"Here, my heart, is a meaty bone," said he, "for you fasted all night, poor friend, and if you pick a bit off the bone your stomach will get a rest."
"Keep your filth, beggarman," the other replied, "for I would rather be hanged than gnaw on a bone that you have browsed."
"Why don't you run, my pulse?" said the Carl earnestly; "why don't you try to win the race?"
Cael then began to move his limbs as if they were the wings of a fly, or the fins of a little fish, or as if they were the six legs of a terrified spider.
"I am running," he gasped.
"But try and run like this," the Carl admonished, and he gave a wriggling bounce and a sudden outstretching and scurrying of shanks, and he disappeared from Cael's sight in one wild spatter of big boots.
Despair fell on Cael of the Iron, but he had a great heart.
"I will run until I burst," he shrieked, "and when I burst, may I burst to a great distance, and may I trip that beggarman up with my bursting and make him break his leg."
He settled then to a determined, savage, implacable trot.
He caught up on the Carl at last, for the latter had stopped to eat blackberries from the bushes on the road, and when he drew nigh, Cael began to jeer and sneer angrily at the Carl.
"Who lost the tails of his coat?" he roared.
"Don't ask riddles of a man that's eating blackberries," the Carl rebuked him.
"The dog without a tail and the coat without a tail," cried Cael.
"I give it up," the Carl mumbled.
