"Great green grass!" he cried to Ebenezer. "Is he going to cut my foot off?"
"No, indeed!" Ebenezer answered. "The blacksmith always pares my feet a bit when he fits new shoes. He may have to trim yours a good deal, because you've never worn shoes and your feet have never been pared."
In spite of his resolve to be on his best behavior, Twinkleheels had been tempted to pull his foot from between the blacksmith's knees. And if Ebenezer hadn't explained that he was in no danger of losing a foot there's no knowing what might have happened. Twinkleheels breathed a sigh of relief; and he made not the slightest trouble for the blacksmith, but waited patiently while his little shoes were being hammered into shape.
When the blacksmith took the first one that he made and held it by a pair of pincers against Twinkleheels' hoof there was a quick sizzling. And a horrid smoke arose. Twinkleheels snorted with fear.
"Easy! Easy, boy!" the blacksmith said to him. And old Ebenezer made haste to explain that there was no danger.
"Won't my foot be burned?" Twinkleheels faltered.
"Not enough to do any harm," said Ebenezer. "You don't feel any pain, do you?"
"No!"
"The shoe's not very hot; and the blacksmith wouldn't hold it against your hoof long enough to harm you," Ebenezer assured him.
Twinkleheels wriggled his nose.