CHAPTER XXII BACK TO THE HOME STABLE
Wasn't I a happy pony! but alas! what should I do when I was found out.
"I don't care, I don't care," I thought as I pounded along on shoes of joy. "If he flogs me, I'll have blind staggers fit to beat the band. Home and master! Home and young master! I've fooled you, laddie—my master's cousin isn't going to hurt himself when I'm round."
All too quickly, as I pursued my way feeling like a bird on free and careless wing, I tried to catch my bit in my teeth. I had had a frightful jerk. I was found out.
Then I heard a cry of dismay, "That's King of the Glen!"
Now these clever young ones had names for their favourite trees, and unhappily this lad had recognised this monarch of a beechwood grove who had been unkind enough to grow with one of his roots sticking out toward the road like a huge boot, thereby spoiling my otherwise perfect plan.
The boy was sawing my tender mouth and secure in the knowledge that he was alone with me with only wild animals or birds for listeners he was yelling, "Turn round, you little brute!"
I threw a terrible dizzy fit then I began to buck, having once for fun taken lessons from a western pony.