Before Ebenezer could answer her, Twinkleheels himself spoke up sharply.
"I don't know who you are, madam," he snapped. "But I'd like you to understand that I'm no colt. I'm a pony. And I must say that I think you owe me an apology."
XVII
A WHITE VIXEN
The white mare that the blacksmith was shoeing looked much surprised when Twinkleheels told her he was not a colt.
"Well, well!" she cried. "A pony, eh? Who'd have thought it? Anyhow, you've never been shod in your life. I can tell that by the way you act." And she cackled in a most unpleasant fashion.
"What shall I say to her?" Twinkleheels asked Ebenezer. "She hasn't apologized to me."
"Pay no attention to her," the old horse advised him in an undertone. "She's a low bred person. I've often met her on the road and she always wants to stop and talk. But I hurry past her."
"What are you saying?" the white mare asked in a sour tone. "Are you gossiping about me?" She laid her ears back and showed her yellow teeth.