Flashing by us after Big Wig was Dovey on a donkey, and my young master just yelled with enjoyment.
"I didn't notice it before," he cried. "Why hasn't she a pony? Oh! isn't he funny with his long ears and that queer tail with so little hair on it?"
"She wanted a donkey," said Cassowary, "and she got it. Dad said, 'Anything you like, children, in the shape of horseflesh.' She just loves her Jack Bray, and I tell you he has speed and endurance in that angular leggy body of his, and you just ought to see him rub her shoulder ever so gently with his creamy old muzzle. He loves her, and she is so good to him. Your Bonnie Prince Fetlar will have to fight for his carrots now," and she put out a hand and stroked me kindly.
"What's Sojer's pony's name, and what kind is he?" asked Dallas.
"He's an Exmoor—climbs banks and leaps ditches like a wild creature."
"What's his name, Cousin?"
"Exmoor Pendennis, but we call him Hendennis because last winter he let Biddy Pilgrim roost on his back all through the cold weather. She's pretty long-headed, and had found out he was a perpetual electric cushion. The men for fun let her sleep in the stable. Henny got to love his Plymouth Rock, and she will never be killed. 'Pon my word! she's running to meet him."
Ponies and horses all this time had been joyfully making their way toward their stable quarters, and Biddy, seeing them entering the farmyard, had singled out the Exmoor and was fluttering excitedly about him.
"And some people say hens have no sense," remarked Dallas.
"Just as much sense as anybody," said Cassowary, who never lost a chance to champion the cause of the lower creation. "Now isn't it pathetic to see Mrs. Biddy pecking the pony's hoofs so lovingly, and now he's putting his head down—he's glad to see her."