The buggy was black and shining, and Fleetfoot had on a silver-mounted harness that made him look very fine. He stood gently switching his long tail to keep the flies away, and with his head turned to see who was going to get into the buggy. I stood by him, and as soon as he saw that Miss Laura and Mr. Harry had seated themselves, he acted as if he wanted to be off. I racing down the lane by his side, so happy to think he was my friend. He liked having me beside him, and every few seconds put down his head toward me.
Animals can tell each other things without saying a word.
When Fleetfoot gave his head a little toss in a certain way, I knew that he wanted to have a race. He had a beautiful even gait, and went very swiftly. Mr. Harry kept speaking to him to check him. I think we could make a racer of him if we liked, but father and I don't go in for fast horses. There is too much said about fast trotters and race horses.