had picked out a nice, smooth place to roll on.

Ebenezer bent his legs beneath him in a gingerly fashion and sank with
something like a sigh upon the green, grassy carpet. It was only with a
great effort that he managed at last to roll all the way over; and then
he couldn't roll back again. Clumsily he flung his fore feet in front of
himself and by a mighty heave pulled himself off the ground.

"Slow, isn't he?" Twinkleheels remarked to the Muley Cow, who was
chewing her cud and looking on.

"He doesn't get up the right way," said the Muley Cow. "When rising from
the ground one should stand on his hind feet first."

"I don't agree with you," Twinkleheels told her. "Ebenezer uses the
right method. But he's terribly poky about it. You can almost hear his
joints creak."

The Muley Cow was somewhat offended.

"I've known Ebenezer a great many years," she snapped. "I don't care to
hear a young upstart--a mere pony--make fun of him."

Twinkleheels moved away. He felt the least bit uncomfortable.

"I don't like your young friend," said the Muley Cow to the old horse
Ebenezer. "He hasn't a proper respect for old people like you and me."

"Oh, he's not a bad sort," Ebenezer replied. "He has a good many things
to learn. Perhaps he'll be wiser by night. I shouldn't worry about him,