“No, lad, don’t go in there. He might kick you. Not that he’s ugly, but he’s in a strange place, and if you go in he might think you meant to harm him. Better let me do it. I know how to handle that colt.”
The six little Bunkers, with their father and Adam North, stood at one side to allow Mr. Armstrong to enter the truck. In he went, speaking soothing words to the little colt.
“Oh, ho, Bonnie Boy! So you thought you’d hide away and go with the six little Bunkers, did you? None of that! We want you to stay on our farm! So you tried to hide in the straw, did you, Bonnie Boy? Well, come out and I’ll give you a lump of sugar.”
And out of the truck, onto the milk platform, walked Mr. Armstrong, leading by his halter the colt Bonnie Boy, as he was named.
“Oh, isn’t he sweet?” cried Violet. “How old is he and where is his mother and has he any brothers and sisters and——”
“Careful, Vi!” laughingly called her father. “Mr. Armstrong isn’t used to having so many questions fired at him at once.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” laughed the good-natured farmer. “But this is the only little colt I have, and his mother is down in the south pasture. Now you can pet him if you want to,” he added to the children. “He won’t kick when he’s outside here where he can see who is near him.”
Up on the platform, around Bonnie Boy, crowded the six little Bunkers, and the colt rubbed his velvet-like nose against them and whinnied softly.
“And to think I took him for a bear!” laughed Rose, as she stroked the glossy neck of the colt.
“Well, he did look like one,” declared Russ.