My feet went up and down.
As o’er the road I trotted off
The children sang with joy,
But that was in the Long Ago
When I was but a boy.
It’s seldom now I take them out
Or hear their merry, happy shout!”
“Don’t feel sad,” begged dear Uncle Lucky, “your master is kind and lets you feed on the meadow grass. You don’t have to pull a heavy cart like many an old horse.”
“That’s true,” replied the Old Brown Horse, a smile spreading over his face. “Maybe I’m a little lonely for the children. They were so bright and happy.”
But, oh, dear me! and oh, dear you! just then Old Man Weasel ran out from under the woodpile.