I woke up at 6am, dragged myself out of bed yawning. I pulled my old jeans, rescued a jumper from the pile of discarded "work" clothes, and went downstairs.

I gulped a glass of cold milk and fed my dog who was always up with me.

"Find my wellies muffin".

The collie ran into the out house and barked; she knew the routine.

It was a cold but clear morning as we set off into next doors farm where I helped Mrs Howard with her pony. She was a lovely lady who'd always been kind to me but she was getting a bit old now and couldn't do as much, and since Mr Howard had died hadn't the heart she once had.

She couldn't afford much help on the farm. I volunteered help because I loved looking after "Dillon" the little Arab bay pony who was left on his own since his mother died. He was 3 years old now and I had practically reared him. We were kindred souls as I'd lost my dad. I talked to him as I mucked out, about school, boyfriends, or lack of and my hopes of owning a pony one day. Mum was great and had raised me on her own, but we were quite poor.

Dillon muzzled me while I groomed him, he always understood. I took him to the field to exercise him, he was strong and fast, a real thoroughbred.

Some people came out of the farmhouse, I didn't recognise them but they headed over to me.

"Are you Susan?" one man asked.

I nodded.

"I'm afraid I've got some bad news, I'm Dr. Bates, Mrs Howard's physician, Mrs Howard died in the night."

"Oh!" I gulped.

"You'd better run along miss" he continued "we've got to finish up here, but someone will be in touch, I know you were quite close."

I put Dillon away and ran home to tell Mum. She was as upset as I was, we both liked the old lady, and somehow I struggled through school that day.

A couple of days later a letter arrived inviting us to Messrs. Stockwell, Storey and Ellacott, the solicitors who were dealing with Mrs Howard's estate. Mum and I were puzzled and a bit nervous, we had never had any experience with such formality.

We turned up the next day and were shown into Mr. Stockwell's office. We didn't have to wait long before a short stocky man with a round face breezed in. He looked tired but he had a kind face and he smiled at us, and shook our hands warmly, before he slumped into his chair.

"Well, Mrs Palmer, and… Susan isn't it?" he stated after peering at bits of paper on his desk.

"Yes", I mumbled and my mum nodded.

"I won't beat about the bush", he continued.

"Mrs Howard had no living relatives, well, not any she considered real family".

He rifled through more papers.

"So the entire contents of her estate have been left to you!" he peered over half spectacles at them.

"The only details," he continued noting our shocked faces.

"Is the farm house is to go to Mrs Brenda Palmer, and the only livestock being a small foal, which is to be left to Miss Susan Palmer," he finished matter-of-factly.

Mum and I looked at each other, we couldn't believe it. We had a proper home and, the realization hit me, Dillon was mine!

(To be continued...)