The pair of bays were feeling grumpy. Thrashing time had come. And they
knew that they would have to spend long hours in the tread mill out in
the field, where the oats were stacked. They grumbled a good deal, as
they stood in their stalls.
"I don't see why you object to turning the tread mill for Farmer Green,"
Twinkleheels said to them. "I'd like to try my hand at it--or my feet, I
should say. I should think it would be great fun. Yesterday I saw
Johnnie Green and some other boys walking on the tread mill and making
it go. They seemed to find it a lark."
"Huh!" said one of the bays. "They'd _hate_ it if they had to walk up
hill hour after hour and never get anywhere. The noise of the tread mill
and the thrashing machine is most unpleasant."
"It wouldn't be so bad," said his mate, "if Farmer Green would let us
eat all we wanted of the oats that we help thrash. But he doesn't give
us even an extra measure."
"We'd run away," remarked the bay that had spoken first, "except that
running away wouldn't do us any good. All our running would only make
the mill turn faster."
"We can't even stand still if we want to," his mate muttered. "There's a
bar that crosses the top of the tread mill, right in front of us. Farmer
Green ties us to it. There we are! When he unlocks the tread mill we
have to start walking or we'd slide down backwards; and unless our
halters broke, our necks would get a terrible stretching."
The old horse Ebenezer, who stood between Twinkleheels and the bays and
couldn't miss hearing what was said, looked scornfully at the two
grumblers.
"Think of the oats Farmer Green gives you every day!" he exclaimed. "I
should suppose you'd be glad to earn some of them."
"The trouble is--" said the bay nearest him--"the trouble is, we have to
earn not only the oats that we eat, but those that Farmer Green feeds to
you and that pony."
"I've helped thrash many a time," Ebenezer declared.
"Well--I dare say you have," the bay admitted. "But what about that
pony? I never saw him do any work. I venture to say that he's never done
a day's work in his life."
Twinkleheels couldn't help feeling uncomfortable.
"I'd be glad to help with the thrashing," he said. "But what can I do if
Farmer Green won't _let_ me?"
The bays talked to each other in an undertone. Then one of them said:
"You might refuse to eat any more oats."
Somehow Twinkleheels did not care for that suggestion; and he said as
much.
"What's the matter with hay?" the other bay asked him. "If you have
plenty of hay you ought to be satisfied."
"No!" Twinkleheels told him. "I can't get along on hay alone. Johnnie
Green expects me to be spry and playful. And you know very well that a
horse or a pony can't be spirited without plenty of oats."
Once more the bays muttered to each other in a low tone. And at last
they told Twinkleheels that he was greedy.
"You don't need any oats," they said. "You have more to eat than we do,
all the time."
Twinkleheels was astonished.
"I don't know what you mean," he cried. "Johnnie Green feeds me only
oats and hay; and that's no more than you have."
"We don't agree with you," the bays retorted. "You have meal. And you
must eat a lot of it, too."
"Never!" Twinkleheels declared. "Why do you say that?"
"You have a mealy nose," they explained. "It always looks as if you'd
just eaten out of the meal bin."