This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Childrenâs Books in 2007
Text Copyright © Stacy Gregg 2007
Stacy Gregg asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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Source ISBN: 9780007245192
Ebook Edition © AUGUST 2009 ISBN: 9780007340668 Version: 2018-08-20
Please, please let it be sunny tomorrow, Issie had prayed as she went to bed the night before the gymkhana. But when her alarm clock woke her at quarter to six the next morning and she ran to the window there were grey clouds covering the sky. Still, there was no sign of rain and when she listened for a cancellation on the radio nothing was mentioned, so she headed out into the pre-dawn light to prepare Mystic for his big day.
Stella and Kate were already down at the River Paddock. Stella was busily brushing out Cocoâs tail, while Kate was sectioning out Tobyâs neatly pulled mane so that she could start plaiting it into tiny knots along the top of his neck.
âYouâd better hurry.â Stella smiled. âTom said heâd be here by seven to help us load them into the truck and take them to the show grounds.â
Grabbing Mysticâs halter out of the tack room, Issie set off across the paddock. The grass was wet with dew and her riding boots were soaked by the time she reached the spot where Mystic was grazing. The pretty dapple-grey was chewing up great chunks of fresh spring growth and barely bothered to raise his head to acknowledge her.
âHere, Mystic,â Issie called hopefully, hiding the halter behind her back with one hand and holding her other hand out towards the pony.
She had forgotten to bring a treat to tempt him with, but perhaps she could bluff the gelding into believing she had a piece of carrot or apple in her empty fist.
No such luck. Mystic had spotted the halter. He gave a deep snort of surprise, shaking his mane and trotting off to the other side of the paddock.
âOh, Mystic, no! Not today!â Issie cried in despair.
Of course these things always happened at the worst possible moment. Like today. Issie was nervous enough about riding at her first gymkhana. Now she was running lateâthe others were nearly ready to plait up their horses and she hadnât even started grooming. Even at this distance Issie could see that Mystic had got himself into a right state from rolling in the long paddock grass. There were chunks of dirt matted into his silvery mane and his hocks were stained bright green.
âCome on, Mystic,â Issie begged. She bent down, picked a handful of grass and offered it hopefully to the little grey pony. Mystic swivelled his ears towards Issie. He took one step forward, then another. Even though he was knee-deep in grass, the small bunch in Issieâs hand was too good to resist. Issie walked quietly up to his side and slid the halter rope around his neck. Then she eased the halter over Mysticâs nose and quickly buckled it up behind his ears. Success!
âWhoâs a naughty pony then?â Stella giggled as Issie led Mystic up to the fence and tethered him next to her Coco.
âItâs not just Mystic,â Kate insisted. âI spent ages catching Toby this morning. Itâs this spring grass. Itâs making them all act like crazy colts!â
âDo you hear that, Mystic? I bet you wish you were a colt again, eh boy?â Issie laughed.
Mystic wasnât a young horse. Issie had known that when she bought him. Back then she been told that the grey gelding was eighteen. But it was hard to tell the age of a horse. Her pony-club instructor Tom Avery reckoned that the little grey might actually be as old as twenty-five which was positively ancient in horse years.