It stopped snowing at last and the weather turned clear and crisp. The
sun came out. And so did Johnnie Green, riding on Twinkleheels. He did
not get far from the barn, however. Where the snow wasn't piled in
drifts high above Twinkleheels' head it reached up on his fat sides. He
floundered about the farmyard for a time. And, falling once, he dumped
Johnnie Green neatly into a drift, head first.
The spill didn't hurt Johnnie in the least. But snow went up the inside
of his sleeves, and down his neck, and into his eyes and ears and even
his mouth.
He jumped up spluttering. And Twinkleheels jumped at the same time. He
tried to run. But he could make little headway in the snow, and Johnnie
caught his bridle rein and stopped him.
"You'd better put that pony back in the barn," Farmer Green called from
the woodshed door. "After I yoke up Bright and Broad and break out the
drive to the road you can ride Twinkleheels again. He might cut himself
in this heavy going."
Twinkleheels sniffed as he heard what Farmer Green said.
"This is all nonsense," he grumbled to the old horse Ebenezer as Johnnie
led him into his stall. "Farmer Green doesn't know what he's talking
about. I'm a hundred times sprier than Bright. And I'm a hundred times
sprier than Broad. That makes me two hundred times sprier than both of
them. It's silly to put me in my stall and take them out. They won't be
able to move. They'll get stuck fast in a drift, and goodness knows how
we'll ever haul them out."
"I shouldn't worry about the oxen if I were you," Ebenezer replied. "It
seems to me Bright and Broad are old enough and big enough to look out
for themselves."
"That's just the trouble!" cried Twinkleheels. "They're too old and
they're too big. They're terribly heavy. If they were stuck in a drift I
don't believe you and the bays could pull them out--not even if I helped
you."
Ebenezer sighed deeply.
"I'm going to sleep now," he told Twinkleheels.