partially she threw earth over the feet of both, as she circled, with her wicked forepaws as a pivot.
"Sgaith thinks we're very silly," said Grace. "She's digging a hole to crawl into for very shame."
"She's digging a grave for my hopes," said Edmund:
And so they parted, Grace with her little bag of apples, Edmund with a heavy heart, and Sgaith with earth on her nose.
Edmund found Derek.
"Well, that's over," he said. "I asked her and—she won't have me."
Derek was combing the wild, thick mane of a Welsh pony. He parted it carefully before he replied, "I'm awfully sorry for you, old man."
"I'm sorry for myself." He sat down on a stool just outside the stall. The pony, peering round at him through her fringe of hair, lifted her small hind foot tentatively.
"That's right," said Edmund, shifting his stool a little. "Kick me when I'm down."
"Oh, she's just playful," said Derek.
"Yes, the female of the species is a playful lot." He spoke with grim jocularity. "Everything is play to her. They're all alike. Even the little brute Sgaith. She dug a hole and threw dirt on me just after I'd been rejected."
Derek burst into sudden laughter; then he asked seriously. "Do you think it's final?"
"I think she meant it. But I'm going to get after her again before I leave."
There was silence for a time except for the swish of the curry-comb and Derek's soft whistle. Then he asked, as though for something to say, "Where were you?"
"On that rustic seat."
"Oh . . . stand still, girl. . . . Were there. . . ."
