Well, I will tell no
more cat stories, and it shall be all horse next Wednesday. Will that
suit you, Sammy? And Roy, do you like horses very much?"
"Yes, 'm," said Roy, bashfully.
"He says," said Sammy, rather enjoying the office of spokesman, "when he
grows up he means to have a fast trotter. I'd like to own a good horse
myself," continued Sam.
"I know a boy about your age," said Miss Ruth, "whose father gave him,
for a birthday present, a Canadian pony; a funny looking little beast,
not much larger than a big dog, but strong enough to carry double
Herbert's weight."
"Like the Shetland ponies at the show?"
"Yes; but larger, and not so costly. He is a thick-set, shaggy fellow,
always looking as if he were not half-groomed, with his coat all rough
and tumbled, his legs covered with thick hair, his mane hanging on both
sides of his neck, and his forelock always getting into his bright
little eyes."
"What color?" said Roy.
"Dark brown; not handsome, but so affectionate and intelligent that you
would love him dearly. He is as frolicsome as a kitten, and I laughed
and laughed again to see him racing round the yard, hardly able to see
for the shag of hair tumbling over his eyes, playing queer tricks and
making uncouth gambols, more like a big puppy than a small horse.
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