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. I've often met her on the road and she always
wants to stop and talk. But I hurry past her."
"What are you saying?" the white mare asked in a sour tone. "Are you
gossiping about me?" She laid her ears back and showed her yellow teeth.
"You see why I don't care to have anything to do with her," Ebenezer
muttered to Twinkleheels.
"I'd kick you if I could reach you--and that pony too," the white mare
squealed. "I'm a lady--I am. And you'd better be careful what you say
about me."
Because she was angry and couldn't kick either Twinkleheels or Ebenezer
she felt that she must kick somebody. So she let fly at the blacksmith,
who had just stepped up beside her.
Strangely enough, instead of jumping away from her, the blacksmith
crowded as close to her as he could get. He knew what he was about. He
hadn't shod horses for twenty years without learning something about
them. He stood so near the white mare that her kick hadn't room to get
going well. And the blacksmith wasn't hurt. He was merely disgusted.
"I declare," he said to Farmer Green, "this mare is the meanest critter
that comes into my shop. She doesn't know anything except how to kick
and bite. That old horse of yours is worth a dozen like her. I'd give
more for his tail than I would for her."
Ebenezer tried to look unconcerned. The blacksmith had a hearty voice.
Nobody in the shop could help hearing what he said. And Twinkleheels
made up his mind that the blacksmith shouldn't have any reason to speak
of him as he had of the silly white mare.
Twinkleheels watched sharply as the blacksmith captured a hind foot of
the white mare's and held it between his knees. Then he began to nail on
the shoe.
One thing puzzled Twinkleheels. Every time the blacksmith struck a blow
with his hammer he gave a funny grunt. Twinkleheels nudged Ebenezer with
his nose.
"Do you hear that?" he asked. "Is he related to Grunty Pig--a sort of
cousin, perhaps?"
The old horse Ebenezer gasped.
"Bless you, no!" he exclaimed.
"Then why does he grunt?"
"Oh, that's just a way he has," said Ebenezer. "Some blacksmiths think
it's stylish to grunt like that."
By this time the white mare seemed to be in a pleasanter frame of mind.
At least, she let the blacksmith nail a shoe on each of her feet without
making any objection--except to switch her tail now and then. And just
as the blacksmith finished with her a man came and led her away.
"Now," said the blacksmith, "I'm ready to shoe the pony. And if he's as
clever as he looks I shan't have a bit of trouble with him."
When he heard that, Twinkleheels made up his mind that he would behave
his best, no matter what happened.