"I don't know, exactly," said the Muley Cow. "I never saw Ebenezer's.
But it must have been a fine one, for Farmer Green was always talking
about it."
"A horse's record," Ebenezer explained, "is the fastest time he ever
makes in a race." Then he added, to Twinkleheels: "You and I will have
another race the next time we're in the pasture together."
Twinkleheels gave him an odd look. Somehow Ebenezer did not seem just a
poky old farm horse, as Twinkleheels had always regarded him. For the
first time Twinkleheels noticed that Ebenezer had many good points.
There wasn't a single bunch on his legs. And his muscles showed plainly
as they rippled on his lean frame beneath a coat that was both short and
fine.
"I don't believe I could beat you if we raced a hundred times,"
Twinkleheels blurted.
"Of course you couldn't!" the Muley Cow interrupted again.
"Oh, you might," Ebenezer said. "There'd be no harm in trying, anyhow.
Racing with me would be good practice for you, even if I did win. If
you're going to have a race, don't look for an easy one! Choose a hard
one. That's the kind that will make you do your best."
Twinkleheels thanked him.
"It's very kind of Ebenezer to race with you," the Muley Cow bellowed.
"You ought to feel honored."
"I do," said Twinkleheels. "But please don't talk so loud! I don't want
everybody on the farm laughing at me because I lost a race."
The Muley Cow went into the barn grumbling.
"That pony is a young upstart," she muttered. "The idea of his telling
me not to talk so loud! Ebenezer is altogether too pleasant to him."
Old Ebenezer continued to be agreeable to Twinkleheels. They often raced
in the pasture, later. And though Twinkleheels never won once, he
enjoyed the sport.
And he never called Ebenezer "poky" again.