nimal.

"Let the pesky brute go," exclaimed the old man. "He'll get tired of
running and come home by and by."

"You may have my horse," cried Puss. And in a few minutes the harness
was mended and Puss and the little old man drove off down the road.

HUMPTY-BUMPTY

HUMPTY-BUMPTY, bump! went the wagon, as the Good Gray Horse trotted
along. "Very poor springs on this wagon," cried Puss, his teeth knocking
together as they crossed a rough bit of road.

"You are not used to farm wagons, my good Sir Cat," the little old man
replied.

"You are right," said Puss.

"Did you ever hear the conundrum in rhyme about

"'Thirty white horses upon a red hill,
Now they tramp, now they champ,
Now they all stand still'?"

asked the little old man.

"No," replied Puss. "But who ever saw a red hill?"

"Ha, ha!" laughed the little old man, showing how very few teeth he had
to chatter. "Why, the thirty white horses are your teeth, and the red
hill is your gums. Ha, ha!"

"He, he!" laughed Puss. "Gid-ap, my Good Gray Horse. Let us rattle the
thirty white horses upon a red hill, let them tramp and champ, but never
stand still!" And away went the wagon clattering after the Gray Horse,
bumpty-bumpty, bump!

"Hold on!" cried the little old man. "If I have but few teeth, I have
old bones! Do you wish to shake me to bits?"

"Whoa!" cried Puss, but the Good Gray Horse evidently thought it great
fun, for on he went at a still faster clip. The boards in the bottom of
the wagon flew up and down and the wooden seat swayed back and forth. Up
and down, bumpty-bumpty, bump! went the little old man.

"Pull him in!" he cried. "Pull on the lines! Don't let your horse run
away!"

Puss tugged at the reins, but the Good Gray Horse had the bit between
his teeth. He stuck out his head and tail and let his feet fly. Over the
stones bumped the wagon, up on one side and then down on the other. Poor
Puss had all he could do to keep from falling out, and the little old
man clung to the side boards and cried, "Pull on the lines!"

"I am," panted Puss, "but it doesn't do any good."

"Pull harder!" yelled the little old man.

"Can't," replied Puss, now breathless from the bumping of the wagon.
"Can't pull one little bit harder."

"Turn him in yonder lane!" screamed the little old man. "That's my lane!
It leads into the barnyard."

Well, it was mighty lucky that Puss managed to turn up the lane, and in