Issie and the Christmas Pony Read Online Free PDF Page A

“but it’s certainly clear to me now that we can’t do it alone. We need help.”
    â€œStella could come and look with us,” Issie suggested.
    Mrs Brown didn’t look impressed. “I was thinking of someone a little more experienced and mature than Stella.” She sighed. “If only Hess wasn’t so busy with the new farm.” She looked at Issie. “I’m afraid we may have to put these pony plans of yours on the back burner again and wait until your aunt has time to help us.”
    â€œBut, Mum!” Issie couldn’t believe it. “It’s nearly the Christmas holidays. I’ll miss pony camp! It’s not fair!”
    â€œIsadora!” her mother snapped. “You could have been killed today on that half-wild horse. I’m not racing out and buying you a pony until we have some expert advice and that’s final. I don’t want to hear another word about it!”
    Mrs Brown’s mood didn’t improve when they arrived at 127 Esplanade Drive and no one answered the front door. “I don’t get it,” she groaned as she hammered for a third time on the door of the small cottage. “He knew we were coming. I only phoned up ten minutes ago. Where has he gone?”
    Issie looked at the Range Rover and horse truck parked in the driveway. “His car is here so he can’t have gone out. Maybe he’s round the back of the house and he can’t hear us,” she suggested. “I’ll go and look.” The gravel driveway made a crunchingsound under Issie’s boots as she walked round the side of the cottage, past the horse truck and the dark green Range Rover, and through a rose arbour that led to the rear of the cream stucco cottage.
    â€œHello?” she called. “Mr Avery?” There was no reply. Issie walked down the path a little further. Ahead of her, directly behind the cottage, were five paddocks, all of them neatly fenced by elegant, dark-stained wooden fencing. Running round the perimeter of the farm was a well-trimmed dark green hedge, just like the one that lined the driveway at the front of the house. It all looked very equestrian, Issie thought, like something out of a magazine. There were even a couple of showjumps set up in one of the paddocks.
    In the paddock closest to the house, two horses grazed beneath the shade of a sprawling magnolia tree. One of the horses, a big chestnut with a white star on his forehead and two white socks, stopped grazing and raised her head to look at Issie.
    Imagine …Issie thought as she stared back. Imagine having horses grazing just outside your back window, right next to the house. Issie’s house had a fair-sized back garden, but her mum had planted itwith lots of flowers which, as far as Issie was concerned, were just taking up valuable pony space. Issie had gone through the garden one day with a measuring tape and had figured out that if you pulled up all the flowerbeds and put down more grass, you would almost have room to graze a horse. But her mum, for some reason, didn’t agree with this plan.
    There was still no sign of Mr Avery. Issie headed back in the other direction, past the rose arbour where she had come in and down the path between another row of hedging where she could see a small block of stables ahead of her. The stables were dark-stained wood, just like the fences. There was a sheltered washing bay for hosing down the horses at the entrance, and then a row of three neat loose boxes, all freshly mucked out with clean straw on the floor, their green double doors hanging open.
    â€œMr Avery?” Issie called out. At the end of the stables there was another door which looked like it might lead somewhere. Issie tried the handle and the door swung open to reveal a rather scruffy but professional-looking tack room. There were stacks of hay and sacks of horse feed, and saddles and bridles hanging from racks. On the desk at the end of theroom