Every morning, as soon as he had eaten his breakfast, George would run out to the stable to see Tinkle. He would rub the soft, velvety nose of his pet pony, or bring him a piece of bread or a lump of sugar. Sometimes Mabel, too, would come out with her brother to look at Tinkle before she went to school.
“And when we come back from school we’ll have a ride on your back,” said George, waving his hand to Tinkle.
A few days after he had been brought to his new home Tinkle had been taken to a blacksmith’s shop and small iron shoes had been fastened to the pony’s hoofs.
At first Tinkle was afraid he was going to be hurt, but he thought of what Dapple Gray and the other horses had told him and made up his mind—if ponies have minds—that he would stand a little pain if he had to. But he did not. The blacksmith was kind and gentle, and though it felt a bit funny at first, when he lifted up one of Tinkle’s legs, the pony soon grew used to it.
It felt queer, too, when the iron shoes were nailed on. And when Tinkle stood on his four newly shod feet he hardly knew whether he could step out properly or not. But he soon found that it was all right.
“I’m taller with my new shoes on than in my bare hoofs,” said Tinkle to himself, and he was taller—about an inch I guess. The clatter and clang of his iron shoes on the paving stones sounded like music to Tinkle, and he soon found that it was better for him to have iron shoes on than to run over the stones in his hoofs, which would soon have worn down so that his feet would have hurt.
“Now Tinkle is ready to give us a ride in the little cart!” cried George when his pony had come home from the blacksmith shop.
“Take Patrick with you so as to make sure you know how to drive, and how to handle Tinkle,” said Mrs. Farley, as George and Mabel made ready for their first real drive—outside the yard this time.
George and Mabel got into the pony cart, George taking the reins, while Mabel sat beside him. Patrick, the coachman, sat in the back of the cart, ready to help if he were needed.