“I hope you feel at home now, Pat?” said the little terrier.
“Stunnin’.”
“And you like your quarters? I say, Pat, you’re the best fellow I ever saw in my life. Such a racer—such a catcher—” and for answer, Pat, who was tired out, had laid down to rest, snored “stunnin’.”
SNOWIE AND BOB.
Snowie and Bob were quiet.
It was the end of the season at Burney, and already many of the ponies had left the sands to earn a winter living with the farmers round about. “Or do odd jobs,” Jenkins said, anything, in fact, till summer came round again, and they might go back to Burney and help to earn money by riding children up and down the sands at so much an hour or less.
“I wonder if I shall go to my coughy old gentleman this winter,” began Snowie. “I’ve been with him two winters already, and although he is awfully wheezy, and limpy, he’s easier to manage than wriggly children. Still I am sorry the summer is over. What say you, Bob?”
Riding Children up and down on the Sands.
“Well, yes,” answered the brown pony.