“‘Flying! Nothing of the sort. Don’t you feel a jolt when the horse lifts up a foot and puts it down again? I’m mighty glad it is a pacing horse. If it was a trotting horse it would shake us all to pieces.’
“‘Where are we going?’ inquired Sparkle Spry.
“‘Following the army—following the army,’ replied the King of the Clinkers. ‘There’s going to be a big battle not far from here, and we may take a hand in it. The king of the country is a fat old rascal, and isn’t very well thought of by the rest of the kings, who are his cousins; but I live here, and he has never bothered me. Consequently, I don’t mind helping him out in a pinch.’
“‘How far do you have to go?’ asked Sparkle Spry, who had no great relish for war if it was as hard as he had heard it was.
“‘Oh, a good many miles,’ replied the King of the Clinkers, ‘and we are not getting on at all. There’s not enough mutton suet on the knee hinges to suit me.’
“So saying, he struck the bell twice, and instantly Sparkle Spry could feel that the wooden horse was going faster.
“‘Does the horse go by the road or through the fields?’ asked Sparkle Spry.
“‘Oh, we take short cuts when necessary,’ answered the King of the Clinkers. ‘We have no time to go round by the road. I hope you are not scared.’
“‘No, not scared,’ replied Sparkle Spry somewhat doubtfully; ‘but it makes me feel queer to be traveling through the country in a wooden horse.’
“Nothing more was said for some time, and Sparkle Spry must have dropped off to sleep, for suddenly he was aroused by the voice of the King of the Clinkers, who called out:—