When he paused for breath she patted his sun-burned cheek with her
dimpled hand, saying, in her cooing voice, "Good brother Pippin!" which
was her nickname for him. Then he forgot that she delighted to tease
him,--that her favorite pastime was to chase the young chicks and cause
a tremendous flutter in the poultry yard; and how vexed he had been
when she let his mustang out of the enclosure, "because," she said,
"Twinkling Hoofs needs a bit of fun and a scamper as well as anybody;
and he was trying to open the gate with his nose." It took two days to
find the mustang and coax him back again. Tilderee was penitent for
fully ten minutes after this escapade; but she endeavored to console
herself and Peter by declaring, "I know, Pippin, that the Indians must
have Twinkling Hoofs by this time. And he's so pretty they'll keep him
for a chief to ride; a big, fat chief, with a gay blanket and a feather
headdress, and red and blue paint on his face. Won't Twinkling Hoofs
be s'prised at all that? But never mind, Pippin; papa will let you
ride the old grey horse!"
No one knew better than Joan, however, just how tantalizing Tilderee
could be,--how she dallied in the morning playing hide-and-seek,
refusing to have her face washed and her tangled hair brushed into
shining curls; this, too, when Joan was in the greatest hurry to go and
give the fluffy chicks and the grave old fowl their breakfast.
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