“I don’t see Tinkle,” she said.
“Oh, he must be there,” said Tinkle’s father. “I’ll go and look.”
Off he trotted to where the other colts were playing. He looked at them for a little while, but he did not see Tinkle among them.
“That’s queer,” thought the father pony. “Tinkle likes tag so much, I wonder why he isn’t here?”
He stood still, looking more closely, to make sure he had not missed the little pony; but no, Tinkle was not there.
“I’ll ask some of them,” said the father pony to himself. So, giving a loud whinny, to make himself heard above the noise the tag-playing ponies were making, the father pony asked:
“Have any of you seen our Tinkle?”
“No, I haven’t,” said a little brown pony.
“Nor I,” added one who was speckled brown and white.
“I saw him a while ago, eating grass,” answered a third.