Old Spot dashed half way across the farmyard, then dropped suddenly and rolled over and over on the ground.
The next instant he was on his feet again and tearing toward the barn. Though Miss Kitty had dropped off his back and was already on her way to the house he did not look around to see what had become of her.
[Spot bolted through the barn door] and scurried into an empty stall, where he jumped into the manger and cowered down in the hay that half filled it, and moaned.
It was the stall next to the old horse Ebenezer's. And that mild fellow peered over at him in wonder. "What has happened?" he inquired.
"The cat scratched me," Spot told him. "I was teasing her and she wasn't at all nice about it."
"What were you doing—pointing at her?" Ebenezer asked him.
"Yes!"
"I suppose it made her wild," the old horse remarked. "And a wild cat is a dangerous creature."
Spot whined fretfully. He wished he could lick his wounds. But how can one lick scratches when they are behind one's ears?
"I was a wild dog for a few moments," he groaned. "I never dreamed she would plump down on me like that."