"Ha, ha!" laughed the little old man, showing how very few teeth he had to chatter. "Why, the thirty white horses are your teeth, and the red hill is your gums. Ha, ha!"
"He, he!" laughed Puss. "Gid-ap, my Good Gray Horse. Let us rattle the thirty white horses upon a red hill, let them tramp and champ, but never stand still!" And away went the wagon clattering after the Gray Horse, bumpty-bumpty, bump!
"Hold on!" cried the little old man. "If I have but few teeth, I have old bones! Do you wish to shake me to bits?"
"Whoa!" cried Puss, but the Good Gray Horse evidently thought it great fun, for on he went at a still faster clip. The boards in the bottom of the wagon flew up and down and the wooden seat swayed back and forth. Up and down, bumpty-bumpty, bump! went the little old man.
"Pull him in!" he cried. "Pull on the lines! Don't let your horse run away!"
Puss tugged at the reins, but the Good Gray Horse had the bit between his teeth. He stuck out his head and tail and let his feet fly. Over the stones bumped the wagon, up on one side and then down on the other. Poor Puss had all he could do to keep from falling out, and the little old man clung to the side boards and cried, "Pull on the lines!"
"I am," panted Puss, "but it doesn't do any good."
"Pull harder!" yelled the little old man.
"Can't," replied Puss, now breathless from the bumping of the wagon. "Can't pull one little bit harder."
"Turn him in yonder lane!" screamed the little old man. "That's my lane! It leads into the barnyard."