Tinkle, the Trick Pony

CHAPTER II TINKLE MAKES TROUBLE

Dapple Gray had just finished telling the story of his being caught under the trolley car, the time he was drawing the fire engine.

“And so,” went on the old horse, “men came and pushed the car off my legs. The firemen loosened my harness and then I could get up.”

“Weren’t you hurt?” asked Mrs. Chestnut, who was called that because she was colored brown.

“Well, my legs were a bit scratched, and I had some bruises on my side, but I could still run and pull the engine. You see we horses couldn’t stop whenever we wanted to. We had to pull the funny chimney-wagon to where the fire was blazing so the men could squirt water on it.

“Men are queer,” went on Dapple Gray. “They’ll build a big fire in a house so the house almost burns up, and then they’ll make us horses run like mad to draw water to put it out. I never could understand it.”

Of course Dapple Gray did not know that the house caught fire by accident and that it had to be put out for fear other houses near it might burn.

“And so you ran on, even if your legs were cut?” asked Tinkle’s father.

“Oh, yes, of course,” replied Dapple Gray. “The cuts hurt me, but when I got back to the stable the firemen put some cooling salve on the wounds and bound my legs up with white rags so they felt better.”

“Well, I don’t believe I’d like that,” said Tinkle’s mother. “Life is too exciting in the city. I like it best in this quiet country meadow, where you can eat grass whenever you like, or rest in the shade when you are tired.”

“Look at those ponies having fun down there,” said another horse, pointing with his nose toward the group that was playing tag. “I remember when I was young I liked to play that way.”

“Is Tinkle there?” asked the pony’s father. “He is one of the best taggers I’ve ever seen. When he grows a little bigger he’ll be a fine racer, I think.”

Tinkle’s mother looked toward where the ponies were running about, touching one another with their hoofs or noses, or switching at one another with their frisky tails.

“I don’t see Tinkle,” she said.

“Oh, he must be there,” said Tinkle’s father. “I’ll go and look.”

Off he trotted to where the other colts were playing. He looked at them for a little while, but he did not see Tinkle among them.

“That’s queer,” thought the father pony. “Tinkle likes tag so much, I wonder why he isn’t here?”

He stood still, looking more closely, to make sure he had not missed the little pony; but no, Tinkle was not there.

“I’ll ask some of them,” said the father pony to himself. So, giving a loud whinny, to make himself heard above the noise the tag-playing ponies were making, the father pony asked:

“Have any of you seen our Tinkle?”

“No, I haven’t,” said a little brown pony.

“Nor I,” added one who was speckled brown and white.

“I saw him a while ago, eating grass,” answered a third.

“He hasn’t been playing tag with us this morning,” added a fourth pony, who had a very long tail.

“I wonder where Tinkle can be,” murmured his father.

Then up spoke a little pony with a white spot on his back.

“I saw Tinkle going over that way,” he said, and he raised his hoof and pointed toward a fence on the far side of the field.

“Did you really see him going that way?” asked the father pony.

“I really did,” answered the little pony.

“Oh my! That’s too bad!” thought Tinkle’s father to himself, but he did not say this to the ponies, for he did not want to frighten them. Well did the older pony know of the dangerous swamp that was on the other side of the fence.

“If he is in the sticky bog-mud we’ll have trouble getting him out,” said the father pony to himself. “I must go back and tell some of the others. But I don’t want Tinkle’s mother to know. What shall I do?”

The father pony trotted back to where Dapple Gray and the others stood.

“Well, was he there?” asked Tinkle’s mother.

Tinkle’s father shook his head.

“Where is he then?”

“Oh, he probably went off for a little walk by himself. I’ll go and find him,” and he tried to speak easily.

“But I don’t see him anywhere!” and the mother pony looked anxiously about the big green meadow. She could see every corner of it, and Tinkle was not in sight.

“Now you just stay here, and I’ll bring him back,” said Tinkle’s father quietly. At the same time he nodded his head at Dapple Gray and one or two of the other men-horses, and two or three of his closest friends among the men-ponies. They moved away together. Tinkle’s mother looked at them as if to say:

“I wonder if anything could have happened?”

“What’s the matter?” asked Dapple Gray in a low voice of Tinkle’s father, speaking in horse-talk, of course.

“I’m not sure, but I’m afraid Tinkle has jumped the fence and has gone over to the big swampy bog,” was the answer. “If he has, and is stuck fast, we’ll have to go and get him out. But I don’t want his mother to know it.”

The men-animals walked over toward the fence. Tinkle’s father looked down at the ground. He saw little hoof marks.

“Yes, Tinkle has been here,” he said. “I can see where he ran to get a good start so he could jump over the fence.”

“He is a good jumper to do that,” remarked one of the horses.

“Yes, Tinkle is a good jumper, for a colt,” said his father. “I think he will be very smart when he grows up. But he should not jump fences into the swamp. That is not right.”

“How are we going to get over the fence to help him if he is stuck?” asked Dapple Gray.

“Can’t we jump?” another horse inquired.

“Maybe you can, but I can’t,” returned Dapple Gray. “One of my legs is stiff, where I was hurt by the trolley car. Once I could easily have jumped over that fence, but I’m afraid I can’t do it now.”

“I don’t know whether I can either,” observed Tinkle’s father. “I’m not so young as I once was. But if we all push together I think we can knock the fence down. Then we can get through to see what has happened to my pony boy. We want you to come along, Dapple, because you have been in the big city where all sorts of things happen to horses. You’ll know what is best to do.”

“Thank you,” whinnied Dapple Gray. “I’ll do my best.”

Together the big horses and the ponies pushed at the fence. Tinkle’s mother watched them, and when she saw what was being done she became frightened.

“Something dreadful must have happened to Tinkle,” she said. “I can’t stay here. I’m going to see what it is.”

So she began to run toward the men-animals. By this time they were giving a second push to the fence, and, as they were very strong, they knocked off some boards so they could get through.

“Now we’ll see what has happened to Tinkle,” said his father. “Tinkle! Tinkle! Where are you?” he called.

But Tinkle did not answer, for he was far away in the swamp, and just then he was splashing around in the mud and water trying to pull loose his feet from the sticky place.

“We’ll have to go farther on into the swamp,” said Dapple Gray, when they had waited a minute to see if Tinkle would answer.

“But we must be careful,” said one horse, slowly picking his steps. “This is soft ground here. See how deep my hoofs sink.”

“Indeed it is a bad place,” agreed Tinkle’s father. “I hope nothing happens to us. Be careful, every one.”

Slowly the horses and the ponies walked along, picking out the hardest and firmest ground they could find on which to step, especially the horses, for they were, of course, heavier than the most grown-up pony. Now and then all stopped to listen, and Tinkle’s father would call the pony’s name. At last one of the horses said:

“Hark! I think I heard something.”

They all listened. Through the trees of the swamp came a call:

“Help me! Help me!”

“That’s Tinkle!” cried his father. “We’re coming, Tinkle. Where are you?” he asked.

And the next time he did jump high enough to go over the fence.

“I’m over here, and I’m stuck in the swamp. I can’t get my feet out of the mud!”

“I thought so!” exclaimed Dapple Gray. “Just like a foolish little pony! Now we must get him out.”

So anxious was he to help his little pony that Tinkle’s father galloped on ahead. Some of the others did the same. They did not listen to Dapple calling:

“Wait! Be careful! Look out or you’ll be caught in the swamp yourselves!”

On and on ran Tinkle’s father and the others. They could tell which way to go by hearing Tinkle’s voice calling to them, just as your dog can tell where you are, even though he can not see you, when he hears you whistling to him.

“There he is! I see him!” cried Tinkle’s father as he came in sight of the pool of water, on the edge of which the pony was stuck in the mud.

“We’re coming! We’re coming, Tinkle!” he cried.

Then something dreadful happened. Tinkle’s father, and four or five of his friends, became stuck in the swamp mud also. Their feet sank away down, for they were heavier than Tinkle, and, try as they did, they could not lift themselves out.

“Oh!” cried Tinkle’s father. “We are caught too!”

Only Dapple Gray had not been caught. He had run slowly, fearing something like this might happen.

Just see what trouble Tinkle made by running away! For it was really his fault that the other ponies and the horses became mired, though of course Tinkle had not meant to do wrong. He had not thought; but often not thinking makes as much trouble as doing something on purpose.

“Help! Help!” cried Tinkle’s father. “We are caught in the mud too.”

“Oh, dear!” whinnied Tinkle.

Dapple Gray saw what the matter was.

“Keep quiet, all of you!” he said. “The more you flop about, the deeper you will sink in the mud. I’ll go and get The Man to come with ropes and pull you out. He and his helpers are the only ones who can save you now. This is no work for us horses alone. I’ll go for help.”

And, leaving Tinkle and the others stuck in the swamp, back to the green meadow ran Dapple Gray.

CHAPTER III TINKLE AND GEORGE

Dapple Gray, running toward the hole which the horses had made by pushing against the fence, met Tinkle’s mother going into the swamp.

“Oh, my dear lady!” exclaimed the old fire horse, “you must not go in there! You really must not!”

“Why?” asked Tinkle’s mother. “Oh, I’m sure something dreadful has happened! Tell me what it is. Is Tinkle—Is Tinkle—” and she could not ask any more.

“Now, it isn’t as bad as you think,” said Dapple Gray. “Horses and ponies have been caught in the swamp before. I remember when I was a young colt I—”

“Oh, is my little Tinkle caught in the bog?” asked his mother.

“Yes, I am sorry to say he is, and so are some of the other ponies and horses—Tinkle’s father among them,” said Dapple Gray. “But don’t be worried. All they will have to do will be to stay there until we can get The Man to come with ropes and pull them out. They won’t be a bit the worse for the adventure after they wash the mud off. Now please don’t go in there, my dear lady-horse, or you might get stuck too; and goodness knows there is trouble enough!”

“Oh, I am so sorry Tinkle made trouble!” exclaimed his mother. “He is usually such a good little pony—”

“Oh well, boys will be boys!” exclaimed Dapple Gray, or he said something about like that which meant the same thing. And you all know how frisky colts are; always kicking up their heels and never knowing where they are going to land.

“Of course Tinkle didn’t do exactly right in running away and making this trouble,” said Dapple Gray in a kind voice. “But then it will be a lesson to him, and he won’t do it again, I’m sure.”

“I should think once would be enough,” sighed his mother. “But are you sure I can not do anything to help?”

“Not in there,” said Dapple Gray, nodding his head toward the swamp. “But you can come with me, if you like, and we’ll go to get The Man to help pull Tinkle and the others out of the swamp.”

“Yes, I’ll do that!” whinnied Tinkle’s mother.

So she and Dapple Gray ran back to the green meadow.

“What is it? What is it?” asked all the other animals that were waiting by the hole in the fence. These were the horses and the ponies who had not gone into the swamp.

Dapple Gray quickly told them of the trouble. At the same time he said:

“Don’t any of you go in there. The ground is too soft now and if a lot of you horses trample on it that will make it so much the softer, and The Man and his friends will have trouble getting in with their ropes and boards. So please keep out.”

The horses promised they would, while Dapple Gray and Tinkle’s mother ran as fast as they could across the meadow. They wanted to get to the long lane which led to the barn, not far from which was the house where lived “The Man,” as the horses called Mr. John Carter, the stock dealer.

“How are we going to tell him that Tinkle and the others are in the mire?” asked the pony’s mother. “We can’t talk man-talk, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” said Dapple Gray. “But I guess I can find a way to make him understand. I know what I’ll do,” he said, as he galloped on. “I’ll pick up a piece of rope in the barn and take it to The Man in my teeth. He’ll know that means we want him to bring other ropes and get the horses out of the swamp.”

“I hope he will understand,” said Tinkle’s mother.

“Oh, I think he will,” replied Dapple Gray, hopefully.

As they ran past the barn, the big doors of which were open, the old fire horse trotted inside. He looked about, and on the floor he saw a piece of rope. Picking this up in his teeth, Dapple Gray, with Tinkle’s mother, ran on toward the house. Out in the back yard stood Mr. Carter talking to some of his hands.

“Look!” suddenly called one of the men. “Some of the horses are out of the meadow. They’re coming here!”

“So they are!” ejaculated Mr. Carter. “I wonder what that means.”

“And Dapple Gray has a rope in his teeth,” went on the man.

“Why, so he has!” exclaimed Mr. Carter. “I wonder what that means.”

Right up to where the stock breeder and his men stood ran Dapple Gray and Tinkle’s mother. The old fire horse stretched out his neck and shook his head up and down, the rope flapping to and fro. He seemed to be offering it to Mr. Carter.

“Ha! Dapple wants something,” said the stockman. “I wonder what it is. I wish he could talk.”

And then Dapple Gray did something which was almost as good as talking. He rubbed the rope that was in his mouth against Mr. Carter’s hand, and then, dropping it at his feet, took hold of the man’s coat in his teeth. Then the old fire horse began to pull gently, just as often a dog, when it finds some one in danger, will try to lead somebody to the place to help.

“Why!” cried the surprised Mr. Carter. “I believe Dapple wants me to come with him.”

“That’s what he does!” exclaimed one of the hands.

“But what about the rope?” asked another.

“Maybe he wants me to bring that, too,” observed the stockman. “I wonder if anything can have happened to the horses?”

“I’ll go and take a look,” offered Mr. Carter’s overseer. He quickly ran to a place where he could look down into the green meadow.

“What is it?” asked Mr. Carter.

“All the horses seem to be over near a hole in the fence,” the man reported. “And some seem to be missing. I don’t see that little pony, Tinkle, anywhere.”

“Whew!” whistled Mr. Carter. “Something certainly has happened. This is Tinkle’s mother,” he went on, looking at Dapple’s companion.

“Wouldn’t it be queer if Tinkle were in trouble, and she had come to get you to help him?” asked the overseer.

And of course you and I know that is just what Tinkle’s mother did want, but the stockman and his helpers did not know that yet.

“I think I see what the trouble is!” suddenly cried Mr. Carter. “Some of the animals must have broken down the fence and gotten into the swamp! They’re mired there! We must get ropes and haul them out. Smart horse, is Dapple to tell me that! I’ll come right away. Come on, men! Lively now.”

The man ran toward the barn for ropes, led by Mr. Carter. Though Dapple and Tinkle’s mother could not understand what the men said, they knew that help would soon be carried to Tinkle and the others held fast in the mud. They trotted along after the men, who were talking among themselves.

Of course horses and ponies understand some man-talk, else how would they know they are to stop when a man says “Whoa!” or to start when they hear “Gid-dap!” or to back when told to do so. But it takes a little time for a horse to get to know these words, just as it does your dog to know you want him to run toward you when you say: “Come here!” or go back when you point toward home, and tell him to go there.

“Things will be all right now,” said Dapple Gray to Tinkle’s mother, using horse-talk, of course. “The Man will soon have all the horses and ponies out of the bog.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you thought of a way to tell him,” said Tinkle’s mother.

Taking some ropes and planks out of the barn, Mr. Carter and his men ran on toward the green meadow. It did not take them long to reach the broken fence.

“Here’s where the rascals got through to the swamp!” cried Mr. Carter. “I must make the fence much stronger.”

Of course he did not know that Tinkle had made all the trouble by first jumping over the fence. The others had only broken it down to go to help the boy-pony.

“Come on!” cried the stockman. “That bog is a bad place. If they sink down too far we’ll never be able to get them up again. Come on, I say!”

On ran the men with the planks and the ropes. They soon came to the place where the horses and ponies were mired, as it is called.

“Tinkle is in deeper than any of them,” said Mr. Carter. “We must get him out first.”

The men laid down the wide planks. The pieces of wood were so broad that they did not sink down in the soft mud, any more than wide snow shoes will sink down when an Indian, or any man, walks on them.

Then, standing on the planks, the men put ropes about Tinkle and began to pull on them. They also laid down planks near him so that when he got one foot out of the mire he could put it on a plank and it would not sink down again.

After some hard work and much pulling on the ropes, which hurt the little pony, Tinkle was pulled out of the swamp, and led to firm, dry ground, back in the meadow.

“And now you’d better stay there,” said Mr. Carter. “Don’t try a thing like this again.”

“No indeed, you must never do it again!” said Tinkle’s mother, for she could tell by Mr. Carter’s voice that he was, in a way, scolding the pony. “See what a lot of trouble you made your father and me, as well as Dapple Gray and our other friends,” said Tinkle’s mother.

“I—I’m sorry,” said the little pony. “I’m never going to run away again.”

“And see how muddy and dirty you are,” went on his mother. “You had better go to the brook and wash yourself.”

“Oh, let me stay and watch them get my father and the others out of the swamp,” begged Tinkle, so his mother let him stay.

It was not quite so hard to get the others out as it had been to save Tinkle, for they were not so deep in the mud. But it took Mr. Carter and his men quite a while. Finally, however, the ponies and the horses were all saved from the swamp.

“And I hope they never get caught that way again,” said the stockman, while Tinkle and the ponies and the horses hoped the same thing.

After the mud was washed off them, the animals were not much worse off for what had happened. Tinkle was sorry and ashamed for all the trouble he had caused, and he told the other ponies and his horse-friends so.

For some time after this Tinkle lived with his father, mother and friends in the green meadow. He played with the other children-ponies, but he did not try to run away again. He did want to have some adventures, though, and he was soon to have some very strange ones.

One day, about a year later, a rich man called at the stock farm to buy a horse for his carriage. With the man, who was a Mr. Farley, was his son George, about nine years old.

“Yes, I have some good carriage horses,” said Mr. Carter to Mr. Farley. “Suppose you come down to the meadow and pick out the one you like best.”

“May I come too?” asked George.

“Yes, I think so,” answered his father. “The horses won’t kick; will they?” he questioned.

“Oh, not at all,” answered Mr. Carter. “They are all gentle.”

So George went with his father to look at the horses. But no sooner had the little boy caught sight of the ponies than he cried:

“Oh, see the little horses. I want one of them. Please, Daddy, buy me a pony!”

“Eh? What’s that? Buy you a pony!” cried his father, half teasing. “Why you couldn’t ride a pony.”

“Oh, yes I could!” said the little boy. “Anyhow I could drive him hitched to a pony cart.”

“But we haven’t a pony cart.”

“Well, couldn’t you get one? Oh, please get me a pony, Daddy!”

“Ah, um! Well, which one would you want, if you could have one?” asked Mr. Farley, half in fun.

George looked over the ponies who were cropping grass not far away. The boy’s eyes rested longest on Tinkle, for Tinkle was a pretty pony, with four white feet and a white star right in the middle of his head.

“This is the pony I want!” cried George, and, before his father could stop him the boy ran straight to Tinkle and put his arms around the pony’s neck.

CHAPTER IV TINKLE’S NEW HOME

“George! George! Come away!” cried his father. “That pony may kick or bite you!”

“Oh, no, Tinkle won’t do that,” said Mr. Carter. “Tinkle is a gentle pony, which is more than I can say of some I have. A few of them are quite wild. But the only bad thing Tinkle ever did was, one day, to leave the meadow and get mired in a swamp. But I got him out.”

“He wasn’t really bad, was he?” asked George, who was standing near the pony, patting him.

“Well, no, I guess you wouldn’t call it exactly bad,” said the stockman with a smile. “Tinkle just didn’t know any better. He wanted to have some fun, perhaps; but I guess he won’t do that again.”

“I won’t let him run away when I have him,” said George.

“Oh, ho!” cried Mr. Farley with a laugh. “So you think you are going to have Tinkle for your own, do you?”

“Won’t you get him for me?” begged the little boy. “Mabel and I could have such fun riding and driving him.” Mabel was George’s sister. She was a year younger than he.

“Do you think it would be safe for a little boy like mine to have a pony?” asked Mr. Farley of the stockman.

“Why, yes, after Tinkle is trained a bit,” said Mr. Carter. “He has never been ridden or driven, but I could soon get him trained so he would be safe to use both ways. Do you think you want to buy him?”

“Well, I might,” said Mr. Farley slowly. He was thinking whether it would be best or not. He did not want either of his little children to be hurt by a pony that might run away.

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” said the owner of the stock farm. “I’ll sell you a horse for yourself, and then I’ll start at once to teach Tinkle what it means to have some one on his back, and also how he must act when he is hitched to a pony cart. I am going to train some of the other ponies, and I’ll train him also. He is old enough now to be trained. Then you and your little boy come back in about two weeks and we’ll see how George likes Tinkle then,” finished Mr. Carter.

“Oh, I’ll love him all the more!” cried George. “I love him now, and I want him for my very own! He is a fine pony!” and once more George patted the little creature.

“You couldn’t do that to some of the ponies,” said Mr. Carter, as he and George’s father walked back toward the house. “They would be too wild, and would not stand still. But Tinkle is a smart little chap.”

“Good-by!” called George to Tinkle as the small boy walked away with his father. “I’ll come back to see you soon,” and he waved his hand at Tinkle and Tinkle waved his tail at George. At least George thought so, though I imagine that Tinkle was only brushing off a tickling fly.

But one thing I do know, and that was that Tinkle really liked the little boy who patted him so nicely.

“He has very nice, soft hands,” said Tinkle to Curley Mane, another pony, as they cropped the sweet grass together. “I’m sure he would be good to me.”

“Are you going to live with him?” asked Curley Mane.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Tinkle answered. “But I’ve always noticed that whenever any strange men or boys come to the farm here, in a few days afterward some of the horses or ponies go away, and I guess the men and boys take them.”

“Yes, that is right,” said old Dapple Gray walking up beside the two ponies. “You’ve guessed it, Tinkle. The Man, here, raises us horses to sell. I’ve been sold more than once.”

“Is it nice to be sold?” asked Tinkle.

“Well, it all depends,” was the answer. “The first place I was sold to was not nice. I had to draw a grocery wagon through the streets, and the boy who sat on the seat used to strike me with a whip.”

“What did you do?” asked Curley Mane.

“Well, I’m sorry to say I ran away. It wasn’t the right thing to do, only I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stand being beaten. The boy fell off the seat of the wagon, I ran so fast, and he bumped his nose. Then the wagon was smashed and I was cut and bruised and I had a terrible time,” said Dapple Gray.

“Then the grocery man brought me back here, saying he didn’t want me, and after that I was sold to some men that made me draw the big shiny wagon that had a chimney spouting flames and smoke. I was treated well there. I had a nice stall with plenty of hay to eat and clean straw to sleep on. Sometimes I had oats, and I got so I could run very fast indeed.

“But it was hard work, and I soon grew tired. So they brought me back here again. That’s what being sold means. You never can tell where you’re going.”

“Do you think some of the horses here were sold to that man and little boy?” asked Tinkle.

“We can tell pretty soon,” answered Dapple Gray, “by watching to see if any horses or ponies are taken away.”

And, surely enough, the next day one of the men on the stock farm took away one of the horses. He was called Hobble by the other horses because, when he was a colt, he hurt his foot on a sharp stone and had to hobble for a week or two. But he soon got over that. And Hobble was the horse George’s father had bought for himself, though Mr. Carter named the horse Prince.

“Good-by!” called Hobble, or as we must call him, Prince, to his friends as he was led away from the stock farm. “Maybe I’ll see some of you again before long.”

“I don’t believe so,” called back Dapple Gray. But neither he nor any one else knew what was going to happen to Tinkle.

When Prince had been driven to a big city, a few miles away from the stock farm, he was taken into a nice clean stable where there were one or two other horses.

“Ah, so that’s the new horse I bought, is it?” asked a voice, and looking behind him, from where he was tied in his stall, Prince saw Mr. Farley. Of course Prince did not know the man’s name but he knew he was the same one who had been at the stock farm.

“I wonder,” thought Prince, “where the little boy is that was patting Tinkle.”

He did not have to wonder long for he soon heard another voice calling:

“Oh, Daddy! Did the new horse come?”

“Yes, he’s in his stall,” said Mr. Farley.

“And did he bring Tinkle?” asked George.

“No, not yet. Tinkle won’t be ready for a week or so. And I am not sure I am going to get him for you.”

“Oh, yes you are, Daddy! I know you are when you smile that way!” cried Mabel, who, with her little brother, had come out to the stable. “Won’t we have fun, George,” she cried gaily, “when we have a pony of our own?”

“We surely will!” said George.

“Don’t be too sure,” returned Mr. Farley, but he could not keep his eyes from laughing, even if his lips did not smile.

Prince soon made friends with the other horses in Mr. Farley’s stable, and they rubbed noses and talked among themselves in a way that all horses have.

And now I must go back to the stock farm to see how Tinkle is getting on, for this story is mostly about him.

“Well,” said Mr. Carter to one of his men a day or two after Prince had been sold and taken to Mr. Farley, “I think it is time we started to train Tinkle, if that little boy George is to have him. We want to get the pony used to having a saddle on his back, and also teach him how to draw a pony cart.”

So Tinkle began to have his first lessons, for animals like horses and dogs, as well as trained animals in a circus, have to be taught lessons, just as you are taught lessons in school. Only, of course, the lessons are different.

Tinkle was driven into the stable yard and while one of the men was patting him and giving him some oats to eat—which Tinkle liked very much—another man slipped some leather straps over the pony’s head. Tinkle did not like this, for never, in all his life, had he felt anything tied on his head before. He tried to run away and shake it off, but he found himself held tightly by a long strap, which was fast to the other straps on his head.

“I wonder what in the world this is?” thought Tinkle, when he found he could not shake off the straps. Afterward he learned it was a halter, which is the rope, or strap, that is used to keep a horse or pony tied in his stall. Sometimes the straps, or ropes, are called a “head-stall.”

So this is what Tinkle was held fast by, and when he found that no amount of pulling or shaking would get it off his head he stood quietly.

“Maybe if I am good they’ll take it off anyhow,” he thought.

But Tinkle had many more lessons to learn. I will not tell you all about them here, because I know lessons aren’t any too much fun, though we all have to learn them.

So I’ll just say that after Tinkle had become used to the halter he was given a bridle. This was not so nice, as there was an iron thing fast to it, called a “bit,” and this had to go in Tinkle’s mouth so he could be driven.

“Oh, I don’t like this at all!” cried Tinkle as he tried to get the bit out from between his teeth. But it was held fast by straps, and a man pulled first on one strap, and then on the other, hauling Tinkle’s head to the left or right. Soon the pony found that when his bit was pulled to the left it meant he was to walk or run that way, and so, also, when the other strap, or rein, was pulled, he must go to the right. After a while he did not mind the bit at all.

Next Tinkle had to learn to have a saddle fastened to his back. First a blanket was strapped on him, and Tinkle tried to get this off by rolling over and over. But the blanket stayed on, for it was fastened by straps, and soon the little pony did not mind that. Then when the saddle was put on he thought it was only another kind of blanket at first, and when he came to know (for his mother told him) that all horses and ponies had to wear saddles part of the time Tinkle did not mind that.

Tinkle was frightened when one of the boys on the stock farm got in the saddle on the pony’s back to have a ride. It was the first time Tinkle had ever had any one on his back and he really was quite frightened. But he soon grew used to that also, and trotted around, walking and running as the boy told him to.

“Well, Tinkle is learning quickly!” said Mr. Carter one day. “As soon as he learns to draw a pony cart he will be ready for that boy George to drive.”

Being hitched to a cart, with harness straps all over him, did not feel comfortable to Tinkle at first.

“I don’t like this at all!” he thought. “It isn’t any fun!” But he found he could not get away from the cart, which followed him everywhere because he was hitched fast to it. Then he was driven about, made to turn around, and to the left and to the right by a boy who rode in the pony cart.

It was the first time Tinkle had ever had any one on his back.

“Well, I might as well make up my mind to it,” said Tinkle, telling the other ponies what had happened to him.

“Yes, indeed,” remarked Dapple Gray. “That is what you ponies and we horses are for—to give people rides, or to pull their wagons. That is our life and if you are good you will be treated kindly.”

“Then I am going to be good,” said Tinkle.

In another week the pony could be ridden or driven very easily, and Mr. Carter sent word to Mr. Farley to come and bring George with him to the stock farm.

“Oh, what a fine pony he is!” cried the little boy as he saw how easily Tinkle was ridden and driven. “Do get him for me, Daddy!”

“Yes, I think I’ll buy him,” said Mr. Farley, so he paid Mr. Carter for the pony. Tinkle was taken to his new home, George and his father riding in the pony cart. Mr. Farley drove, but let George hold the reins part of the time.

“For you must learn to drive if you are going to have a real live pony,” said George’s father.

So Tinkle left the stock farm, and went to live in his new home, a big city stable.

CHAPTER V TINKLE’S FRIENDS

“Well, I never expected to see you here!” exclaimed a whinnying voice as Tinkle was led into his stall. The little pony looked up in surprise and saw a big horse.

“Oh! Why, hello, Hobble!” cried Tinkle, as he saw the horse that used to live on the stock farm with him.

“My name isn’t Hobble any more—it’s Prince.”

“Oh, well. Hello, then, Prince!” called Tinkle in a cordial, off-hand manner, for he now felt quite grown up. Had he not been hitched up, and had he not carried a boy on his back? “I didn’t know you were here.”

“And I didn’t know you were coming,” observed Prince. “How is everything back on the farm?”

“Oh, there’s not much change. I was sorry to come away and leave my father and mother.”

“Well, that’s the way things happen in this world,” said Prince. “We are colts for a little while, and then some of us grow to be big horses or grown-up ponies and have to go away from our friends. It’s just the same with men and women, I’ve heard. But you’ll like it here.”

“Is it nice?” asked Tinkle.

“Nice? I should say it is! Of course, I miss being out in the big, green, grassy meadow. But I get plenty to eat here, and every day a man scratches my back—”

“Scratches your back?” cried Tinkle. “I don’t believe I should like that!”

“Oh, yes you will,” said Prince. “You can’t imagine how your back begins to itch and ache when you’ve been in the harness all day. And when a man uses a brush and comb on you—”

“A brush and comb!” cried Tinkle. “Come, you’re joking! I know men and women, as well as boys and girls, use brushes and combs, but ponies or horses—”

“Yes, we really have our own brushes and combs, though they are different from those which humans use,” said Prince. “The brush is a big one, more like a broom, and the comb is made of iron and is called a currycomb. But they make your skin nice and clean and shiny. You’ll like them.”

“Maybe,” said Tinkle. “Is anything else different here from what it was on the farm?”

“Oh, lots and lots of things. You have to have shoes on your feet.”

“Oh, now I’m sure you’re fooling me!” cried Tinkle in horse-talk. “Who ever heard of ponies having shoes!”

“Well, of course they’re not leather shoes, such as boys and girls wear,” went on Prince. “They are made of iron, and they are nailed on your hoofs.”

“Nailed on!” cried Tinkle. “Oh, doesn’t that hurt?”

“Not a bit when a good blacksmith does it,” explained Prince. “You see our hoofs are just like the finger nails of boys and girls. It doesn’t hurt to cut their finger nails, if they don’t cut them down too close, and it doesn’t hurt to fasten the iron shoes on our hoofs with sharp nails. Don’t you remember how Dapple Gray used to tell about his iron shoes making sparks on the paving stones in the city when he ran and pulled that funny shiny wagon with the chimney?”

“Oh, yes,” answered Tinkle; “I do remember. Well, I suppose I’ll have to be shod then.”

“Of course,” returned Prince. “If you don’t have the iron shoes on your hoofs they would get sore when you ran around on the stony streets. A city is not like our green meadow. There are very few soft dirt roads here. That is one thing I don’t like about a city. Still there is always something going on here, and lots to see and do, and that makes up for it, I guess.”

“I wonder how I shall like it,” thought Tinkle. “But first I must see what my new home is like.”

He looked around the stable. It was a large one, and there were a number of stalls in it. In each one was a horse, like Prince, munching his oats or chewing hay. Tinkle saw that his stall was different from the others. It was like a big box, and, in fact, was called a “box stall.” Tinkle did not have to be tied fast with a rope or a strap to the manger, which is the place where the feed for the ponies and horses is put. There was a manger in Tinkle’s stall and he could walk up to it whenever he felt hungry.

Tinkle did not remember much about the stable at home on the farm, as he was hardly ever in it. Night and day, during the warm Summer, he stayed out in the green meadow, sleeping near his mother under a tree.

Tinkle was kicking the straw around in his stall, making a nice soft bed on which he could lie down and go to sleep, when George, who had gone into the house to get something to eat after driving with his father from the stock farm, came running out to the stable again.

“How’s my pony?” cried George. “How’s my Tinkle?”

Tinkle made a sort of laughing sound—whinnying—for he now knew George’s voice and he liked the little boy.

“Here’s something nice for you!” cried George.

“Oh, what are you going to give him?” asked Mabel, who had come home from school and who had also hurried out to see Tinkle.

“I’m going to give him some sugar,” answered George. “I took some lumps from the bowl on the table. Mother said I might.”

“Are you going to let him eat them out of your hand?” asked the little girl.

“Of course,” answered George.

“Won’t he bite you?”

“Not if you hold out your hand flat, like a board,” said George. “The man at the farm showed me. Put the sugar on the palm of your hand, open it out flat and a horse can pick up a lump of sugar, or an apple without biting you a teeny weeny bit. Look!”

George opened the top half of the door to the box stall where Tinkle had his home and held out on his hand the lump of sugar. Tinkle came over, smelled of the lump to make sure it was good for him to eat, and then he gently took it in his soft lips, and began to chew the sweet stuff.

“Oh, isn’t that cute!” cried Mabel. “Let me feed Tinkle some sugar.”

Her brother gave her a lump, and she held it out on her hand. Tinkle, having eaten the first lump, which he liked very much, was quite ready for the second. He took it from Mabel’s hand as gently as he had taken it from George’s.

“Oh, he is a lovely pony!” cried the little girl. “How soon can we have a ride on him?”

“Well, you can ride him around the yard now,” said her father, who had come out to the stable. “But before he is driven around the city streets he must be shod. I’ll send him to a blacksmith. But for a while now you and George may take turns riding him. I’ll have Patrick saddle him for you.”

Patrick was Mr. Farley’s coachman, and knew a great deal about horses and ponies. The pony cart which Mr. Farley had bought from the stockman, together with a harness and saddle for Tinkle, had been put away. Patrick now brought out the saddle, and, after putting a blanket on the pony, fastened on the saddle with straps.

“Now who’s to ride first?” asked the coachman.

“Let Mabel,” said George, politely. “Ladies always go first.”

“I’d rather you’d go first so I can see how you do it,” said the little girl, and George was glad, for he did want very much to get on Tinkle’s back again. He had ridden a little at the stock farm and, oh! it was such fun!

Patrick helped George into the saddle, and then led Tinkle about the yard, for Mr. Farley wanted to make sure the pony would be safe for his little boy to ride.

“I’ll be very careful,” said Tinkle to himself. “George and his sister are going to be kind to me, I’m sure. I’ll not run away.”

Tinkle remembered what his father and mother had told him about behaving when he was in the harness, or had a saddle on.

“And if I’m good,” thought the pony, “maybe I’ll get more lumps of sugar.”

“Let him go now and see if I can drive him,” said George to Patrick. So the coachman stepped aside and George held the reins in his own hands.

“Gid-dap, Tinkle!” cried George, and the pony knew this meant to go a little faster. So he began to trot on the soft, green grass of the big yard about the Farley home.

“Oh, how nice!” cried Mabel, clapping her hands.

“Yes, it’s lots of fun!” laughed George. “Go on, Tinkle.”

When George had ridden twice around the yard it was Mabel’s turn. At first she was a little afraid, but her father held her in the saddle, and she could soon sit on alone and guide Tinkle, who did not go as fast with her as he had gone with George.

“For she might fall off, and I wouldn’t want that to happen,” thought Tinkle. “They might say it was my fault, and give me no more lumps of sugar.”

While Mabel was riding, another boy and a girl came into the yard. They were Tommie and Nellie Hall, who lived next door.

“Oh, what a lovely pony!” they cried. “Where did you get him?”

“My father bought him for Mabel and me,” explained George. “See how soft his hair is,” and he patted Tinkle. Tommie and Nellie also patted the pony and called him all sorts of nice names.

“My! I think I am going to like it here,” thought Tinkle. “I have four new, good, little friends. I will try to make them love me.”

CHAPTER VI TINKLE MEETS DIDO

Every morning, as soon as he had eaten his breakfast, George would run out to the stable to see Tinkle. He would rub the soft, velvety nose of his pet pony, or bring him a piece of bread or a lump of sugar. Sometimes Mabel, too, would come out with her brother to look at Tinkle before she went to school.

“And when we come back from school we’ll have a ride on your back,” said George, waving his hand to Tinkle.

A few days after he had been brought to his new home Tinkle had been taken to a blacksmith’s shop and small iron shoes had been fastened to the pony’s hoofs.

At first Tinkle was afraid he was going to be hurt, but he thought of what Dapple Gray and the other horses had told him and made up his mind—if ponies have minds—that he would stand a little pain if he had to. But he did not. The blacksmith was kind and gentle, and though it felt a bit funny at first, when he lifted up one of Tinkle’s legs, the pony soon grew used to it.

It felt queer, too, when the iron shoes were nailed on. And when Tinkle stood on his four newly shod feet he hardly knew whether he could step out properly or not. But he soon found that it was all right.

“I’m taller with my new shoes on than in my bare hoofs,” said Tinkle to himself, and he was taller—about an inch I guess. The clatter and clang of his iron shoes on the paving stones sounded like music to Tinkle, and he soon found that it was better for him to have iron shoes on than to run over the stones in his hoofs, which would soon have worn down so that his feet would have hurt.

“Now Tinkle is ready to give us a ride in the little cart!” cried George when his pony had come home from the blacksmith shop.

“Take Patrick with you so as to make sure you know how to drive, and how to handle Tinkle,” said Mrs. Farley, as George and Mabel made ready for their first real drive—outside the yard this time.

George and Mabel got into the pony cart, George taking the reins, while Mabel sat beside him. Patrick, the coachman, sat in the back of the cart, ready to help if he were needed.

“Gid-dap!” called George, and he headed the pony down the driveway. “Gid-dap, Tinkle,” and Tinkle trotted along.

“Don’t they look cute!” exclaimed Mrs. Farley to her husband as they watched the children from the dining room window. “I hope nothing happens to them.”

“Oh, they’ll be all right,” said her husband. “Tinkle is a kind and gentle pony. Besides there is Patrick. He’ll know just what to do if anything should happen.”

“Well, I hope nothing does,” said Mrs. Farley. “There! they’ve stopped! I wonder what for.”

The pony cart had stopped at the driveway gates, and Patrick, with a queer smile on his face, came walking back.

“What is it?” asked Mrs. Farley. “Did anything happen—and so soon?”

“No’m,” replied the coachman, “but Master George wants to know if you’d like to have him bring anything from the store. He says he’d like to buy something for you.”

“Oh!” and Mrs. Farley laughed. “Well, I don’t know that I need any groceries. But I suppose he wants to do an errand in the new cart. So tell him he may get a pound of loaf sugar. He and Mabel can feed the lumps to Tinkle.”

“Very well, ma’am, I’ll tell him,” and, touching his hat, Patrick went back to George and Mabel.

“Well, I guess everything is all right,” thought Tinkle to himself as he trotted along in front of the pony cart, hauling George, Mabel and Patrick. “It’s a good deal easier than I thought, and my new iron shoes feel fine!”

So he trotted along merrily, and George and his sister, sitting in the pony cart, enjoyed their ride very much. George drove Tinkle along the streets, turning him now to the left, by pulling on the left rein, and again to the other side by jerking gently on the right rein.

“Am I doing all right, Patrick?” asked the little boy.

“Fine, Master George,” answered the coachman. “You drive as well as anybody.”

“I’ll let you take a turn soon, Mabel,” said George.

“Oh, I don’t want to—just yet,” replied the little girl. “I want to watch and see how you do it. Besides, I’d be afraid to drive where there are so many horses and wagons,” for they were on the main street of the city.

“You’ll soon get so you can do as well as Master George,” declared Patrick. “Tinkle is an easy pony to manage.”

As George and Mabel traveled on in their pony cart, they met several of their playmates who waved their hands to the Farley children.

“Oh, what a nice pony cart!” cried the boys and girls.

“Oh, what a nice pony cart!” cried the boys and girls.

“I’ll give you a ride, some day,” promised George.

He and Mabel were soon at the store, and, going in, they bought the loaf sugar. Patrick stayed out in the pony cart, and Tinkle stood still next to the curb. Near him was a horse hitched to a wagon full of coal.

“Hello, my little pony!” called the coal-horse. “You have a fine rig there.”

“Yes, it is pretty nice,” said Tinkle, and he was sure he must look very gorgeous, for Mabel had tied a blue ribbon in his mane that morning.

“You’re quite stylish,” went on the coal-horse.

“Well, I s’pose you might call it that,” admitted Tinkle.

“It’s much more fun to be pulling a light, little cart like that around the city streets, than to haul a great big heavy coal wagon, such as I am hitched to,” went on the big horse.

“Yes, but see how strong you are!” observed Tinkle. “I never could pull such a heavy load as you haul.”

“No, I guess you couldn’t,” said the coal horse. “Especially up some of the hills we have. It is almost more than I can do, and there is one hill that I have to take a rest on, half way up, but my driver is good to me, and never whips me, which is more than I can say of some drivers I have known. So I guess, after all, it is better for you to draw the pony cart and for me to stick to the coal wagon.”

“Indeed it is,” said a horse that was hitched to one of the grocery wagons. “You’d look funny, coal-horse, trying to fit between the shafts of that pony cart.”

“I suppose I would,” admitted the other, laughing, in a way horses have among themselves.

When George and Mabel came out of the store, with the bag of sugar lumps, they saw the two horses—one hitched to a coal wagon and the other to a grocery cart—rubbing noses with Tinkle.

“They’re kissing each other,” laughed the little girl.

But the horses and the pony were really talking among themselves, and even Patrick, much as he knew about animals, did not understand horse-talk.

“Let’s give Tinkle some sugar now,” said Mabel.

“All right,” answered George, so they gave the pony two lumps.

“My, that sugar certainly smells good!” exclaimed the horse that was hitched to the coal wagon.

“It certainly does,” said the other horse, sniffing hard through his nose, for the air was filled with the sweet smell of the sugar lumps Tinkle was eating. “You might think,” went on the grocery horse, “that, working for a store, as I do, I’d get a lump of sugar once in a while.”

“Don’t you?” asked Tinkle, reaching out for another sweet lump George offered him.

“Never a bit!” said the grocery-horse, “and I just love it!”

“So do I,” said the coal-horse.

“I’m sorry I didn’t offer you some,” apologized Tinkle. “But it’s too late now. I’ve swallowed it.”

Just then Mabel thought of something nice.

“Oh, George!” she cried. “Let’s give the two horses some of Tinkle’s sugar. I guess horses like sweet stuff the same as ponies. Don’t they, Patrick?” she asked the coachman.

“Sure they do, Miss Mabel,” he answered. “Sure they do!”

“Then give them some, George,” she begged. “We have more than enough for Tinkle.”

“All right,” said the little boy. So he held out two lumps of sugar to the coal horse, and two to the grocery horse, and I just wish you could have seen how glad those horses were to get the sweet stuff. If they could have talked man language they would have thanked George and Mabel, but as it was they could only say to one another and to Tinkle:

“Well, you certainly have a good home with such nice children in it.”

“I’m glad you think so,” whinnied Tinkle to them, and he felt very happy.

George and Mabel drove home in their pony cart, carrying what was left of the bag of sugar. When they were near their home, and on a quiet street, George let his sister take the reins so she would learn how to handle them. Patrick watched the little girl carefully and told her how and when to pull, so Tinkle would go to the right or to the left, and also around the corners.

“Oh, Mother! now I know how to drive!” cried Mabel as she ran into the house to tell her father and Mrs. Farley about their first trip downtown in the new pony cart.

After that George and Mabel had many rides behind Tinkle, even in the Winter, when they hitched him to a little sled. The little pony grew to like his little boy and girl friends very much indeed, and they loved him dearly. They would hug him and pat him whenever they went out to the stable where he was, and feed him lumps of sugar. When Spring came they took long rides in the country.

One day a funny thing happened to Tinkle. He had been hitched to the pony cart which was tied to a post in front of the house, waiting for George and Mabel to come out. And then, from somewhere down the street sounded the tooting of a horn, and a queer odor, which made him tremble, came to the pony’s nostrils.

“I wonder what that is?” said Tinkle to himself. Very soon he found out.

Along came a man wearing a red cap, and every once in a while he would put a brass horn to his mouth and blow a tooting tune. But this was not what surprised Tinkle most. What did, was a big shaggy animal, that the man was leading by a chain. And when Tinkle saw the shaggy creature he was afraid. But the other animal, rising up on its hind legs said:

“Don’t be afraid of me, little pony. I won’t hurt you!”

“Who are you?” asked Tinkle, wonderingly.

“I am Dido, the dancing bear,” was the answer, “and I have had many adventures that have been put into a book.”

CHAPTER VII TINKLE DOES SOME TRICKS

For a few seconds Tinkle stood looking at Dido, the dancing bear, not knowing what to do or say. Some ponies would have been afraid of a bear. They would have snorted, stood on their hind legs, and maybe have run away. But Tinkle had never seen a bear before, no one had ever told him about them, and he really did not know enough to be afraid. Besides, Dido seemed such a funny, good-natured and happy bear that I believe no one would have been afraid of him.

“So you are Dido, the dancing bear, are you?” asked Tinkle. “And you say you are in a book. What does that mean?”

“I’ll tell you,” went on Dido, while his master, the man who blew such jolly tunes on the brass horn, was picking up some apples that had fallen from a roadside tree. He let Dido walk on ahead, without even a string tied to him, for he knew that Dido would not run away.

“You see, it’s this way,” went on the dancing bear. “Years ago I used to live in the woods with my father and mother, sisters and brothers.”

“I never lived in the woods,” said Tinkle, “but I lived in a big, green field.”

“That was nice,” murmured Dido. “I have been in the fields, too. Well, one day I was caught by a man, who took me away. At first I did not like it, but the man was good to me and taught me to do tricks.”

“What are tricks?” asked the pony, for he could speak all animal languages as well as understand them.

“Tricks are—well, I’ll show you in a minute,” went on Dido. “The man was good to me, as I said, and taught me tricks. Then I was sold to a circus and I had lots of good times with Tum Tum, the jolly elephant and Mappo the merry monkey. They are in books, too.”

“What are books?” asked Tinkle. “Are they good, like sugar; and do you eat them?”

“Oh, no!” laughed Dido. “Books are funny things, like blocks of wood; only you can open them, like a door, you know, and inside are funny black marks on paper that is white, like the snow. Boys and girls, and men and women, open these funny things called books and look at them for ever and ever so long.”

“Why do they do that?” asked Tinkle.

“Well, I don’t really know,” said Dido. “But after they have looked at the books, turning over the white things with the black marks on, called leaves, the boys and girls laugh.”

“Why?” Tinkle demanded.

“Because of the funny things printed on them,” answered Dido. “You see in my book are set down all the things I did. And the things Mappo did and the things Tum Tum did are in their books. Some of the things were funny, and that is what makes the boys and girls laugh. Tum Tum’s book is enough to make any one laugh. He is a very jolly elephant.”

“Is it fashionable to be in a book?” asked Tinkle. “I have quite a stylish pony cart here, as you can see, so if being in a book is—”

“Of course it’s fashionable to be in a book!” exclaimed Dido. “You should see the funny pictures of me in my book.”

And I might say, right here, that the books that Dido spoke of really exist, besides others about different animals. And this book is about Tinkle, as you can see for yourself. Maybe the little pony will be quite surprised when he finds what has been set down about him.

“Toot! Toot! Toot!” blew the horn again, and the man who owned Dido, having picked up all the apples he wanted, came walking along the road. Dido had been in a circus for some time, but now he was out again, traveling around the country doing tricks.

“Ah, you have met a friend, I see, Dido!” remarked the man, who had little gold rings in his ears. “A little pony, eh? Well, where there is a pony there must be children, and I think they will like to see your tricks, Dido. Come, we’ll get ready for them.”

The man blew another merry tune on his horn, and just then George and Mabel came running out of the house, ready to go driving in the pony cart.

“Oh, see the bear!” cried Mabel.

“And look at what he is doing!” added George. For, just then the man told Dido to turn a somersault, and this the bear did.

“That’s one of my tricks,” said Dido to Tinkle, though of course George and Mabel did not know the two animals were speaking to one another, for they talked in a low whisper.

“Oh, so that’s a trick, is it?” asked Tinkle in surprise.

“Yes, and I can do others. Wait, I’m going to do some more,” went on Dido.

“Come now, Dido! Show the little boy and girl how you play soldier!” called the man and he tossed a stick to the bear. Dido clasped it in his paws, held it over one shoulder just as though it were a gun and marched around in a ring standing up stiff and straight like a soldier on parade.

“Oh, that’s great!” cried George.

“Is he a trained bear, Mister?” asked Mabel.

“Oh, yes he is a good trained bear,” answered the man. “I have taught him to do many tricks. Now stand on your head, Dido,” and Dido stood on his head without so much as blinking his eye. Only he could not stand that way very long because he was quite a fat and heavy bear now. But he did very well.

“Can he do any more tricks?” asked George, and by this time Patrick, the coachman, Mary the cook, and Mrs. Farley had come out to watch Dido.

“I will have him climb a pole,” said the man, pointing to a telegraph pole in front of the Farley home. “Up you go, Dido!” he called, and the bear walked slowly over to the smooth pole. He stuck his sharp claws into the soft wood, and up and up he climbed until he was nearly at the top. Then he climbed down again while Mabel and George clapped their hands and laughed.

“He is a fine bear,” said George. “I wonder if he would eat sugar as Tinkle, my pony, does?”

“Try him and see,” answered the man, with a laugh.

“Won’t he bite?” asked Mabel, as George took some lumps of sugar from his pocket.

“Oh, no. Dido never bites,” answered his master. “He is a very gentle bear.”

George held a lump of sugar on his hand. Up Dido walked to the little boy.

“Don’t dare bite him!” said Tinkle to Dido, speaking in animal talk, of course.

“Oh, no fear!” exclaimed Dido. “I wouldn’t bite him for the world. Just watch!” Then Dido put out his big red tongue to which the lump of sugar stuck, just like a postage stamp, and, in another second, it had slid down Dido’s red throat.

“Oh, wasn’t that cute?” cried Mabel.

Then Dido did more tricks, and after Mrs. Farley had given the man some money he and Dido walked on down the road.

“Good-by, children!” called the man.

“Good-by,” answered George and Mabel, waving their hands.

“Good-by, Tinkle!” called Dido. “Perhaps some day I may see you again.”

“I hope so,” called back the pony. “I want to hear more about being in a book and about Tum Tum and Mappo.”

“They are in the circus now, I think,” said Dido. “If you ever go to the circus you may meet them.”

“I don’t believe I ever shall,” said Tinkle. But you just wait and see what happens.

“Well, go for your drive now, children,” said Mrs. Farley. “And don’t let Tinkle run away with you.”

“We won’t,” answered George, laughingly. And as he and Mabel drove away, Patrick not going with them this time, George said: “I wish I could teach Tinkle some tricks.”

“Oh, wouldn’t that be great!” exclaimed Mabel. “I once saw a trick pony in a show. He could bow and tell how old he was by pawing on the ground with his hoof.”

“Then I’m going to teach Tinkle some tricks,” said George. “And when he learns them we’ll take him around the country and show him off and earn money.”

“Oh, how nice!” cried Mabel, clapping her hands.

When George and Mabel got back from their drive George spoke to his father about teaching Tinkle to do some tricks.

“I hardly think you can,” said Mr. Farley. “But you may try. Better ask Patrick about it, though. He knows a lot about horses and ponies.”

“Teach Tinkle tricks, is it?” asked Patrick when George spoke to the coachman about it. “Well, maybe you can. He’s young yet. You can’t teach an old pony tricks any more than you can teach an old dog. We’ll try some day.”

A few days after this Patrick called George out to the stable yard where Tinkle was standing.

“What are you going to do?” asked George.

“Teach Tinkle his first trick,” was the answer. “He is going to learn how to jump over a stick.” Patrick put two boxes, about two feet high, on the ground and laid a stick across them. He led the pony close to the stick and stood there beside him.

“Now, Master George, you stand on the other side of the stick, and hold out these lumps of sugar,” said Patrick. “We will see what Tinkle will do.”

George held out the sugar a few feet away from Tinkle’s nose. Tinkle could smell it, and he wanted it very much.

“Go get it!” called Patrick, letting loose the halter strap he had been holding. “Go get the sugar, Tinkle.”

Instead of jumping across the stick, as they wanted him to do, Tinkle walked right against it and knocked it off the boxes.

“That won’t do!” cried Patrick. “Don’t give him the sugar, Master George, until he jumps over the stick.”

So George held the sugar behind his back, and Tinkle was quite disappointed at not getting it.

“I wonder what they want me to do, and why they put that stick in front of me?” thought the little pony. Patrick placed the stick back on the boxes, and this time he nailed it fast so the pony could not easily knock it off. Then the coachman held the pony as before and George put the lumps of sugar out on his hand again.

Once more Tinkle walked forward to get them, but this time he could not knock the stick down with his legs. He shoved the boxes aside, though, and again Patrick led him back.

“Jump over the stick, Tinkle! Jump over the stick and I’ll give you the sugar!” called George. And then, after two or three more times, Tinkle understood. He found that stick always in his way when he wanted to get the sweet sugar, and finally he thought of the fence he had once jumped over.

“I guess that’s what they want me to do now!” he said. And with a jump, over the stick he went. Tinkle had done his first trick!

CHAPTER VIII TINKLE IS TAKEN AWAY

“That’s fine!” cried George, as Tinkle, after having jumped over the stick, came trotting up to get the sugar. “Soon you’ll be as good as Dido, the dancing bear.”

“Well, I guess I did pretty well for a beginner,” thought Tinkle to himself, as he crunched the sugar in his strong white teeth. “Now I hope they will let me alone, or else drive me hitched to the cart or ride on my back.”

But George and the coachman were not yet through with Tinkle. They wanted to be sure he understood how to do the trick. So they set up the stick again, and George held out more sugar. This time the pony knew what to do at once, and, with a bound, over the stick he went.

“Oh, I want Mabel to see this!” cried George. “Come on out!” he called to his sister. “Come on out and see Tinkle do a trick!”

Mabel was as much pleased as was her brother. She, too, held out the sugar and Tinkle came to her as he had to George, leaping over the stick. Tinkle would do almost anything for lumps of sugar.

“Well, this is enough for the first day,” said the coachman to the children. “We don’t want Tinkle to get tired. Go take him for a drive now, and to-morrow we can teach him other tricks.”

Off in the pony cart rode the two children. Half-way down the street they met Tommie and Nellie Hall, and invited them to have a drive.

“Did you see the trained bear?” asked Tommie of George. “A man was leading him past our house. He did a lot of tricks.”

“We’re going to teach our pony to do tricks like those,” cried Mabel.

“No! Really?” exclaimed Nellie, in surprise.

“Yes, we are,” added George. “He can do one trick already—jump over a stick,” and he told how Tinkle had been taught.

“I’d like to see him do that,” said Tommie. “But there’s one trick Dido the bear did that your pony can never do.”

“What is that?” Mabel asked.

“Climb a telegraph pole!” said Tommie with a laugh.

“That’s right,” admitted George. “Tinkle never could do that. But I don’t want him to. To-morrow we are going to teach him a new trick.”

The next day George went out to the stable to ask Patrick what trick it would be best next to teach the pony.

“Let us see if he has forgotten his first trick,” said the coachman. Once more the stick was laid across the boxes and, standing on the other side of it, George held out the sugar. Tinkle jumped over at once, higher than he had ever before gone, for, now that he knew jumping was what his little master wanted, the pony made up his mind to do his very best.

“Yes, he hasn’t forgotten that trick,” said Patrick. “Now we’ll teach him to make a bow.”

“How do you do that?” asked George.

“I’ll show you,” Patrick answered.

He put some soft straw on the ground in front of the pony. Then the coachman tied a rope around Tinkle’s left foreleg. Standing off a little way, behind, and to one side of Tinkle, Patrick pulled gently on the rope, at the same time saying:

“Make a bow, Tinkle! Make a bow!”

Of course Tinkle did not know then what the words meant, but when he felt the pull on his leg from the rope it seemed as though his leg was being pulled from under him. And that is what Patrick was doing, only so gently that it did not hurt.

Then the coachman said again:

“Make a bow, Tinkle!”

The pony suddenly felt his leg slipping and as it bent he came down on one knee on the soft straw.

“Oh, he did make a bow!” cried George; and that is just what it looked like.

“Give him a lump of sugar!” said Patrick. “Then he’ll know he is to get a lump when he makes another bow.”

The coachman loosed his hold of the rope and Tinkle quickly scrambled to his feet. He was not in the least hurt, but he was a little puzzled.

“I wonder what they are trying to do to me?” he asked himself. But he was glad when he found George had another lump of sugar for him. “This part of it is all right, anyhow,” thought the pony.

Once again he heard Patrick call:

“Make a bow, Tinkle. Make a bow!” Again came that tug on the rope which pulled Tinkle’s leg from under him, so that he had to bend down and bow.

“That’s the way to do it!” cried Patrick. “More sugar for the pony, Master George!”

“Now I begin to understand!” said Tinkle to himself. “This is just like jumping over the stick—only different. Ah, I have it! These are the tricks Dido was telling me about. Now I know what they are doing it for. I am to be a trick pony! And maybe I’ll be in the circus with Tum Tum and Mappo.”

But you will have to wait a little while to find out if that part came true.

“Now we’ll try it again,” said the coachman as Tinkle got up and stood on the soft straw. “Make another bow, Tinkle!” he called.

The pony heard the word “bow,” he felt the gentle pull on the rope that was tied to his leg. This time he did not wait for his leg to be pulled from beneath him, but he bowed of his own accord, and then George gave him the sugar.

“He is beginning to know what we want of him,” said the coachman. “Now he can do two tricks.”

“And soon I can take him around the country and show him off,” cried George, in great delight.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” laughed Patrick. “I guess your father and mother wouldn’t like that. But you can have him do tricks at home here for your friends.”

Tinkle was a smart little pony and in a few days all George had to do was to say “Jump!” and Tinkle would jump over two or even three sticks laid across boxes. And when George said: “Make a bow!” Tinkle would kneel down almost as politely as some dancers I have seen.

“Are there any other tricks you can teach Tinkle?” asked George of the coachman one day.

“Oh, yes, plenty more,” was the answer. “We’ll try to get him to stand on his hind legs and walk around. It is pretty hard but I guess he can do it.”

Tinkle was longer in learning this trick than he had been in learning how to do the other two put together. Patrick and George were kind and patient, however. Patrick, with another man to help him, put Tinkle in front of a board laid across two water pails. They set Tinkle’s front feet on the board and then with Patrick at one end, and the man at the other, they lifted up the board with Tinkle’s feet resting on it and started to walk. And Tinkle walked too, because George stood in front of him with a nice red apple, and as the pony reached for it George kept backing away.

Of course Tinkle wanted the apple, so he kept on walking. Only, as his front feet were resting on the board, the pony could walk on his hind feet only, but he was soon doing this without knowing it. It took a little time to make him stand up on his hind legs without anything on which to rest his front feet, but after a bit he understood what was wanted of him. Then he remembered how he had seen horses in the green meadow, where he used to live, rear up on their hind legs in play sometimes.

“Why that’s just what I’m doing,” thought Tinkle, and then it came easier for him. He could soon walk half the length of the stable yard on his hind legs, with his forefeet held up in the air.

“That’s three tricks Tinkle can do,” said George in delight as the pony pranced around on his hind legs. “He will soon be able to join a circus.”

“But you won’t let him, will you?” asked Mabel. “You won’t let Tinkle go away, George, I like him too much.”

“And so do I,” answered her brother. “Indeed I won’t let Tinkle go away.”

But one day something sad happened to Tinkle. Mr. and Mrs. Farley with George and Mabel went on a visit to the country, to be gone three days. They did not take Tinkle with them as they had to travel on the train.

“But I guess he’ll be all right until we come home,” said George as he went out to the stable to bid his pet good-by.

“I’ll be here to watch him,” said Patrick.

Two days after the Farley family had gone away Patrick, who slept in rooms over the stable, had to go to the store for some salve for one of the horses that had got a nail in his foot.

It took a little time to make him stand upon his hind legs without anything on which to rest his front feet.

Patrick thought he would be gone only a few minutes, so he left Tinkle outside in the stable yard.

“I guess he will be all right until I come back,” said the coachman.

But it took longer to put up the salve than he had supposed, so he was nearly half an hour away from the barn. And there was no one in the house, for the cook and maid had also gone away on visits when the family left.

And in that half hour something happened. Two men drove a big, empty moving van down the street past the Farley house. In the side-yard was an old-fashioned pump and, seeing it, one of the men said:

“Let’s stop off and get a drink. It’s a hot day and I’m thirsty.”

“I am too,” said the other man.

They stopped the van in a side street near the stable yard, and pumped some water for themselves. Tinkle walked over near the fence and looked at the men, for he was a bit lonesome.

“That’s a fine pony,” said one of the men, wiping off the drops of water from his mustache.

“He sure is,” agreed the other. “Look at him making a bow; would you!”

For just then Tinkle took it into his head to do one of his tricks. He had not done any in two days because George was away.

“Say, he’s smart!” exclaimed the biggest man, who had red hair.

“He is that. Look at him jump!” for Tinkle did his second trick then. He was showing off, you see.

The two men talked together in low voices. They looked toward the house and saw that it was closed. No one was about. Patrick was down at the drugstore and no one was near the stable.

“We could easily put him in the moving van,” said the red-haired man. “He isn’t heavy.”

“But what would we do with him after we took him?” asked the shorter of the two men.

“Why, a trick pony like him is worth money. We could sell him for a hundred dollars, maybe. Let’s take him. No one will see us.”

Of course it was not right for the men to plan to take Tinkle away, but they did, just the same.

“Come here, pony!” called one of the men, and he whistled. Tinkle came closer, for George had taught him to come at the sound of a whistle to get a lump of sugar.

But the men had no sugar for Tinkle. Instead they opened the gate to the stable yard, and led Tinkle out by his mane. The pony went along willingly enough, for he was not afraid of men. None of them had ever hurt him, so he had no reason to be afraid.

“Lead him right out to the van,” said the red-haired man, “and we’ll toss him in. No one will see him in there.”

Before Tinkle knew what was happening he was led out of the yard, to the side street, and suddenly the two men lifted him up and tossed him right inside the big empty moving van, which could easily have held two or three big horses, to say nothing of several ponies as small as Tinkle.

Tinkle was not much bigger than a very big dog, and the men, being strong (for they could lift a piano) had no trouble in lifting the pony from the ground. Into the van they tossed him, and he fell down, but, as it happened, there was a pile of soft bags there so he was not hurt.

But he was much frightened when the men banged shut the big end doors. Then Tinkle felt himself being taken away. He was shut up inside the dark wagon and could see nothing.

Poor Tinkle!

CHAPTER IX TINKLE IN THE CIRCUS

“What does all this mean?” thought Tinkle to himself as he got up off the pile of bags in the moving van, and tried to stand. But he found that the motion of the big wagon, as it was rapidly driven away, toppled him about so that it was easier to lie down than to stay on his feet.

So Tinkle stretched out on the bags and tried to think what it all meant. His eyes were getting used to the dark now, and he could see, dimly, that he was in some place like his box stall. Only it was not as nice, and Tinkle could not smell any sweet hay or oats.

“I wonder if they can be taking me where George is?” thought Tinkle, for he had greatly missed the little boy and his sister who were accustomed to ride him or drive him about.

On and on went the moving van with Tinkle locked inside. The horses pulling the big wagon of course did not know they were taking a little pony away from his home. Even if they had known there was nothing they could have done. Poor Tinkle felt very sad and lonely. It was the first time anything like this had ever happened to him.

Up on the seat the two men were talking.

“Well, we got that trick pony all right,” said the red-haired one.

“Yes, but if the folks who own him find out we have him they’ll have us arrested,” said the short man.

“Oh, they’ll never find out. No one saw us take him, nobody but us knows he’s in this van and we’ll soon be far enough away. We can make money on this pony.”

On and on the moving van rumbled, farther and farther away, and pretty soon Tinkle, locked inside, began to feel hungry. He got up, intending to go about looking for something to eat. But the van tossed and tilted about so on the rough road that Tinkle was thrown against the side and bruised.

“I guess I had better stay lying down,” he said. “But I am very thirsty!”

It was hot, shut up inside the big wagon, and Tinkle thought longingly of the trough of cool drinking water in the stable yard and wished he were back there.

The men who had taken Tinkle away made the horses drawing the van hurry along, so they were soon out of the city where the Farleys lived. They drove along a country road and, just as night was coming on, they came to another city where they had their stable, and where they kept the van.

“Well, let’s see how the pony stood the trip,” said the red-haired man as he opened the big end doors.

“He seems to be all right,” replied the other. He held up a lantern and looked inside. Tinkle got up from his bed on the old bags. He saw the open doors and he smelled hay and oats, though the smell was not as good as that which came from his stable at home.

“Lift him out, and we’ll put him in one of the stalls,” said the red-haired man.

But Tinkle did not wait to be lifted out. He knew how to jump, and, giving a leap, he was quickly on the ground. Then, as he did not like the place where he was, nor the men who had taken him from his nice home, Tinkle tried to run away.

But the men were too quick for him. One of them caught him by the mane and the other by the nose, pinching so that it hurt Tinkle.

“Look out! He’s a lively chap!” cried the short man. “He wants to get away.”

“Yes. We must put a halter on him and tie him in the stall,” said the other.

Tinkle again tried hard to get away, but could not. If he had been a big, strong horse he might have broken loose from the men. But, as I have said, he was not much bigger than a large Newfoundland dog. The men easily held him and led him into the barn.

This stable was not at all like the nice place in which Tinkle had lived when he was the pet of George. The straw on the floor was not clean, and when Tinkle was given a pail of water, after he had been tied in the stall, the water was not clean, either. Still Tinkle was so thirsty that he drank it. Then he felt a little better. But oh! how he did want his own, nice, clean box stall.

For now he found himself in an ordinary stall, such as the other horses had. The manger was too high for him to eat from, but one of the men brought a low box and put some hay in it.

“There! he can eat out of that I guess,” said the man. “We’ll likely sell him in a couple of days if we can find some one to buy him. He ought to bring in some money if he can do tricks.”

Poor Tinkle did not understand or pay much attention to this talk. He was too hungry, and, though the hay was not so sweet as that he got at home, still he munched it. Suddenly he heard a voice speaking in a language he understood.

“Hello in there!” was called to him. “Are you a new horse?”

“I’m a pony,” was the answer Tinkle made. “Who are you, if you please?”

“Ha! You’re polite, anyhow, which is more than I can say of some of the horses in this stable,” went on the voice. “Where did you come from, anyhow?”

“I belong to a boy named George,” answered Tinkle. “To George and his sister Mabel. I don’t know where I am, nor why I was brought here. I didn’t want to come. I’d rather be back in my own home.”

“Oh, ho!” exclaimed the voice, and by the light of a lantern hanging in the stable Tinkle could see that it was a horse in the next stall that was speaking to him. “Oh, ho! If you stay here long you’ll find there are lots of things you don’t want to do. I don’t want to pull a heavy moving van about the streets all day, but I have to,” said the horse, and he gave something like a groan.

“Do all the horses here do that?” asked Tinkle, who felt very sad.

“Most of us,” answered his new friend. “Some horses haul big wagons loaded with hay and feed, and the men don’t give us any too much to eat, either. Sometimes, when I’m drawing a load of hay, I’m so hungry I could just eat nearly all that is piled on the wagon. You won’t like it here a bit.”

“Oh, what’s the use of making trouble?” asked a horse in the stall on the other side of Tinkle. “He’s here, and he’ll have to stay.”

“Yes, I guess he will,” agreed the first horse. “But I don’t see what kind of work he can do. He isn’t big enough to be hitched up with any of us, and, if he was, he couldn’t pull the smallest moving van the men have.”

“I can pull a pony cart!” said Tinkle who did not like the other horses to think he was of no use in the world.

“Ha! Pony cart!” exclaimed one horse whose hide was covered with mud. “You’ll find no pony carts around here! Dump carts, more likely. I’ve been hauling dirt in dump carts all day long, until I’m so tired I can hardly stand. And there’s a big sore on my back, too!”

“I’m sorry for that,” said Tinkle kindly. “If Patrick were here he’d put something on it to make it better.”

“Who’s Patrick?” asked the dirt-cart horse. “Is he one of us?”

“Patrick is the coachman who taught me to do tricks for George, the little boy,” answered Tinkle, and he felt rather proud as he said this.

“Tricks, is it?” laughed the horse who had first spoken. “You’ll have no time for tricks here. You must belong in a circus. Tricks indeed!”

“I wish I could go to a circus!” said Tinkle eagerly. “I’ve heard about Tum Tum, the jolly elephant. He is in the circus.”

“Well, eat your supper and be thankful for what you have,” said the dump-cart horse. “I hope they don’t work me so hard to-morrow. If they do I’ll try to run away, though that isn’t much use,” and the horse kept on with his supper of hay.

Tinkle was very sad and lonesome. It was not at all nice in the stable where he was tied. It was dirty, and did not smell good. The horses around him, though kindly, were poor, hard-working animals, and were not like the sleek Prince and other horses in Mr. Farley’s stable. The men who owned the work horses seldom took the time to use the currycomb or brush on them. If a horse fell down in the dirt, as they often did from pulling too heavy loads, the dirt stayed on until it dried and blew off.

For several days Tinkle was kept tied in the stable. The men could not use him on any of their heavy wagons and there was no time for him to do his tricks, and no pony cart for him to ride children about in. Poor Tinkle felt very bad, and many, many times he wished himself back in his old home.

As best he could, in his stall, Tinkle practiced the tricks he had learned from George and Patrick. He bowed and he did a little jumping, but not much, as his stall was too small. And one day, when Tinkle was practicing his bowing trick, the red-haired man suddenly happened to come into the stable.

“Oh, ho!” he cried. “I forgot about that pony doing tricks! We must try to sell him and get the money. I wonder who would buy him?”

“I know,” said the other man, coming into the stable just then.

“Who would?” asked the red-haired man.

“The circus people,” was the answer. “The big circus which came to the city to-day. I have been down on the circus lot just now with a load of hay for the elephants. I saw some little ponies there, and I asked one of the circus men if they ever bought extra ones. He said they did sometimes, and he said they needed a new trick pony just now as one of theirs is sick.”

“That may be just the chance we’re looking for!” cried the red-haired man.

“Good,” said the other. “We’ll take this pony to the circus and sell him.”

Through the city streets one of the men led Tinkle and before long the pony heard music playing. He looked up and saw the big white tents and the gay fluttering flags.

“Oh, this must be the circus Dido, the dancing bear, told me about,” Tinkle said to himself. “I wonder if I shall meet Tum Tum, the jolly elephant?”

“Here’s the trick pony my partner was telling you about,” announced the red-haired man to a man who came out of a tent where many ponies and horses were eating their dinners.

“Can he do any tricks?” asked the circus man.

“Well, I’ve seen him make bows and jump. I don’t know what else he can do.”

“I’ll soon find out,” stated the circus man. “He looks like a good pony. I’ll buy him of you.”

So after some talk, the money was paid over and then Tinkle belonged to the circus.

“I wonder what will happen to me now,” thought Tinkle, and very many strange things were to happen. I am going to tell you about them.

CHAPTER X TINKLE AND TUM TUM

“Well, come along now, pony. I’ll see how many tricks you know and how many I can teach you.”

It was the circus man who had bought Tinkle who was speaking, but Tinkle was so taken up with looking about him, at the strange sights all round that he did not at first listen.

“Come along!” called the man again, and then Tinkle heard a whistle. This time he turned around quickly. For a moment he thought his dear little master George had come for him, but he saw only the circus man, and other strange men and animals all about.

“It must have been the man who whistled to me,” said Tinkle to himself. “I guess, though, he wants me to come with him, as George used to want me to go with him when he whistled. I’ll go.”

So Tinkle followed the man, which was just what the man wanted. He led Tinkle along by the rope made fast to his halter.

“Well, you know something, to start with,” said the circus man, smiling at Tinkle. The pony, of course, did not know what a smile meant, but he did know that the man spoke in kind tones and not sharp and cross as had the moving men, sometimes. Besides the circus man talked to the pony, and the other men had not.

So Tinkle knew by the voice that the man was kind, and he followed him to a little tent where there were many other ponies. In a tent next door were big horses, and they were all either eating hay or oats, or lying down on the straw, for it was not yet time for the circus to begin.

“Here is a new pony I have bought, Tom,” said the first man to one who had charge of the ponies. “He can do a few tricks and I am going to teach him more. Look after him, and clean him off. He doesn’t seem to have been well taken care of.”

“That’s right, Mr. Drake; he doesn’t,” answered Tom. “I’ll take good care of him, though.”

Poor Tinkle’s hairy coat was in a sad state. It was dirty and bits of hay and straw clung to it. Also his mane and tail were tangled. Tinkle had been kept very clean by Patrick and George, but the moving men spent no time on the pony they had stolen.

“First to clean you up,” said Tom, talking to himself, but also, in a way, speaking to Tinkle. “Then we’ll see about your tricks. Mr. Drake is a good pony teacher.”

Though Tinkle could understand very little of this talk, yet, somehow, he felt happier than he had in a long while—in fact since he had been taken away from George.

With a brush, a currycomb, and a cloth Tom cleaned Tinkle’s hairy coat until it began to shine and glisten almost as it had when he lived in the nice Farley stable.

“That will do for a while,” said Tom. “Now I’ll get you something to eat. Come along, pony,” and he whistled just as George used to do. Tinkle liked to hear a clear, cheerful whistle.

Tinkle was tied in the tent with the other ponies. His stall was just a place between two ropes, and his manger made of canvas, for the tent, and everything in it, had to be moved from place to place as the circus traveled, and wooden stalls, such as are in barns, would never do. In the manger were some hay and oats. Tinkle began to eat hungrily. It was almost as good as being home again.

“Well, where in the world did you come from?” asked a pony on Tinkle’s left side.

“Yes, tell us about yourself,” added another on the right side. “You are a stranger. I never saw you in the circus before.”

“I just came to-day,” said Tinkle, after he had swallowed some of the hay and oats. “I never was with a circus before. Is it nice?”

“Oh, it’s lots of fun,” said the pony on the left, whose name was Tiny Tim. “It’s jolly!”

“We have great times doing tricks,” said the pony on Tinkle’s right, and his name was Prancer. “We do lots of tricks. Can you do any, Tinkle?” for the new pony had told his name.

“I can make a bow, jump over a rope and walk on my hind legs.”

“Those are all good tricks,” said Tiny Tim, “but you will have to learn many more if you are to stay with this circus.”

“I guess the man they call Mr. Drake will teach Tinkle tricks,” remarked Prancer. “He taught me all I know. Why, would you believe,” he went on, “when first I joined the circus I couldn’t do a single thing!”

“Can you do many tricks now?” asked Tinkle.

“I should say he could!” cried Tiny Tim, with a laughing whinny. “He is the best trick pony in the circus!”

“Oh, not the best,” protested Prancer modestly. “I can do a few tricks, it is true, but—”

“Now you let me tell!” interrupted Tiny Tim, laughing. “You can jump over a barrel, stand up on a platform on your hind legs and turn around, you can pick up different colored flags, count, add up numbers on a blackboard and take letters from the post-office.

“Well, yes, I can do those things,” said Prancer.

“My! What a lot of tricks!” cried Tinkle. “I wonder if I shall ever be able to do even half that many?”

“Of course you will,” said Prancer kindly. “You wait; Mr. Drake will teach you as he taught me.”

All this while many things were going on about the circus grounds. The big tents had been put up, the animal cages wheeled in, the clowns were painting their faces in such funny ways to make the boys and girls laugh, and the big, golden wagons were being made ready for the parade. A band was playing, the pretty flags were blowing in the wind, and, altogether, the circus was such a nice place that, for the first time in a long while, Tinkle felt happy. But when he thought of George and the nice home he had been taken from he felt sad.

“Still, this is much better than being kept in the dirty stable,” thought the trick pony. “Maybe I’ll see George some day.”

Tom, the man who had cleaned and fed Tinkle, came running into the ponies’ tent.

“Come on now!” he cried. “Lively everybody!”

All at once some other men began taking down, off pegs in the tent poles, red blankets, strings of bells, gaily colored plumes and harness.

“What is going on?” asked Tinkle.

“Oh, they are going to dress us up, and hitch us to a little golden wagon to go in the parade,” said Prancer.

“Do you think I am to go?” asked Tinkle.

“I think not this time,” answered Tiny Tim. “You see you don’t know much about a circus yet, and you might be frightened by the big crowds and the noise. Then, too, you wouldn’t know how to pull the golden chariot in which a lady rides, dressed up like a fairy princess.”

“Oh, that must be fine!” cried Tinkle.

“It is. But you’ll be in it soon, so don’t worry,” put in Prancer. “We’ll be back by noon.”

The men hitched up the ponies and led them out of the tent to where the golden chariot stood.

“This new pony is a very pretty one,” said the man Tom to one of his helpers. “When he is trained he’ll go in the parade too.”

Tinkle felt a little sad when his pony friends left him alone in the big tent, but still he had plenty to eat and a clean place to stay, and he knew they would come back soon. Tinkle saw a boy coming toward him with a pail of water, and, for a moment, the pony thought the boy might be George. But he was not.

“I wonder if I shall ever see George, Mabel and nice Patrick again?” thought Tinkle. “I would just love to be in my nice home once more, even though I like the circus.”

Suddenly Tinkle heard some one call:

“Look out! Here come the elephants!” and the ground seemed to rumble and shake as it did when there was a heavy thunder storm.

“Elephants? Elephants?” said Tinkle to himself. “Where have I heard that word before?” Then he remembered. “Oh, now I know,” he said. “Dido, the dancing bear, told me about them.”

Tinkle looked from his tent. Near him, just outside, were ten big elephants with gay silk blankets on their backs. And, as Tinkle looked, he saw one funny elephant slyly reach out his trunk and pull the tail of the elephant in front of him. Then the funny elephant looked the other way and seemed to be hunting on the ground for a peanut.

As Tinkle looked he saw one funny elephant slyly reach out his trunk and pull the tail of the elephant in front of him.

All at once it flashed into Tinkle’s head.

“That must be Tum Tum the jolly elephant Dido was telling me about. I’ll ask him.” So he called, in animal talk: “How do you do, Tum Tum?”

“Ha! What’s that? Some one must know me,” answered Tum Tum, for it was he. “Oh,” he went on, “it’s a little pony. But, though I know most of the ponies in this circus, I don’t know you,” and Tum Tum walked a little closer to Tinkle’s tent.

“I heard about you from Dido, the dancing bear,” said Tinkle, as he told his own name. “I never thought I should meet you in this circus, though.”

“Why, how strange!” cried Tum Tum. “Fancy meeting Dido! You must tell me all about him. He and I are very good friends. I was sorry when he went away from the circus. Tell me about him when I come back. I have to go in the parade now,” and Tum Tum, with a jolly laugh and a wink of his eye at Tinkle, marched slowly off with a man seated on his big head.

CHAPTER XI TINKLE IS SAD

“Now, Tinkle, we can have a nice talk,” said Tum Tum, a little later, when he came back from the parade. “Tell me about yourself, how you came to join the circus and, most of all, I want to hear about my old friend Dido.”

So Tinkle told all he could remember; telling first of the beautiful green meadow in which he had once lived, and of George who had taught him a few tricks, and of having been taken away by two men in the big moving van.

Then Tinkle told of having met Dido, of what the dancing bear had said, and of what he had told Tinkle about Tum Tum and Mappo, the merry monkey.

“Is Mappo in this circus?” asked Tinkle, as he finished his little story.

“Yes, and you’ll probably see him in a day or so,” answered Tum Tum.

That afternoon, when the performance was over, Mr. Drake, the man who had bought Tinkle from the man who had stolen him, came to where the pony was lying down in the tent and said:

“Now we’ll see what you know and how much I have to teach you. We will begin with some easy tricks.”

Then began a busy time for Tinkle, not only that day but for a number of days. When the circus was not traveling from one city to another or when a performance was not being held in the tents, Mr. Drake taught Tinkle tricks. Tinkle, the first time it occurred, did not know what was going to happen when, instead of being allowed to go to sleep after the show, he and the other ponies and animals were put in the big railroad cars and the whole train was hauled away by an engine.

Tinkle did not know what was happening but the other ponies told him it was all right, that he would not be hurt, that they were only going to another city to give a show there and that this happened nearly every day or night. Tinkle soon became used to travel, and rather liked it.

It would take too long to tell you how Tinkle was taught to do many different tricks. It was not so easy as at first he had thought it would be, and many times he could not understand what Mr. Drake wanted him to do.

In time he learned how to go to a box, in which were a number of flags or handkerchiefs, of different colors—red, white and blue.

“Bring me a blue flag,” Mr. Drake would say; and though at first Tinkle could not tell one color from another, he soon learned to do so. And he could tell, by hearing the word “blue,” that it was not the red or the white flag the trainer wanted, but the other. So, though Tinkle had no word in his own language for blue, he knew what that sound meant, and for which flag it stood.

“Now, Tinkle, bring me the red flag,” Mr. Drake would say, when the blue one had been dropped at his feet from the pony’s teeth. And Tinkle would pick out the right color. In time he could pick out of the box, and bring to the trainer, any of the three colors, no matter which one was asked for first. Tinkle hardly ever made a mistake.

“Well, now that you know red, white and blue,” said Mr. Drake one day, “suppose we put all three together, and this is what we get, Tinkle,” and he held up the beautiful United States flag, with its stripes of red and white and the white stars on the blue field. “Now, Tinkle when I ask you what flag you love best I want you to bring me from the box this red, white and blue one,” said the trainer, shaking the flag in front of the pony.

It was several days before Tinkle learned to do this trick, but, after a while, he could go to the box, pick out the red, white and blue flags, and then, at the last when the trainer asked the question about loving the flag, Tinkle would trot over to him carrying in his teeth the stars and stripes. Then Mr. Drake petted him and gave him two lumps of sugar, for he had done the trick well.

Nor were these all the tricks Tinkle learned. Mr. Drake taught him how to add and subtract simple numbers that the trainer wrote on a blackboard with chalk. Tinkle could not really add the numbers in his head, but when the trainer wrote down say a 3 and a 4 and said: “Tell me how much that is, Tinkle,” Tinkle would nod his head seven times. He knew Mr. Drake wanted him to nod seven times by the way the trainer spoke and by the words he used. If the sum were eight, on ten or some other number, the trainer would ask the question in a different way. So that Tinkle got to know numbers by listening to the different ways his trainer spoke the words to him, and it really seemed as though the pony could do sums in arithmetic.

Another trick Tinkle learned to do was to get letters from the “post-office.” Mr. Drake had a box made with partitions in it so that it looked like part of a post-office. Into the little squares, into which the big box was divided, the trainer would put cards with the names of different persons written on them—such as “John Jones,” or “Peter Smith” or “Mary Black.”

Each card was always put in the same place, and Mr. Drake taught Tinkle to trot up to the make-believe post-office. Then when asked: “Is there a letter for John Jones,” the pony would take out the right card. Tinkle learned to do this by listening to the different sounds of Mr. Drake’s voice just as happened when the numbers were called. A pony knows the different sounds of words, else how could he know enough to stop when “whoa!” is called, or that he should go when told to “gid-dap!”

“Well, now you know so many tricks, I think I’ll show you off before the people in the big circus tent,” said Mr. Drake one day. And that afternoon Tinkle was led out all alone. A new white bridle was put on him, and around him was put a red strap, on top of which, in the middle of the pony’s back, was fastened a gay, red, white and blue plume.

Tinkle had looked in, but had never been in the big circus tent before, where all the people were seated, and where the band was playing jolly tunes, with funnily painted clowns jumping here and there making the boys and girls laugh. And at first Tinkle was a bit frightened. But he looked over to where Tum Tum, the jolly elephant, was turning a hand organ with his trunk, and Tum Tum called in his pleasant voice:

“Steady there, Tinkle. Don’t be afraid. You’ll do all right.”

Then Tinkle felt better, and Mr. Drake patted him and gave him a lump of sugar before Tinkle had done even one trick.

“We’ll begin with the easy one—make a bow,” said the trainer.

Tinkle bowed his prettiest, and some boys and girls in the front row of seats clapped their hands and laughed. This made Tinkle feel glad, and he looked around, thinking he might see George or Mabel. But neither was in the tent.

Then the pony went through all his tricks—he added and subtracted numbers, he brought letters from the post-office and then he picked out the differently colored flags or handkerchiefs that Mr. Drake called for.

“Now, Tinkle,” said the trainer, after the pony had done some jumping, “tell the people which flag you love the best.”

Tinkle trotted over to the box where a number of flags of different countries had been put. The United States banner was at the bottom, but Tinkle knew that. He nosed around among all the flags until he found the one he knew he wanted, and with that in his teeth he trotted over to Mr. Drake, while the band played “The Star Spangled Banner.”

My! I wish you could have heard the people clap then. And how the boys and girls shouted with joy! They thought Tinkle was just the finest pony they had ever seen. And Mr. Drake patted him and gave him an extra large lump of sugar for behaving so nicely when he first did his tricks in public.

“I told you he’d make a good trick pony,” said Mr. Drake, as Tom led the little animal back to the tent.

“Yes, he’s a dandy!” replied the man. “I’ll give him a good feed of oats for this.”

And when Tinkle was back in his stall Prancer and Tiny Tim talked to him and told him how glad they were that he had done his tricks so well. Tinkle felt happy, for a while.

As the days went on, and the circus traveled from place to place, Tinkle gave many exhibitions of his smartness. He learned new tricks and he could do the old ones much more easily the oftener he practiced them, just as you can with your music lesson.

But though he liked it very much in the circus, Tinkle was sad. His animal friends could tell that by looking at him, and the pony did not eat as well as he had at first.

“Come now, Tinkle, tell me what the matter is,” came a voice behind him one day, and, turning, the pony saw a funny monkey seated in the straw on the ground.

“I am Mappo, the merry chap Tum Tum and Dido told you about,” went on the monkey. “I haven’t had time to come to see you before. I’ve been kept so busy in this circus.”

“Oh, yes, I remember Dido and Tum Tum speaking about you,” said Tinkle. “Thank you for coming to see me.”

“Well, you don’t look very happy over it,” said Mappo. “Come, what is the trouble? Why are you sad? Look at me, I’m merry enough for any one,” and Mappo turned a somersault that made Tinkle laugh in his pony way.

“Come! That’s better,” said Mappo. “Be jolly like Tum Tum. What is the matter, anyhow?”

“Oh, I feel sad when I think of the nice home I was taken from,” said Tinkle. “I miss George and Mabel, and I’d like to be with them again, to let them ride on my back or pull them about in the pony cart. That is why I am sad.”

CHAPTER XII TINKLE IS HAPPY

Mappo, the merry monkey, picked up a long, clean straw and put it in his mouth, almost as a man might do with a toothpick. Mappo sat chewing on the straw and looking at Tinkle.

“Tell me about that nice home where you used to live, little pony,” said Mappo. “Maybe it will make you feel better to talk about it.”

“I think it will,” sighed Tinkle. “Oh, I just love to talk about George and Mabel, they were so good and kind to me! And so was Patrick, the coachman.”

So Tinkle told Mappo the story of his home and of his having been taken away in the moving van.

“Those were queer adventures,” said Mappo. “Almost as queer as those I had.”

“Did you have adventures, too?” asked Tinkle.

“Indeed I did,” answered the merry monkey, and he told his story of having once lived in the jungle-forest and of how he had been caught and put in the circus.

“I had so many adventures,” said Mappo, “that a man put them in a book, as he did those of Tum Tum, Dido and some other animals. Maybe you’ll be put in a book, too, Tinkle.”

“Oh, nothing like that will ever happen to me!” said the trick pony. But that only goes to show we never can tell what is going to happen in this world, doesn’t it? For Tinkle is in this very book you are reading. And how surprised he was when he heard about it and saw his pictures!

But now we will leave him talking to Mappo, if you please, and go back to where George and Mabel live. You will remember that Patrick, the coachman, had gone to the store for salve for one of the horses, and that George and Mabel, with their father and mother, were visiting in the country.

When Patrick came back with the salve the first thing he noticed was that Tinkle was not in his stall.

Patrick searched all around for Tinkle, but, of course, could not find him. He asked the people living in neighboring houses, but none of them had seen Tinkle go away, because the men shut him up inside the moving van, you see. Some persons had seen the big wagon near the stable but none had seen Tinkle put into it.

Patrick even got a policeman and a fireman, whom he knew, to look for Tinkle, but they could not find him. And when, a day or so later, Mr. and Mrs. Farley came back from the country, with George and Mabel, the two children cried when told that Tinkle was gone.

“I think I must cheer them up a bit,” said Mr. Farley to his wife one afternoon. “They are thinking too much about Tinkle. I must take their minds off him.”

“How will you do it?” asked Mrs. Farley.

“A circus is coming to town to-morrow,” said her husband. “I’ll take the children to see that, and when they watch the funny monkeys, the queer clowns and the big elephants they will forget about Tinkle.”

So, when the big show with the white tents came to the city where the Farleys lived, George and Mabel were taken with their father to see the wonderful sight.

“Do you think there’ll be any ponies in the circus?” asked George.

“Why, yes, maybe,” answered Mr. Farley. “Why?”

“I’m not going to look at them,” said Mabel.

“Nor I,” added George. “They’d make me think too much of our Tinkle.”

On the way to the circus with their father, Mabel and George passed through a part of the city where there were not many houses, and in what few homes there were poor people lived.

Many of them owned goats, some for the milk they gave, for the milk of goats is almost as good as that of cows.

“Oh, see that big goat!” cried George as they passed a small house, on the rocks behind which a goat was jumping about. “Look how easy he jumps!”

“You may well say that!” exclaimed a pleasant-faced Irish woman at the front gate. “Sure, Lightfoot is the most illigint goat that ever was.”

“Is Lightfoot his name?” asked Mr. Farley.

“Sure an’ it is, for it fits him well. He’s that light on his feet you’d never know he was jumpin’ at all. Ah, he’s a fine goat.”

“I had a fine pony once,” said George, “but somebody took him away.”

“That’s too bad,” said the Irish woman, whose name was Mrs. Malony. “Sure but I’d like to see any one, not a friend, try to take Lightfoot away. He’d butt ’em with his horns.”

“Isn’t it too bad Tinkle didn’t have horns?” sighed Mabel, as she walked on.

“A pony with horns would be a funny one,” said her brother.

I wish I had time to tell you all that George and Mabel did at the circus and the many things they saw, from Tum Tum the jolly elephant to Mappo the merry monkey. They laughed at the clowns, ate popcorn and peanuts, giving some to the elephants, feeding a whole bag of peanuts to Tum Tum, though they did not know his name. But they were sure he was nice because he looked at them in such a funny, jolly way.

“Oh, look at the ponies!” cried Mabel, as the little horses trotted into the middle ring. There was Prancer and Tiny Tim, as well as others, and they were going to do their tricks.

“They are nice ponies,” said George, glancing at them, even though he and Mabel had said they would not look. “But not one of them is as nice as Tinkle.”

The ponies went through their tricks, doing their very best, and then, when the time came, Tinkle himself was led in to do his tricks alone, as of late he always did. Mabel and George were looking the other way just then, watching a man turn a somersault over the backs of Tum Tum and some other elephants, and at first they did not see Tinkle. But as George turned in time to watch the trick pony take the United States flag out of the box, and bring it to Mr. Drake the little boy cried:

“Oh, Mabel! See that pony!”

“Which one?” asked the little girl.

“There,” and George pointed. “Doesn’t he look just like Tinkle? He has four white feet and a white star on his head. Mabel, see, isn’t he just like our pony? Why—why!” cried George, standing up in his seat, and very much excited, “it is Tinkle! Oh, Mabel, it is Tinkle!”

“I—I believe it is,” said the little girl slowly.

Persons sitting near the children looked at them, and then at the pony. Mr. Farley, too, was staring at the little trick horse.

“I wonder if it could be Tinkle?” he asked himself.

George was sure he was right—so sure that he jumped from his seat and rushed into the ring where the pony had just finished his tricks.

“Tinkle! Tinkle!” said George. “It is you, isn’t it? And you know me, don’t you?”

Tinkle knew his little master at once though it was several months since he had seen him. The pony trotted across the ring, and while the trainer, the circus folk, and the people in their seats looked on in wonder, George threw his arms around the pony’s neck.

Tinkle whinnied. That was the only way he could talk our language, but it meant he was glad to see George again—very glad indeed.

“Oh, Tinkle, Tinkle!” cried the happy little boy. “I’ve found you again! I’ve found our Tinkle!”

George threw his arms around the pony’s neck.

“What does this mean?” asked Mr. Drake. “Do you say this is your pony? I bought him for the circus.”

“Yes, Tinkle is my pony,” cried George. “Mine and Mabel’s. I taught him some tricks, too. Make a bow, Tinkle.” And Tinkle did.

“Well, this is very strange,” said the trainer. “He minds you and does tricks for you. But I bought him of a man, and—”

“Perhaps I can explain,” said Mr. Farley, coming into the ring with Mabel, who not only put her arms around Tinkle’s neck but kissed him on his white star. And Tinkle rubbed his soft nose against her soft cheek. “This looks very much like my little boy’s pony, that was stolen from our stable some time ago,” went on Mr. Farley, and he told of having bought Tinkle at the stock farm.

“Well, I guess you’re right, and it is your little boy’s pet,” said the circus man, after Tinkle’s story had been told by Mr. Farley. “I didn’t like the looks of the man from whom I bought the pony, but I never thought he had stolen Tinkle.”

There was no doubt that Tinkle belonged to George. You could tell that by watching how glad the pony was to see his master again. The people in the audience thought it was all part of the circus, and laughed as Tinkle followed George about the ring.

The circus man was sorry to lose Tinkle but, as he said he had no right to him, he agreed to let George and Mabel have the pony back.

“And may we take him now?” asked George eagerly.

“Yes, I guess so,” said Mr. Drake. “There is an old pony cart in one of the tents. You can drive Tinkle home in that and send the cart back by your coachman. But you may keep Tinkle.”

“And we’ll never let him go away again,” said George.

“Never!” cried his sister. “We’ll keep him forever.”

A man took Tinkle away to harness him to the pony cart. Tinkle had a chance to say good-by to Mappo and Tum Tum.

“So you are going back to your old home,” observed the monkey. “I am glad, for you never would have been happy here in the circus, though it just suits me.”

“And me, also,” added Tum Tum, the jolly elephant. “If you see Dido, the dancing bear,” he went on, “tell him to hurry back. We are lonesome without him.”

“I will!” cried Tinkle, who was so excited he could hardly wait to be harnessed. He was very eager to be with George and Mabel again.

The circus men patted the pony, for they liked him. Tinkle called good-by to Tum Tum, Mappo and all his animal friends, and then, the pony cart being ready, he trotted home with Mr. Farley, George and Mabel.

“There is that funny goat, Lightfoot, again,” said George as they passed the home of Mrs. Malony.

“Yes,” said Mabel. “I like him. I wonder if we will ever see him again?”

And they did, several times; and you may read about it in the book to come after this, which will be called: “Lightfoot, the Leaping Goat: His Many Adventures.”

You may well imagine how surprised Mrs. Farley and Patrick were to see the children come driving home with the long-lost Tinkle.

“We found him in the circus!” cried George.

“And he can do ever so many more tricks,” said Mabel, laughing.

“You ought to see him find the flag!” added her brother, and they began to make Tinkle do some of his new circus tricks. So while the children are doing that, and telling their mother how they found Tinkle again, this will be a good chance for us to say good-by to the trick pony.

THE END

GOOD STORIES FOR CHILDREN

(From four to nine years old)

THE KNEETIME ANIMAL STORIES

By RICHARD BARNUM

In all nursery literature animals have played a conspicuous part; and the reason is obvious, for nothing entertains a child more than the antics of an animal. These stories abound in amusing incidents such as children adore, and the characters are so full of life, so appealing to a child’s imagination, that none will be satisfied until they have met all of their favorites—Squinty, Slicko, Mappo, and the rest.

Cloth, Large 12mo., Illustrated.

BARSE & HOPKINS
Publishers
Newark, N. J.            New York, N. Y.