He felt himself being carried along. Dimly he saw lights, and he felt that he was in a warm place—as warm as the store had been. Then, suddenly, the wrapping papers were taken off him.
"Oh, what a beautiful Rocking Horse!" exclaimed the lady. "I am sure Dick will be pleased. It's the same one I saw in the store. I am glad you got that one!"
Now the White Rocking Horse was still rather dazed and still rather sleepy from his ride in the cold. Or else perhaps he would have been prepared for the surprise in store for him. Dimly he seemed to remember having heard that lady's voice before, and dimly he recalled having seen her before.
Then, when his wrapping papers had been taken off, he was set down on the floor near a warm chimney in rather a bare and cheerless attic, and left to himself in the darkness.
But the White Rocking Horse could see in the dark. And when he knew that no human eyes were watching him he spoke, in the make-believe language of toy land.
"Is any one here—any toy to whom I can talk, and with whom I can have a little fun?" asked the White Horse out loud.
There was no answer for a moment, and then a voice said:
"You can talk to me, if you like, but it has been many years since I have had any fun. I am old and broken and covered with dust."
"Who are you?" asked the White Horse.
"I am an old Jumping Jack," was the answer. "Here I am, over by the chimney."