IN a high meadow called Storyland lived a stallion with his herd of five mares. The grass was lush and green. A stream of clear water tumbled down from the mountains.
The mares were brown. The stallion was a black beauty. One spring day five foals were born. Two were brown. Two were black. And one was pure white!
"Harrumph! said the stallion. How could a black beauty like me sire a pure white colt?"
The mares, too, were amazed. They were so amazed that they didn't notice the hard, round bump on the white colt's forehead.
The stallion wanted to get rid of the peculiar looking colt.
But the colt's mother begged, "He's just a baby. It's not his fault he doesn't look like you."
"All right," said the stallion. "I'll give him a chance."
But as the colt grew, so did the bump. It grew higher and higher and pointier and pointier. By the time the colt was old enough to eat grass, the bump came to a very sharp point. It itched like crazy. The colt kept rubbing it against his mother's flank.
"Stop it," said the colt's mother. "That hurts."
"That does it," the stallion told the colt. "Take that silly stupid bump on your head and leave. You don't belong here."
So the white colt followed the stream downhill and into a woods, trying to find out where he belonged. He came to a clearing full of flowers. They were very tasty.
"Hey, save some of those flowers for me," someone yelled.
A little girl in a red-hooded cape came into the clearing. "I want to take some of those flowers to my grandmother."
"Ah," thought the colt. "Maybe that's where I belong."
*
Tuesday: Does he?
This story will be on The Times' website at latimes.com/kids.
