“I—I believe it is,” said the little girl slowly.
Persons sitting near the children looked at them, and then at the pony. Mr. Farley, too, was staring at the little trick horse.
“I wonder if it could be Tinkle?” he asked himself.
George was sure he was right—so sure that he jumped from his seat and rushed into the ring where the pony had just finished his tricks.
“Tinkle! Tinkle!” said George. “It is you, isn’t it? And you know me, don’t you?”
Tinkle knew his little master at once though it was several months since he had seen him. The pony trotted across the ring, and while the trainer, the circus folk, and the people in their seats looked on in wonder, [George threw his arms around the pony’s neck].
Tinkle whinnied. That was the only way he could talk our language, but it meant he was glad to see George again—very glad indeed.
“Oh, Tinkle, Tinkle!” cried the happy little boy. “I’ve found you again! I’ve found our Tinkle!”
