‘Pamela was only a little girl, but she had out-grown dolls and even Teddy Bears. She was her father’s pet, and so she usually got what she wanted.
One Sunday, as he was finishing his breakfast and looking forward to a round of golf, she said:
“Daddy, please give me a pony.”
“Certainly, darling; later on.”
In a good humour, he said that she was too young; ordinarily he would have been angry. Pamela, however, remarked (oh, very sweetly!):
“But I’m eight years old now, and I heard that wonderful Mr. Rider, who is so good with horses, say that children should begin to learn when they are six!”
The car was at the door. Father was in a hurry, but, when he saw Pamela looking hurt, he chucked her under the chin, smiled, and whispered:
“Daddy is not so rich any longer; he’ll buy you that pony when times are better. I hope that times soon will be better.”
Pamela told him how sorry she was to hear of his bad luck, and said that he was not to worry about the pony until he became rich again, and that she loved him very dearly.
Three hours later, at the golf clubhouse, Pamela’s father told his friends how thoughtful and kind she had been when he mentioned he was poor. He admitted tht he was not really poor at all. Other fathers smiled. But a bachelor spoke up for her and, like a knight of old, acted as her champion.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” he said, rather angrily. “If I had a lovely little girl like yours, I ‘d do everything I could to give her that pony, for she has behaved like a brick. I fail to see the joke.”
Some of the men clapped at this.
A week passed. Father and daughter were again sitting at Sunday breakfast. He was imagining some wonderful drives to be made in an hour’s time. Pamela was thinking sadly about that pony – not to be hers for a long, long while, she feared.
Suddenly Father leaned across the table and asked:
“Are you sure, quite sure, Pam, that you would rather learn to ride than play golf?”
Naturally, there was only one answer. It was settled straight away that if she promised to learn how to ride properly, she would have a pony. Pamela promised, and then she ran to the other side of the table and kissed her father gratefully. He, too, was glad.’
From Pamela and her Pony ‘Flash’ by Antonio P Fachiri (1936).