on my forehead, and though I bore a good many marks of ill usage and
former accidents, and both my knees were broken, still at a distance I
looked pretty well. Harry's little brother, Frank, thought me
perfection, and christened me "Bay Middleton," and had many a pleasant
ride on me. But Harry was just in all the delight of the perusal of the
Arabian nights, and could think of nothing but the Enchanted Horse, and
he played at being Prince Firouz Schah, till I was quite tired of it. He
drove two huge nails in my neck to serve for the two pegs that he was to
turn, the one to raise him up among the clouds like a bird, and the
other to lower him to earth once more. The latter peg is still here, as
you may see, behind my ear, but they never performed that feat with me,
for Harry was not magician enough to endow me with flying powers. He
tried very hard to get Celia to play the part of the Princess of Bengal,
but though she was very willing and obliging, and tried to do what he
wished, she was too big to ride behind him, and he did not think her
quite majestic enough for the part. At last, when Harry went off to
Eton, I was put away here, and though for a time I indulged in a faint
hope that he might look for me on his return for the holidays, I was
disappointed, and even Frank has never looked for me since. And so now,
my friends, I have given you a history of all that has befallen me,
including the famous episode of my running away."

The Toys, who had been much amused by the relation of the Rocking Horse,
more particularly by the grave manner in which he spoke, to which his
very rackety and dilapidated appearance lent a ludicrous effort, now
thanked him very heartily for his story, and proceeded to call on the
Skipping-rope for the next story.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XII.

THE MISHAP OF THE SKIPPING-ROPE.

"Story," said the Skipping-rope, "to be sure you shall have it, and a
very queer one it is, quite the oddest of the lot, I rather think. But I
shall be very happy to begin it at once, if the Kite will be so good as
to disentangle his tail."

"Pshaw," growled the Kite, "why, I was obliged to tell mine while you
were tugging at me all the while. Two or three times, when I had
something very particular to say, you pulled my tail, suddenly, and I
lost the thread of my discourse. So tit for tat, my friend, do you
unwind your yarn, and I won't serve you any worse than you did me."

The Skippi