He couldn't help smiling a bit.
A scrubby looking white mare who was being shod turned her head and
stared at Ebenezer and his small companion.
"It's easy to see," she exclaimed, "that that colt has never been in a
smithy before. In my opinion he ought to be at home with his mother.
This is no place for children."
Before Ebenezer could answer her, Twinkleheels himself spoke up sharply.
"I don't know who you are, madam," he snapped. "But I'd like you to
understand that I'm no colt. I'm a pony. And I must say that I think you
owe me an apology."
XVII
A WHITE VIXEN
The white mare that the blacksmith was shoeing looked much surprised
when Twinkleheels told her he was not a colt.
"Well, well!" she cried. "A pony, eh? Who'd have thought it? Anyhow,
you've never been shod in your life. I can tell that by the way you
act." And she cackled in a most unpleasant fashion.
"What shall I say to her?" Twinkleheels asked Ebenezer. "She hasn't
apologized to me."
"Pay no attention to her," the old horse advised him in an undertone.
"She's a low bred person.
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