Twinkleheels, as any pair could be. They never frisked about in the
pasture. They never ran, nor jumped, nor kicked. They seldom even
trotted. And when they did move faster than a walk they lurched into a
queer, shambling swing.

The first time Twinkleheels saw them travelling at that gait he couldn't
help giggling.

"They look as if their legs were going to knock down all the fence posts
on the farm," he exclaimed.

Despite their clumsiness, Bright and Broad did many a day's hard work in
an honest fashion for Farmer Green. Of course he never drove them to the
village when he was in a hurry. But whenever there was a heavy load to
pull he depended on Bright and Broad to help him. If the pair of bays
couldn't haul a wagon out of a mud hole Farmer Green would call on
Bright and Broad. And when they lunged forward the wagon just had to
move--or something broke.

Though Twinkleheels admired their strength, he didn't care much for
Bright and Broad's company. They were too sober to suit him. They were
more than likely to stand and chew their cuds and look out upon the
world with vacant stares and say nothing.

"I used to think Ebenezer was a slow old horse," Twinkleheels remarked
to the bays on a winter's day as they stood in the barn. "I thought I
could beat him easily until he showed me that I was mistaken. But I can
certainly beat Bright and Broad. They're the slowest pair I ever saw."

The bays glanced at each other.