“We came right into these thorns,” said Dick, “and have been here ever since.”
“What! can’t you get out?”
“Get out? No. It’s horrible. I’m caught all over, and poor old Shoes just the same. Directly I try to make him stir, he begins to kick, and when he kicks it’s awful. They’re like fish-hooks, and I’m torn to pieces.”
Jack began to laugh.
“Ah, yes, you may laugh,” said his brother; “but you wouldn’t like it.”
“No,” laughed Jack, “but you do look such a jolly old guy stuck up there, I can’t help laughing.”
“But do try and help me out.”
“How?” said Jack.
“Oh, I don’t know. Stand still, Shoes, do! Oh, I say, don’t kick again, pray don’t! Good old horse then.”
Shoes whinnied as his master patted and talked to him, but the thorns pricked him so at even this light movement, that the poor animal stamped angrily, and snorted as he pawed the ground.