Jockety jog, jockety jog!
"Jockety jog, jockety jog!
Many a mile this day I've trod.
"Jockety jog, jockety jog!
I'm the milkman's horse, old Naggetty Nogg."
"Are you really?" exclaimed Puss, Jr., looking up into the face of the old white horse. "And is your name 'Naggetty Nogg'?"
"Yes, that's my name," replied the old horse. "You see, every horse is a nag. So in some way or another they got to calling me 'Naggetty,' and then, after a while, they added on the 'Nogg.'"
"Yes, every one has at least two names," replied Puss, "and it is natural that you should have two, just like everybody. I like the name 'Naggetty Nogg' very much. It's quite fine."
"It sounds 'horsy' all right," he answered, giving his tail a sweep to brush off some flies that had settled on his side. "It sounds real horsy."
"And it fits you perfectly," said Puss. "You couldn't have chosen a better name."
"But I didn't choose it," replied the old horse, quickly; "it was given to me. You see, my master and I start out early every morning. First we go to the farm to get the milk. It's so early in the morning that it's quite dark sometimes—that is, in the winter-time. The farmer comes out and opens the milk-house door with his key. The milk is all kept in great big pans in long rows. It's very cool inside, for the milk-house is built over a spring that bubbles away all the time, running out of the old stone milk-house down to the meadows, where the cows drink it and the little fish swim in it. I know, because one time when my right forefoot was hurt they put me out in the meadow and many a good drink I've had from that same little brook. The bottom is all bright little stones, and the ferns hang over the edge of the bank, and the little birds hop down and drink. Oh, it's very pleasant out there in the meadow. I sometimes wish my old foot would go lame again so that I might enjoy the green grass and the cool breezes. But that wouldn't do at all. My master would lose money. He would have to hire another horse. And then, too, I would miss the mothers who come out to get the nice fresh milk from my master. Sometimes they have a baby in their arms and two or three small children hanging on to their skirts. And they always pat my nose and say: