“He didn’t! I wasn’t! It isn’t true!” cried Mollie, beginning to prance about and paw the ground.
“Mollie! Look me in the face. Do you give me your word of honour that that man was not stroking your nose?”
“It isn’t true!” repeated Mollie, but she could not look Clover in the face,
and the next moment she took to her heels and galloped away into the field.
A thought struck Clover. Without saying anything to the others, she went to Mollie’s stall and turned over the straw with her hoof.
Hidden under the straw was a little pile of lump sugar and several bunches of ribbon of different colours.
Three days later Mollie disappeared. For some weeks nothing was known of her whereabouts,
then the pigeons reported that they had seen her on the other side of Willingdon.
She was between the shafts of a smart dogcart painted red and black, which was standing outside a public-house.
A fat red-faced man in check breeches and gaiters, who looked like a publican, was stroking her nose and feeding her with sugar.
Her coat was newly clipped and she wore a scarlet ribbon round her forelock.
She appeared to be enjoying herself, so the pigeons said. None of the animals ever mentioned Mollie again.
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