I read as much as I could of the book about horses. It was a little advanced for me; but I was always hoping that one day Miss Anabel would come again and I would be taken to the enchanted forest. I should want to know something about horses by the time I met Joel again. Then I thought how foolish I was not to have wished for something which would have been easy to grant—like perhaps another day in the forest, instead of a father and mother. Fathers and mothers had to be married. They were not in the least like Miss Anabel and Joel.

I grew interested in horses. Anthony Felton had a pony and I begged him to allow me to ride on it. At first he laughed me to scorn, and then I think it occurred to him that if I tried to ride I should surely fall off and that would be great fun. So I was taken to the paddock adjoining the manor house and I mounted Anthony's pony and rode round the field. It was a miracle that I was not thrown off. I kept thinking of Joel and imagined he was watching me. I wanted so much to shine in his eyes.

Anthony was very disappointed and wouldn't let me ride his pony after that.

It was November when Miss Anabel came again. She was paler and thinner. She told me she had been ill; she had had pleurisy and that was why she had not come before.

"It was only that which kept me away," she told me.

"Are we going to the forest again?" I asked.

She shook her head, rather sadly, I thought.

"Did you enjoy that?" she asked eagerly.

I clasped my hands together and nodded. There were not enough words to convey how much I had enjoyed it.

She was silent, looking a little sad, and I said: "It was a wonderful castle. It didn't look like a real one. I think it is one of those which are not there sometimes. Though there was that girl with the boys and they went into it. And there was the horse. I rode on that horse... . We galloped on it. It was exciting."

"You liked it all so much, Suewellyn?"

"Yes, I liked it better than anything I have ever done."

Later I heard her talking to Aunt Amelia.

"No," Aunt Amelia said, "I do not, Miss Anabel. Where would we keep it? We could not be in a position to afford such a thing. There would be more talk than there already is, and there is enough now, I can tell you."

"It would be so good for her."

"It would cause talk. I don't think Mr. Planter would agree to it. There are limits, Miss Anabel. And in a place like this ... There are your visits for one thing. In these cases there are not usually visits."

"Oh, I know, I know, Amelia. But you'll be paid well... ."

"It's not a question of money. It's a question of appearances. In a place like this ..."

"All right then. Leave it for a bit. Only I'd like her to ride and she would love it."

It was all very mysterious. I knew that Miss Anabel wanted to give me a pony for Christmas and Aunt Amelia would not allow it.

I was so angry. I should have wished for a pony. That would have been sensible. I had just been silly and wished for what was not possible.

Miss Anabel went away, but I knew she would come again soon, although I heard Aunt Amelia telling her not to come too often. It looked bad.

I asked Anthony Felton to let me have another ride on his pony, but he refused. "Why should I?" he asked.

"Because I nearly had one," I answered.

"What do you mean? How could you nearly have one?"

"I nearly had one," I insisted.

I imagined riding out past the Felton paddock on a pony which was far handsomer than Anthony Felton's and I was so angry and frustrated that I hated Anthony and Aunt Amelia. I couldn't tell Aunt Amelia this but I could tell Anthony and I did.

"You're a witch and a bastard," he said, "and it's a terrible thing to be both."

Matty Grey no longer sat outside her cottage. It was too cold.

"That wind cutting right across the green blows itself into my bones," she said. "It's bad for me screws." Her screws were her rheumatism, and in the winter they were so bad that she could not stray from the fire. "The old screws is getting me today," she used to say. "No joke, they ain't. Still, Tom'll make me a nice fire, and what's nicer than a good wood fire? And when there's a kettle singing on the hob ... well, you couldn't get nearer the angels in heaven, I say."

I made a habit of going into Matty's cottage when I came home from school. It could not be for long because Aunt Amelia must not know of these visits. She would not have approved. We were "better class" than Matty. It was rather complicated, for although we were not on the level of the doctor and the parson, who themselves were not quite up to the rank of squire, we were some way above Matty.

Matty would get me to cut a slice of bread from the big cottage loaf. "The bottom half, ducks." And I would put it on a long toasting fork which Tom's uncle had made at the forge, and hold it before the fire until it was a golden brown.

"A good strong cup of tea and a nice thick slice of good brown toast; your own fireside and the wind whistling outside and you shut away from it all. ... I don't reckon there could be better than that."

I didn't agree with Matty. There could be an enchanted forest, a cloth spread on the grass; there could be chicken wishbones and two beautiful people who were different from anyone I knew. There could be an enchanted castle seen through the trees and a horse on which to gallop.

"What you thinking about, young Suewellyn?" asked Matty.

"It depends," I said, "on you. Perhaps some people wouldn't want toast and strong tea. They might like picnics in forests."

"Now that's what I mean to say. It's what you fancy, eh? Well, this is my fancy. Now you tell me yours."

And before I realized it I was telling her. She listened. "And you saw that forest, did you? And you saw this castle? And you was took there, was you? I know, it was by the lady who comes."

"Matty," I said excitedly, "did you know that if you break a wishbone and get the bigger half you can have three wishes?"

"Oh yes, that's an old trick, that is. When we was little now and then we'd have a bird ... a regular treat that was. There'd be the plucking and the stuffing ... and when it was done a regular fight between us little 'uns for the wishbone."

"Did you ever wish? Did your wishes come true?"

She was silent for a while and then she said: "Yes. I reckon I had a good life. Yes, I reckon my wishes come true."

"Do you think mine will?"

"Yes, I reckon so. One of these days it'll all come right for you. She's a mighty pretty lady what comes to see you."

"She's beautiful," I said. "And he ..."

"Who's he, dearie?"

I thought: I'm talking to much. I mustn't ... even to Matty. I had a fear that if I talked I would discover that it had not really happened and that I had only dreamed it.

"Oh, nothing," I said.

"You're burning the toast. Never mind. Scrape that black off in the sink."

I scraped the burned part from the broad and buttered it. I made and poured out the tea. Then I sat for a while watching the pictures in the fire. I saw the wood there glowing red and blue and yellow. And there was the castle.

Then suddenly the ashes fell into the grate and the picture collapsed. I knew it was time I went. Aunt Amelia would be missing me and asking questions.

Christmas was almost upon us. The children went into the woods to gather holly and ivy to decorate the schoolroom. Miss Brent set up a postbox in the hall of her house and we would slip in our cards to our friends. The day before Christmas Eve when school broke up Miss Brent would act as postman, open the paper-covered postbox, take out the cards and, sitting at her desk, call out our names, when we would go up and collect those which were addressed to us.

We were all very excited about it. We made our own cards in the classroom and there was much whispering and giggling as we painted on scraps of paper and with great secrecy folded them and wrote on the names of those for whom the offering was intended and slipped them into the box.

On the afternoon there would be a concert. Miss Brent would play the piano and we would all sing together and those among us who had good voices would sing solos; and others would recite.

It was a great day for us all and we looked forward to it for weeks before Christmas.

More exciting to me was Miss Anabel's visit. She came the day before the school party. She had brought parcels for me which had written on them "To be opened on Christmas Day." But I was always more excited by Miss Anabel herself than what she brought.

"In the spring," she said, "we'll have another picnic."

I was delighted. "In the same place," I cried. "Will there be chicken bones?"

"Yes," she promised. "Then you can have more wishes."

"I might not get the bigger piece of bone."

"I should think you would," she said with a smile.

"Miss Anabel, will he ... will Joel be there?"

"I think he might be," she said. "You liked him, did you, Suewellyn?" she asked.

I hesitated. Like was not exactly a word one could apply to gods.

She was alarmed. "He didn't ... frighten you?"

Again I was silent and she went on: "Do you want to see him again?"

"Oh yes," I cried fervently, and she seemed satisfied.

I was sad when the fly came to take her to the station; but not so sad as usual because, although the spring was a long way ahead, it would come in time and then I had the glorious prospect of the forest before me.

Uncle William had finished the Christmas crib he had made in his woodshed and it was now in the church with a model of the Christ child lying in it. Three of the boys from school were going to be the three wise men. The vicar's son was one, because I supposed it was natural that the vicar should want him to be; Anthony Felton was another because he was the squire's grandson and his family gave liberally to the church and allowed all the garden parties and sales of work to be held on their lawns or, when it was wet, in the great hall; and Tom was the other because he had a beautiful voice. To hear that angelic voice proceeding from that rather untidy boy was like a miracle. I was glad for Tom. It was an honor. Matty was delighted about it. "His father had a voice. So did my granddaddy," she told me. "It runs in families."

Tom had stuck an enormous sprig of holly over The Sailor's Return in Matty's room, which gave it a jaunty air. I had often studied The Sailor's Return because it was the sort of picture I should not have expected Matty to have. There was something gloomy about it. It was a print and there was no color for one thing. The sailor stood at the door of the cottage with a bundle on his shoulder. His wife was staring blankly before her as though she were facing some major disaster instead of the return of a loved one. Matty had talked about the picture with tears in her eyes. It was strange that one who could laugh about the trials of real life should shed tears over the imaginary ones of someone in a picture.

I had badgered her to tell me the story. "Well," she said, "it's like this. You see the cot there. There's a little baby in it. Now that baby didn't ought to have been born because the sailor had been away for three years and she's had this little baby while he was away. He don't like that ... and she don't either."

"Why doesn't he? You'd think he'd be glad to come home and find a little baby."

"Well, it means that it's not his and he don't like that."

"Why?"

"Well, he's what you might call jealous. There was a pair of them pictures. My mammy split them up when she died. She said, 'The Return is for you, Matty, and The Departure is for Emma. Emma's my sister. She married and went up north."

"Taking The Departure with her?"

"She did. Didn't think much of it either. But I'd have liked to have the pair. Though The Departure was very sad. He killed her, you see, and the police was there to take him away to be hanged. That's what The Departure meant. Oh, I'd have loved to have The Departure."

"Matty," I asked, "what happened to the little baby in the cot?"

"Someone took care of it," she said.

"Poor baby! It had no mother or father after that."

Matty said quickly: "Tom was in here telling me about that there postbox you've got at school. I hope you've done a nice one for Tom. He's a good boy, our Tom is."