"You've given me a lovely ride," said the pretty girl. "It is more than a mile from the mill. I live just over there," pointing to a cottage on the hillside. "Shall I take you up to the gate?" asked Puss. "No, I'll get off here, thank you," she replied, "and I shall never forget how nice you've been. I was quite unhappy before you spoke to me at the old mill pond." "Merry have we met, and merry have we been, Merry let us part, and merry meet again," said Puss, stretching out his paw. "How well you remember my song!" said the pretty girl, waving her hand to Puss as he rode away. [Illustration] He had gone but a short distance when he heard the clatter of hoofs. Looking back, he was startled to see a horse and wagon come tearing down the road. "A runaway!" he exclaimed, quickly drawing to one side. In a few minutes the frightened horse rushed by. In the wagon was a little old man, clinging tightly to the reins and with great difficulty keeping his horse in the middle of the road. In an instant Puss set off in pursuit. Pretty soon his Good Gray Horse drew close to the wagon. "Don't give up!" cried Puss. "Hold on tight!" The little old man did his best, but by this time his horse had become unmanageable and, turning suddenly to the right, dashed up a steep bank. With a snap, the harness broke and away went the frightened animal. "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.