Flaxie had reached out for the reins, but Milly pinched her,—one of those sly pinches that both the cousins understood,—and she folded her little hands to keep them still. She did want to drive this very minute, but she wouldn’t plague Preston.
“Who is going to take care of your pony?” she asked.
They had a boy, Henry Mann, who took care of Whiz and Hiawatha.
“I shall attend to my pony myself,” replied Preston, driving off at high speed.
“Well, you must give him a quart of granary as quick as we get home,” said Miss Frizzle, looking wondrous wise; “Johnny Townsend feeds his pony with granary—a whole quart.”
Preston laughed and chirrupped. He was “just as happy,” there was no doubt about that.
“I guess I’ll call him Blackdrop, wouldn’t you, though?”
The little girls thought it was a queer name, but they said:
“Oh, yes, if you want to call him Blackdrop, I would.”
“It won’t do any hurt,” added Flaxie encouragingly.