Cricket and Eunice saw him first, and were perfectly delighted with him. He was even smaller than their dear Charcoal. After that they were his constant visitors, feeding him with apples and sugar, and petting him till poor little Alexander must have wondered if he had died and gone to the horse-heaven.
Then came the exciting day when the last splinter and bandage were removed, and pony, a little weak and uncertain as to his hoofs, but very frisky as to his head, was brought out into the yard.
Mike, meantime, had had a private interview with papa, and following that, one with Cricket.
The result was, that a very happy little girl raced down to the barn, with Eunice and Dixie close behind.
“Oh, you dear, darling old Mopsie,” Cricket cried out, flinging her arms about his rough little head. “You’re my ownty-donty pony. Eunice has Charcoal, and now I have you,” and she hugged him again and again.
When she released him, what did that cunning pony do but offer her his front hoof to shake!
“Oh, you dear, dear, thing!” she shrieked. “Mike! Mike! see that! he wants to shake hands,” for the pony sociably offered his other hoof.
“Yis, miss,” said proud Mike, grinning from ear to ear. “He’s been a cirkis-pony, and knows a deal o’ tricks, I dessay.”
Eunice dived into the stables, and in a moment reappeared, leading her little snowy Charcoal. The two ponies were a decided contrast—the one so clean, and well-groomed and white, and the other, rough and black, with shaggy, uneven coat.
“Yours is awfully cute,” said Eunice, with an arm over her pony’s neck, “but he can’t compare with my Charcoal. He’s nothing but a circus-pony, after all.”