The Black Stallion

left the stall but returned very soon, carrying the pail of mash. He held it for the mare and hungrily she shoved her muzzle into the mash.
    Tom looked out at the paddock and the bright sun rising over the eastern hills. He would put the mare and foal outside, he decided. No one had said they shouldn't go out, and it would be much better for the colt. The sun would dry him well, and there would be no straw to become entwined about his slim legs, causing him to fall.
    When the mare had finished the mash Tom left the stall, leaving the door open behind him. The Queen followed him quickly into the bright sun, then stopped, turned abruptly and neighed.
    From the semi-darkness of the stall the foal emerged, standing just within the doorway, his large eyes blinking in the light of day.
    The Queen neighed again, then dropped her head to graze.
    Tom moved back to the door as the foal shuffled his way forward with rigid legs. Suddenly the foal stopped, teetering precariously. And Tom remembered the slight step in the doorway which the foal's forefeet must have encountered.
    He stooped beside the foal, steadying him, while his hand went to the small hoof. "You'll have to lift it," he said, smiling. "Everyone lifts them."
    Slowly, cautiously, the foal picked up his feet and moved out into the sun. He stood there, still trembling and unsure of himself. He moved his head seldom, having learned that the heaviness of it could easily offset his balance. But his eyes were wide and incredulous at the world before him. With forelegs spread far apart to steady his weaving body, he watched the chickens crossing the paddock. He watched the mare. He watched Tom. And all the time his eyes blinked rapidly in the light of his first day.
    Tom sat down on the side of the water trough, his elbows upon his knees and his long, angular face resting heavily between the palms of his hands. Never once did his intent gaze leave the foal. He watched the stilt legs move carefully upon tiny, fawnlike hoofs. He watched the bushy stump of a tail swish ridiculously from side to side, slowly at first, then ever faster like the swift movement of an automobile's windshield wiper. It was as though the colt had just discovered his rail. There were so many things for him to discover, and Tom sat there watching, content to do only that.
    It was difficult to explain the emotions he felt within him, nor did he try. He knew only that something beautiful and fine and wonderful was happening. Never once did he think of the years ahead, when this colt would race. Neither did he ask himself, "Will he be a champion?" Nor did he think of Jimmy Creech or George Snedecker or anyone else, even the Queen. His mind, his eyes, his whole being were concentrated on the foal who stood on trembling legs before him—the foal who was looking at life for the first time. It was enough that Tom was there, sharing the experience with him.
    An hour passed and Tom still sat there without moving. He watched as much of the unsteadiness left the colt's legs and the first confident steps were taken. He saw him lose his balance repeatedly and fall to the ground. But the colt always struggled to his feet to try once more. And when he strayed too far away from his mother, the Queen would neigh a shrill reprimand, then go back to her grazing. The foal would watch her as she cropped the grass; then he too would lower his head cautiously until his short neck could stretch no more.
    But finally the colt grew weary of activity and carefully lowered himself to the grass, stretching out in the sun.
    It was only then that Tom moved away from the water trough. Quietly he walked over to the foal and knelt beside him. The large eyes were closed, the breathing regular. The colt was asleep.
    For several minutes Tom kept looking at him; then he got to his feet and walked toward the barn. There was work to be done, for the stall had to be thoroughly cleaned. This would be a good time to do it, now that the foal was asleep.
I won't miss anything if I hurry
, Tom thought.
    Half an hour later, when he had finished his work, Tom sat down once more on the side of the water trough. The foal still slept in the sun.
    For some time Tom sat there as before, just watching the colt, but then the sound of a car caused him to turn his head in the direction of the lane. And even though the trees concealed the approaching vehicle, he knew from the sputtering of the motor and the rattling of the loose body that it could be no