"Yes, I see," she said; "too much of a good thing. Well, I will tell no more cat stories, and it shall be all horse next Wednesday. Will that suit you, Sammy? And Roy, do you like horses very much?"
"Yes, 'm," said Roy, bashfully.
"He says," said Sammy, rather enjoying the office of spokesman, "when he grows up he means to have a fast trotter. I'd like to own a good horse myself," continued Sam.
"I know a boy about your age," said Miss Ruth, "whose father gave him, for a birthday present, a Canadian pony; a funny looking little beast, not much larger than a big dog, but strong enough to carry double Herbert's weight."
"Like the Shetland ponies at the show?"
"Yes; but larger, and not so costly. He is a thick-set, shaggy fellow, always looking as if he were not half-groomed, with his coat all rough and tumbled, his legs covered with thick hair, his mane hanging on both sides of his neck, and his forelock always getting into his bright little eyes."
"What color?" said Roy.
"Dark brown; not handsome, but so affectionate and intelligent that you would love him dearly. He is as frolicsome as a kitten, and I laughed and laughed again to see him racing round the yard, hardly able to see for the shag of hair tumbling over his eyes, playing queer tricks and making uncouth gambols, more like a big puppy than a small horse. To be sure he has a will of his own, and has more than once—just for fun—thrown his young master over his head; but he always stands stock still till the boy is on his back again, and as Herbert says: 'It is only a little way to fall from his back to the ground.'"
"How fast will he go?" Roy asked.
"Fast enough for a boy to ride. From five to seven miles an hour, perhaps, and keep it up all day, if need be, for the Canadian horses have great strength and endurance. The last time I saw Herbert he told me a pretty story about Elf King."