘hello.’”
Pippa trailed after Miranda. She wasn’t in the mood for surprises. The way her day was going, she’d be lucky if it was a good one!
A friendly-looking lady was at the table sipping a cup of tea.
“Aunt Maeve!” Miranda ran across the kitchen and hugged her aunt.
“Pippa and Miranda, my favorite nieces.” Aunt Maeve laughed and put her cup down. Her black hair was tied in a ponytail and her green eyes sparkled. “Well, that’s two nice hugs, one from Miranda and one from Jack. What about you, Pippa? Do you have a hug for your auntie?”
“Hi, Aunt Maeve.” Pippa sidestepped her little brother, who was sitting on the floor playing with a toy leprechaun. She wrapped her arms around her aunt and hugged her tightly. “It’s so good to see you.”
“To be sure. Only, your face is telling me a different story. What’s up, Pips?”
“Not much.” Pippa sighed. “Things keep going wrong. Bad luck is following me around today.”
“Luck’s a funny thing,” said Aunt Maeve wisely. “Sometimes you have it; sometimes you make it; but once in a while your luck runs out, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Today I’m feeling very lucky. I’m spending St. Patrick’s Day with my sister and my wonderful nieces and nephew. But I remember a time when I didn’t feel so lucky. I was the same age as you, Pips, and living in a tiny village in County Galway.”
Pippa’s aunt Maeve was from Ireland and only visited every few years. But Pippa always loved her stories of what Mom called “the old country.”
“Now, County Galway is a beautiful part of Ireland,” Aunt Maeve continued, “just the right place for having a pony. We even had a big field next to the house to keep one in. But there wasn’t enough money for luxuries, so I had to make do with Shanks’s pony. That’s Irish for ‘my feet!’ One day there was a huge storm that ended with a beautiful rainbow. Everyone in Ireland knows there’s a pot at the end of the rainbow full of leprechauns’ gold. I was determined to find that rainbow’s end and buy myself a pony. I put on my boots and set out. I walked for miles, getting stuck in mud, falling over in a puddle, making holes in my boots, but I never caught up with that rainbow.”
Aunt Maeve sighed. “It was a bad-luck day, for sure. I was about to turn around, when I spotted a ruined cottage. In the field next door, there was a pony. I couldn’t believe it! She was a golden Connemara, and you could tell that she’d been beautiful once. Not anymore, though. She looked like she was starving, poor thing! Her bones stuck out and she needed a good grooming. Her golden fur was thick with mud, her mane and tail tangled, and her brown eyes full of sadness.”
“Poor pony!” Pippa sighed, remembering her summer vacation and the well-kept, shiny-coated, bright-eyed ponies she’d ridden at the riding school. “What did you do?”
“The pony needed food and, as I didn’t have any on me, I started to pull up the grass in the lane. The pony was chomping it down when a girl about the same age as me came along. No Shanks’s pony for her. She had a brand-new bicycle. It was super fancy, with a basket and everything. She told me that the pony was hers and she was fed up looking after it. She offered to swap it for my lucky necklace, a gold coin on a chain. I told her that the necklace hadn’t brought me any luck, but she said it was prettier than the pony and a lot less hassle. So I gave her the necklace, she gave me the pony, we shook on the deal, and then she cycled away.”
“And you took the pony home,” breathed Pippa.
“I couldn’t!” exclaimed Aunt Maeve. “I didn’t have anything to lead it with. I ran all the way home to fetch a rope and something for the pony to eat. It took me ages and when I got back, the field was empty. My new pony had gone!”
“No! Are you sure you went back to the right place?”
“Definitely! There was no mistaking that ruined cottage. I checked the field and it had hoofprints in it. There had been a pony but it had mysteriously vanished. I never saw the girl again either.” Aunt Maeve sniffed away a tear. “When I told my parents, Ma said it was good to have such a wonderful imagination, but I didn’t have to tell stories to explain why I’d lost my necklace. Da said the same.”
“That’s so sad!” Pippa understood how Aunt Maeve must have felt. Adults never believed her either, especially when she told them about Chevalia, the magical island where her talking pony friends lived. “That story makes me feel lucky!”
Aunt Maeve nodded. “Whenever I feel that my luck’s run out, I remember my poor underfed pony. I think about all the good things to eat in my pantry; my friends and family, especially my wonderful nieces and nephew; and suddenly I’m the luckiest person in Ireland.”
Pippa smiled at her aunt. She had lots of things to feel lucky about too!
Much later on, after a riotous sing-along with Aunt Maeve playing on the bodhran, an Irish drum, Pippa lay in bed wondering about the starving Connemara pony. What had happened to her? Ponies didn’t just disappear! Pippa closed her eyes but as she drifted off to sleep, a sharp whinny made her sit up straight. She sat in the dark listening and then she heard it again. A high-pitched whinny followed by the rattle of stones on glass.
Pippa ran to the window. She flung back the curtain and, pushing the window wide, she gasped at the sight before her.
It was a crew of pirate ponies!