“I’m the only horse here, and you are the only dog here, and Tower Tighe is but a small farm.”
“A regular scrap of a place.”
“Well, it appears to me that our whole life will be changed.”
“It will be jollier for both of us, if you mean that,” said Tony. “There will be a friend for you and a companion for me, for if you just ask yourself, Simon, we ain’t—er—quite companions, now are we?”
“You’re such a featherhead, how could you expect to be a what-d’ye-say to me. You never could think of things in the right way.”
“Bah! you’re always repining, and I think life’s far too scrappy to waste it in grumbling. When you take growing-up time off—teething, distemper, and lots of things come to you whether you want ’em or you don’t; then there’s meal times, sleeping, and sometimes you have to take physic—O! my, life’s very short, when you take off all these things. Just see what a glorious morning it is! Whoop, there! I see a rat?”
And off trotted Tony in full pursuit of a rodent which had made for his hole, leaving the little dog to fume and fret and bark himself hoarse all to no purpose.
“That’s Tony to a nicety. There never was such a scamp in this world. But he’s a good-tempered little creature for all that. He’s so nice and frisky. I try, but I suppose I’m growing old. Now, if I was to try to be unselfish and funny, I wonder how I’d feel—Bah! but I will!”
Now as the cart was laden Farmer John sprang up, and the horse that started pulling him was Simon certainly, but what a changed creature was he. He fairly charged the hills instead of crawling up them, and then he took the high road as if he had springs in his hoofs, and his dinner was awaiting him at home.
