GETTY NOGG

"Jockety jog, jockety jog!
Over the hills, and over the bog.

"Jockety jog, jockety jog!
Many a mile this day I've trod.

"Jockety jog, jockety jog!
I'm the milkman's horse, old Naggetty Nogg."

"Are you really?" exclaimed Puss, Jr., looking up into the face of the
old white horse. "And is your name 'Naggetty Nogg'?"

"Yes, that's my name," replied the old horse. "You see, every horse is a
nag. So in some way or another they got to calling me 'Naggetty,' and
then, after a while, they added on the 'Nogg.'"

"Yes, every one has at least two names," replied Puss, "and it is
natural that you should have two, just like everybody. I like the name
'Naggetty Nogg' very much. It's quite fine."

"It sounds 'horsy' all right," he answered, giving his tail a sweep to
brush off some flies that had settled on his side. "It sounds real
horsy."

"And it fits you perfectly," said Puss. "You couldn't have chosen a
better name."

"But I didn't choose it," replied the old horse, quickly; "it was given
to me. You see, my master and I start out early every morning. First we
go to the farm to get the milk. It's so early in the morning that it's
quite dark sometimes--that is, in the winter-time. The farmer comes out
and opens the milk-house door with his key. The milk is all kept in
great big pans in long rows. It's very cool inside, for the milk-house
is built over a spring that bubbles away all the time, running out of
the old stone milk-house down to the meadows, where the cows drink it
and the little fish swim in it. I know, because one time when my right
forefoot was hurt they put me out in the meadow and many a good drink
I've had from that same little brook. The bottom is all bright little
stones, and the ferns hang over the edge of the bank, and the little
birds hop down and drink. Oh, it's very pleasant out there in the
meadow. I sometimes wish my old foot would go lame again so that I might
enjoy the green grass and the cool breezes. But that wouldn't do at all.
My master would lose money. He would have to hire another horse. And
then, too, I would miss the mothers who come out to get the nice fresh
milk from my master. Sometimes they have a baby in their arms and two
or three small children hanging on to their skirts. And they always pat
my nose and say:

"'How is old Naggetty Nogg to-day?' Sometimes I get a lump of sugar,
too."

"You make me wish that I could drive a milk-wag