[Illustration: He nosed around among all the flags until he found the
one he knew he wanted, and with that in his teeth he trotted over to
Mr. Drake.]
_Kneetime Animal Stories_
TINKLE
THE TRICK PONY
HIS MANY ADVENTURES
BY
RICHARD BARNUM
Author of “Squinty, the Comical Pig,” “Mappo, the
Merry Monkey,” “Tum Tum, the Jolly Elephant,”
“Don, a Runaway Dog,” “Flop Ear, the
Funny Rabbit,” etc.
_ILLUSTRATED BY
WALTER S. ROGERS_
[Illustration]
PUBLISHERS
BARSE & HOPKINS
NEW YORK, N. Y. NEWARK, N. J.
Copyright, 1917
by
BARSE & HOPKINS
Tinkle, The Trick Pony
_Printed in the United States of America_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I TINKLE IN THE SWAMP 7
II TINKLE MAKES TROUBLE 16
III TINKLE AND GEORGE 26
IV TINKLE’S NEW HOME 36
V TINKLE’S FRIENDS 47
VI TINKLE MEETS DIDO 55
VII TINKLE DOES SOME TRICKS 65
VIII TINKLE IS TAKEN AWAY 74
IX TINKLE IN THE CIRCUS 85
X TINKLE AND TUM TUM 94
XI TINKLE IS SAD 103
XII TINKLE IS HAPPY 111
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
He nosed around among all the flags until he found the
one he knew he wanted, and with that in his teeth he
trotted over to Mr. Drake _Frontispiece_
And the next time he did jump high enough to go over the
fence 23
It was the first time Tinkle had ever had any one on his
back 45
“Oh, what a nice pony cart!” cried the boys and girls 59
It took a little time to make him stand upon his hind
legs without anything on which to rest his front feet 81
As Tinkle looked he saw one funny elephant slyly reach
out his trunk and pull the tail of the elephant in
front of him 101
George threw his arms around the pony’s neck 117
TINKLE, THE TRICK PONY
CHAPTER I
TINKLE IN THE SWAMP
Tinkle stopped nibbling the sweet, green grass of the meadow, blew a
long breath from his nose, raised his head and looked around. Then he
blinked his eyes slowly, turned to look first on one side, then on the
other, and to himself he said:
“I’m going to run away!”
He did not say this aloud for fear some of the other ponies or the
horses would hear him. Oh! I forgot to tell you that Tinkle was a
little pony, that lived in the big green meadow; and, being a pony, of
course Tinkle ate grass, and liked it, too.
So, as I said, Tinkle stopped eating the grass and said to himself once
more:
“I’m going to run away!”
The reason Tinkle did not want the other ponies and the horses to know
what he was going to do was because his mother and father were over
in one corner of the meadow, and if they knew he intended to run away,
they would not let him do it; any more than your mother or father would
let you run away.
Of course I know that horses sometimes run away when they are
frightened by something, and I suppose ponies, too, may, once in a
while, trot off when they ought not. But that isn’t saying it is right.
“Yes,” said Tinkle to himself, “I’m going to run away. I’m tired of
staying in this meadow all the while. Why, I’ve been here over a year
now, and there hasn’t a thing happened except a thunder storm now and
then, or a rain shower. I want to see something more than that. I want
to have some fun, and go off to a big city, such as the other horses
tell about.
“Why, there’s Dapple Gray,” went on Tinkle, looking at an old horse who
had come to the green meadow for a long rest. “I’ve heard Dapple tell
stories about drawing a big shiny wagon that spouted fire and smoke
just like the chimney on the house where The Man lives. That was great!
I’d like to pull the kind of wagon Dapple tells about, and hear the
bells ring and see the sparks fly and the water spout out on the fire.
I wonder what kind of wagon it was?”
Of course _you_ have guessed. It was a fire engine that Dapple Gray had
pulled, and he never tired of telling the other horses about it.
Tinkle used often to listen to the stories Dapple Gray and the other
horses told as they gathered in the shade of the clump of trees in the
green meadow after their dinner or their breakfast of sweet, green
grass.
For Tinkle lived on what is called a stock farm, not far from a big
city. The farm was owned by a person whom the horses called “The Man.”
Really his name was John Carter and he raised horses and ponies to sell
to other men.
Mr. Carter liked his horses very much, and was very kind to them, and
he loved his little ponies, of whom Tinkle was one. The ponies and the
horses lived in a warm barn in the Winter, but in the Summer they were
“turned out to grass,” and could walk or run all over the big meadow,
and do almost as they pleased.
Sometimes men would come to the stock farm to buy horses. They might
want one to pull a coal wagon or a wagon from which vegetables were
sold. Some of the horses, like Dapple, were used to haul fire engines,
while others pulled fine carriages in which rode men and women. The
ponies were sold, too, but they were only put to such easy work as
carrying boys and girls around on their backs, or pulling little
carriages in the parks.
“But nothing like that ever happened to me,” said Tinkle as he began
slowly to walk away. “So I’m going to run off, as far as I can go, and
maybe I’ll have some adventures like Dapple Gray.”
Tinkle had eaten plenty of the sweet, green grass, so he was no longer
hungry. He did not need to take anything to eat with him when he ran
away. In the first place ponies have no pockets in which to carry
anything, though, of course, if they are hitched to a wagon, that would
hold corn, hay or oats which ponies like to eat.
But, as for that, all round in the meadow where Tinkle lived was grass
to eat. He had only to stop and nibble some when he was hungry, so he
had no need to carry anything with him.
“There is more here than I could eat all Summer,” thought the little
pony. “And when I get tired of running away I can just rest myself, eat
grass and then run on some more.”
Though Tinkle called it “running away” he was really walking. Just as
some children do when they start to run away, they don’t run at all,
but walk.
One reason why Tinkle did not care to run was that he did not want his
father, mother or the other ponies or the horses to see him. They
might not notice him if he just walked, but if he started to run some
one would be sure to ask:
“Why, where is that Tinkle pony going now?”
And then Tinkle’s mother would look up and say:
“Oh, dear! That silly little pony will get into trouble! I must go and
bring him back.”
Then she would run after Tinkle, and all his fun would be spoiled. Of
course the ponies and horses in the meadow used often to run about,
kick up their heels and roll over and over on their backs in the soft
grass. But this was only because they felt so good and frisky and
lively that they simply could not do anything else.
But when the colts ran that way, they nearly always went around in a
circle, like a merry-go-round, only bigger, and the father and mother
horses thought nothing of that.
“I’m not going to run that way,” said Tinkle to himself. “I’m going far
off.”
By this time he was quite away from the other horses. But, as he looked
back, he saw them all standing in a circle with their noses close
together. Dapple Gray was in the center of the ring, and Tinkle’s
father and mother were among those on the outside.
“Dapple is telling another story about how he drew the funny wagon with
the chimney on,” thought Tinkle. “I don’t want to hear that again.”
Ponies and horses, you know, can talk among themselves and think, just
as we can, only, of course, they can’t think quite as much perhaps,
nor as hard. But if they could not talk among themselves how could the
mother pony tell the little pony what was good to eat and what not? So,
though horses and ponies can’t talk to us in words as we talk to one
another, they do speak among themselves.
You have often heard horses and ponies whinny, I suppose; and perhaps
that is when they are trying to talk to us, though I must say I never
could understand what they were trying to say. Perhaps some day I may.
At any rate Tinkle was thinking to himself, as he slowly wandered
across the meadow. He was thinking what wonderful things might happen
to him――adventures and travels.
On and on he wandered, looking back now and then to make sure neither
his father nor his mother nor any of the others saw him. But they were
listening to Dapple Gray tell of once falling down in the street while
drawing the fire engine and how nearly a trolley car ran over him.
And the other horses liked the story so much that none of them thought
of Tinkle, or looked at him. They listened to Dapple Gray.
The other young ponies, many of whom were about the size of Tinkle,
were down at the far end of the meadow, having a game of what you
would, perhaps, call tag, though what the ponies called it I do
not know. Probably they had some funny name among themselves like
“hoof-jump” or “tail-wiggle,” or something like that.
Anyhow, they were having so much fun among themselves that none of them
paid any attention to Tinkle.
“They won’t see me at all,” thought the little pony. “I’ll run away
where they can never find me.”
Of course Tinkle was not doing this to be bad, but he was just tired of
staying in one place so long, and he wanted to have adventures.
On and on he wandered, and finally he came to a fence. Now the fence
was put around the meadow to keep the horses and the ponies from
getting out. But Tinkle had heard stories of horses jumping fences so
he thought he would try it; for he was not strong enough to push down
the fence, as he had once heard of Bellow, the big black bull, doing.
Standing off a little way from the fence Tinkle ran toward it, gave a
jump up in the air, and then――he did not get over the fence. Instead he
fell against it and hurt himself.
“Ha! that is no fun!” thought Tinkle. “I must jump higher next time.”
And the next time he did jump high enough to go over the fence, coming
down on the other side, kerplunk!
“At last I have really run away,” thought the little pony.
He found himself in another green meadow, but it was not as nice as the
one he had left. The grass was longer, but it was hard and tough, and
hurt Tinkle’s mouth and tongue when he chewed it.
“But I don’t have to eat it,” said the little pony. “I can wait until I
get to where there is better grass. I’m not very hungry.”
So he walked on a little farther, and pretty soon he came to some
trees. In and out among them he wandered, and when he stopped to look
back he found that he could no longer see the meadow in which he had
lived so long with his father, his mother and the other ponies and the
horses.
“And they can’t see me, either,” thought Tinkle. “They won’t know where
I’ve gone, so they can’t find me. I’m going to have a good time all by
myself, and there’ll be nobody to say: ‘Don’t do this. Don’t do that’;
as they always do when I’m in the green meadow.”
On and on went Tinkle and soon he was quite a long distance from what
had been his home. Then he noticed that the ground, instead of being
hard and firm under his hoofs, was getting soft and springy, and that
his feet sank down in it a little way. He saw, too, that when he lifted
his hoofs from the marks they left little pools of water in the holes
they made.
“This is queer,” thought Tinkle. “I must be getting near the lake I
have heard my father tell about. I wonder if I can swim?”
Tinkle looked about, and just ahead he saw a puddle of water. It was
too small for a lake, but there was enough of it for him to splash in,
and, as he was now thirsty, he ran on to get a drink. And then a queer
thing happened.
Just before Tinkle reached the water he felt his legs and hoofs sinking
down in the soft ground. He tried to lift his left front foot, but
could not. And his right hind foot was also stuck fast.
“Oh, dear! What has happened to me?” cried poor Tinkle. “I can’t move!”
And really he could not. Tinkle was caught fast in the sticky mud of a
big swamp!