“Oh, look, George!” called the little girl, “there’s that nice goat we saw when we were going to the circus, the day we got back Tinkle, our pony.”
“So it is, Mabel,” answered the boy. “Could we ever have a goat, Daddy?” he asked his father as the pony cart stopped.
“Oh, I guess not,” said the man. “Tinkle is enough for you.” Then to Mrs. Malony, who came to the front gate, he said: “That’s a fine goat you have.”
“Sure an’ you may well say that. You’re the gintleman who went past here a few days ago, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I was on my way to the circus, and it was there we got back my children’s pony which had been stolen.”
“Well, I’m glad you have him back,” said the Widow Malony, with a twinkle in her kind, Irish-blue eyes. “You should have seen Lightfoot leap from the top of the rocks to the roof of me shanty one day.”
“Did he really do that?” asked George.
“He did,” and Mrs. Malony told about it.
Meanwhile Tinkle, the trick pony, of whom I have told you in the book of that name, was having a little talk with Lightfoot.
“Were you really stolen?” asked Lightfoot, when Tinkle told some of his adventures.