THE BOY WHO RODE INTO THE SUNSET - Part One
  

Once upon a time--it was not so very long ago, either--a little boy,

named Neville, lived with his people in a house which was almost in

the country. That is to say, it was just at the edge of the city; and

at the back of the house was a rather large hill, which was quite

bald.

Neville, who was fond of playing by himself, would often wander to the

top of the bald hill; and if he stood right on top of it and looked

one way, toward the East, he could see right over the city, with all

its tall buildings and domes and spires and smoking chimneys. But

looking the other way, to the West, he could see for miles over the

beautiful country, with its green fields and orchards and white roads

and little farm houses.

One evening Neville was playing alone on the top of the hill when he

noticed that one of the very finest sunsets he had ever seen was just

coming on. The sky in the West, away over the broad country lands, was

filled with little clouds of all sorts and shapes, and they were just

beginning to take on the most wonderful colours.

Neville had often before amused himself with watching clouds and the

strange shapes into which they changed themselves--sometimes like

great mountain ranges, sometimes like sea-waves, and very often like

elephants and lions and seals and all manner of interesting things of

that sort. But never before had he been able to make out so many

animal shapes in the clouds. The sky was almost as good as a Zoo.

There were kangaroos and elephants and a hen with chicks and

wallabies and rabbits and a funny man with large ears and all sorts of

other peculiar shapes.

The sun was sinking behind a distant range of hills, where a golden

light shone out as if through a gateway. It was so much like a great

golden gateway that Neville fell to wondering what might be found on

the other side of it.

Suddenly, right in the middle of all the coloured clouds, he saw one

little cloud which was perfectly white, and, as he watched it, he

noticed that it seemed to be shaped like a small horse. A very small

horse it seemed at that distance; but, as Neville gazed, it grew

bigger and bigger, just as if it were coming toward him very fast, and

he was almost certain he could see its legs moving.

That startled him a little, and so he rubbed his eyes to make sure

that they were not playing him tricks.

When he looked again he was more startled than ever; for the little

white cloud was no longer a cloud, but a little white horse in real

earnest. Besides, it had just left the sky and was galloping down the

mountain range which he could see away in the West.

In two minutes it had left the range, and was coming across the fields

towards him, jumping the fences, dodging under the trees, and racing

across the plain with its white mane and tail tossing as it came. It

seemed to be making straight for him.

He was not really frightened--you must not think that about him--but

he was just beginning to wonder if it were not nearly time to go home

to dinner, when he noticed that the white horse had stopped, just at

the foot of the bald hill. It was looking up at him, tossing its head

and pawing the ground--the most beautiful white horse that he had ever

seen, even in a circus. Then it appeared to get over its excitement

and began to trot quietly up the hill toward him.

I do not think anyone would have blamed Neville if he had decided then

to go home to dinner at once. But he was rather a brave boy, and he

was certainly very curious, so he just stood still and waited.

And here is where the most wonderful part of the story begins. The

white horse trotted up to Neville and spoke to him. That would

surprise most people; and Neville was certainly as much surprised as

anyone else would have been.

"What are you frightened of?" asked the white horse in a loud voice.

Now, Neville WAS just a little frightened by this time; but he was not

going to show it, so he just said, "Who's frightened?"

"YOU'RE frightened," said the white horse, louder than ever. "You're

only a timid little boy. I thought when I saw you in the distance that

you were one of the plucky ones; but I was mistaken. You're just a

little cowardly-custard."

"You'd better be careful who you're talking to," said Neville,

suddenly losing his fear. (Little boys do not always talk good

grammar; otherwise he would have said "whom" not "who.") He hated to

be called a "cowardly-custard." "You'd better be careful, or I'll give

you a bang!"

"Ah ha!" cried the white horse. "Very brave all at once, aren't you?

All the same, you're afraid to come near and stroke me."

"But I don't want to stroke you," said Neville.

"I thought not," replied the white horse. "I thought not, the moment I

got close to you. You're one of the frightened ones, and I've been

wasting my time."

"Who's frightened?" said Neville again.

"You asked that before," replied the white horse, "and I told you. If

you're not frightened, come along and stroke me. There's nothing to be

afraid of."

So Neville walked right up to the white horse and stroked his

shoulder. And at once he felt that he had been foolish to hold back.

For of all the smooth, soft, silky coats he had ever stroked, that of

the white horse was certainly the smoothest, and the softest, and the

silkiest. He felt that he could go on stroking it for hours.

"There now," said the white horse in a voice as soft and silky as his

coat. "There was nothing to be afraid of, was there? And I think that

perhaps I was mistaken about you. I rather think you might be one of

those daring boys that one reads about in stories. What about jumping

on my back for a little ride?"

Neville ceased to stroke the white horse and drew back a little.

"I'm afraid they'll be expecting me home for dinner," he said. "I'm

very pleased indeed to have met you." Neville was always a polite

little boy.

"The very thing!" cried the white horse. "Jump on my back and I'll

take you home. You liked stroking me, didn't you? Well that's nothing

to the ride you will enjoy--simply nothing. Why, all the boldest

riders in the world would give their ears just for one little ride on

my back. Now then! One, two, three, and up you go!"

Then before Neville quite knew what he was doing, he made a little run

and leapt up astride of the white horse.

"I live just over there," said Neville, pointing towards his home.

But before he could say "knife", or even "scissors" (supposing he had

wished to say either of these words), the white horse laughed a nasty

hollow laugh, sprang upwards from the ground, and was soaring through

the air toward the dying sunset, right away from home and dinner.

Neville clung on tightly, for he was so high above the earth that to

fall off would mean the end of him. And far beneath him he saw the

green fields and the white road, which now seemed like a mere thread.

"That's not fair! Whoa back! Whoa back!" he shouted to the white

horse; but the white horse made no reply. Indeed, he seemed suddenly

not so much like a white horse as like a white cloud shaped like a

horse, and Neville saw that he no longer sat upon the horse's silky

coat, but upon something soft and downy like a white fleece, and it

was slightly damp. Then he knew that he was riding upon a cloud; and,

as it was quite absurd to go on talking to a cloud, he ceased to cry

out. He just sat tight and wondered what would happen next.

 
Stay tuned for upcoming installments of The Boy Who Rode Into the Sunset.

 

If your kids love stories about white horses, then they will adore 

the award-winning comic-adventure novel, 

Saving Bluestone Belle by Strawberry Shakespeare. 

For more information click on the link below.