“This must be a very nice country to live in then,” said Jack.
“For horses it is,” said the old lady, significantly.
“Well,” said Jack, “it does seem very full of haystacks certainly, and all the air smells of fresh grass.”
At this moment they came to a beautiful meadow, and the old horse stopped, and, turning to the blue-coated woman, said, “Faxa, I think I could fancy a handful of clover.” Upon this Faxa snatched Jack’s cap off his head, and in a very active manner jumped over a little ditch, and gathering some clover, presently brought it back full, handing it to the old horse with great civility.
“You shouldn’t be in such a hurry,” observed the old horse; “your weights will be running down some day, if you don’t mind.”
“It’s all zeal,” observed the red-coated woman.
Just then a little man, dressed like a groom, came running up, out of breath. “Oh, here you are, Dow!” he exclaimed to the red-coated woman. “Come along, will you? Lady Betty wants you; it’s such a hot day, and nobody, she says, can fan her so well as you can.”
The red-coated woman, without a word, went off with the groom, and Jack thought he would go with them, for this Lady Betty could surely tell him whether the country was called Fairyland, or whether he must get into his boat and go farther. He did not like either to hear the way in which Faxa and Dow talked about their works and their weights; so he asked Faxa to give him his cap, which she did, and he heard a curious sort of little ticking noise as he came close to her, which startled him.
“Oh, this must be Fairyland, I am sure,” thought Jack, “for in my country our pulses beat quite differently from that.”
“Well,” said Faxa, rather sharply, “do you find any fault with the way I go?”