It was full spring. For nearly a month May had flooded the forest with sunlight. The gold of the gorse was blinding to the eye, and almost intoxicating with its strong scent of burnt almonds. The powdery snow of the blackthorn had been followed by the ropy, pinkish bloom of the hawthorn. The foliage of the scraggy oaks was Italian pink (which is a greenish yellow), while the silver birches and the beeches had burst into leaf and emerald tassels had succeeded the crimson buds of the larches. The brambles had two distinct sets of leafage, those of last year, old and tattered, but magnificently blotched with crimson and orange, and edged with sienna, while from their axils sprays of tender green unfolded themselves.

This is the month of song, and everywhere the larks and meadow-pipits rose in the air, the former to go up out of sight still trilling, while the latter ceased singing, and came floating down silently like parachutes of brown paper.

The lapwing chicks peeped from their mother’s wings, or crawled over her back like the young of the domestic hen. If an enemy flew over, the male bird rose in the air in a frenzy of militant defence, while at the parents’ warning call, the chicks crouched and became, to the casual glance, invisible.

As for the pony population of the forest, it seemed to have doubled in numbers all at once, for everywhere the young foals followed the mares, or lay basking among the heather. The early foals were now tall and long-legged, though here and there a late arrival stood unsteadily with bent hind-legs, or trotted a few paces with a stiff-legged gait. It might even essay a gallop, a curiously mechanical action, reminding one of a rocking-horse.

One mare, at least, had two little suckers, and here and there quite a family procession passed, of mare, two-year-old, yearling, and foal, the property of someone who had not troubled to sell the youngsters, preferring to leave them in the forest to breed. Parties of three—mare, yearling, and sucker—were quite common, the two youngsters on the best of terms.

The hues of the new-comers were sometimes exactly those of their mothers, but often quite different. An old mare, once a grey but now dirty white, was followed by a black foal; if the latter were closely scrutinized its eyebrows might be seen to be grey, and that would mean the foal would turn grey like its mother, and again white in old age—from black to white. But if the eyebrows were black like the rest of the body, then probably the hue would remain black or very dark, for black is rare in the forest, and as some think due to importation of alien blood. In the case of one chestnut foal, its darker eyebrows showed that when adult its coat would be of a rich liver colour.

The majority of the foals bid fair to be like their parents, a dark brown with blackish mane and tail, and the same similarity existed with bays and chestnuts, though generally the foals were darker in hue than their mothers.

But there were exceptions to this. A dappled grey mare, for instance, instead of the more usual black-coated offspring, might be accompanied by a foal, light fawn as to ground tint, with black markings round its eyes and muzzle; or a dark mare be seen with a light-coloured youngster.

The yearlings, among whom Skewbald was one, had shed their winter coat by dint of rubbing against bushes below and overhanging branches above. The bay and chestnut showed clearly, and the lights began to appear on their coats, golden in the sun, blue in the shade, though they could scarcely be said to “ripple,” for the youngsters were still bony, with unfilled barrels.

Young Skewbald was not amongst the dullest hued of his fellows. There were few whose chestnut was brighter than his, while his white could not be matched anywhere among the ponies except for an occasional “sock” or forehead blaze too small in area to tell at a distance.

Like the others of his year, he walked sedately, for his hours of coltish play were over. Never again would he gambol on the lawns with a playmate in the golden evenings, though occasionally he would lie down and roll, a pleasure every horse and pony indulges in till the end of its days. Sufficient for the day was the labour of filling his belly, although the forest fare increased daily in bulk and sweetness.