y was more
loving and lovable, more sympathetic and comprehending, than the
majority of humans. She could count on Poppy's never jarring on any
mood, whether grave or gay. Poppy adored listening to poetry read
aloud, sitting immovable save for slowly blinking eyes for an hour at a
stretch. She even had an appreciation for music, often remaining in the
parlour throughout her mistress's practice period, and sometimes purring
an accompaniment to tunes she especially liked--such tunes as "The
Maiden's Prayer" or "Old Black Joe with Variations." There was, too,
about her a touch of something which Missy thought must be mysticism;
for Poppy heard sounds and saw things which no one else could--following
these invisible objects with attentive eyes while Missy saw nothing;
then, sometimes, she would get up suddenly, switching her tail, and
watch them as they evidently disappeared. But Missy never mentioned
Poppy's gift of second sight; she knew the old people would only laugh.

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