“Now,” said the pony, “whatever thing you may see before you, don’t touch it.”
They went on with themselves. He saw a light before him on the high-road. When he came as far as the light, there was an open box on the road, and a light coming up out of it. He took up the box. There was a lock of hair in it.
“Are you going to take up the box?” said the pony.
“I am. I cannot go past it.”
“It’s better for you to leave it,” said the pony.
He took up the box. He put it in his pocket. He was going with himself. A gentleman met him.
“Pretty is your little beast. Where are you going?”
“I am looking for service.”
“I am in want of one like you, among the stable boys.”