“Don’t you wish you may catch me”, said Boots. “Don’t you wish you may catch me”, as he ran along, leaping and jumping, and holding on by one of the foal’s tails. And when he had got well past the cleft in the rock, the youngest foal said:
“Jump up on my back, my lad, for we’ve a long way before us still.”
So Boots jumped up on his back.
So they went on, and on, a long, long way.
“Do you see anything now”, said the Foal.
“No”, said Boots.
So they went on a good bit farther.
“Do you see anything now?” asked the Foal.
“Oh no”, said the lad.
So when they had gone a great, great way farther—I’m sure I can’t tell how far—the Foal asked again: