Standing off a little way from the fence Tinkle ran toward it, gave a jump up in the air, and then—he did not get over the fence. Instead he fell against it and hurt himself.
“Ha! that is no fun!” thought Tinkle. “I must jump higher next time.” [And the next time he did jump high enough to go over the fence], coming down on the other side, kerplunk!
“At last I have really run away,” thought the little pony.
He found himself in another green meadow, but it was not as nice as the one he had left. The grass was longer, but it was hard and tough, and hurt Tinkle’s mouth and tongue when he chewed it.
“But I don’t have to eat it,” said the little pony. “I can wait until I get to where there is better grass. I’m not very hungry.”
So he walked on a little farther, and pretty soon he came to some trees. In and out among them he wandered, and when he stopped to look back he found that he could no longer see the meadow in which he had lived so long with his father, his mother and the other ponies and the horses.
“And they can’t see me, either,” thought Tinkle. “They won’t know where I’ve gone, so they can’t find me. I’m going to have a good time all by myself, and there’ll be nobody to say: ‘Don’t do this. Don’t do that’; as they always do when I’m in the green meadow.”
On and on went Tinkle and soon he was quite a long distance from what had been his home. Then he noticed that the ground, instead of being hard and firm under his hoofs, was getting soft and springy, and that his feet sank down in it a little way. He saw, too, that when he lifted his hoofs from the marks they left little pools of water in the holes they made.
“This is queer,” thought Tinkle. “I must be getting near the lake I have heard my father tell about. I wonder if I can swim?”
Tinkle looked about, and just ahead he saw a puddle of water. It was too small for a lake, but there was enough of it for him to splash in, and, as he was now thirsty, he ran on to get a drink. And then a queer thing happened.