Nimble didn't mind losing his spots, when he grew older. He had something else that gave him much more pleasure than they ever had. He had a new toy. Or to be exact, he had two new toys. And everywhere he went he carried them with him.  
He carried them on his head. And he couldn't have left them behind in the woods even if he had wanted to—at least not until he had enjoyed them for a whole season.
 
Of course you have already guessed that he had a pair of horns. They were not very big. But neither was Nimble, for that matter. So they suited him well. A little deer like him would have looked queer wearing great branching horns such as his father owned.
 
Nimble's horns were merely two spikes² which stuck up out of the top of his head in a pert fashion.
 
It was a proud day for him when an old deer spoke³ to him and called him "young Spike¹ Horn." About that time the forest folk had begun to speak of him as a "yearling." But there was something about "Spike Horn" that sounded much more important.
 
Somehow there was a new crop of Spike Horns that summer—Nimble's second summer. And every one of them had been—like him—a little spotted⁵ fawn⁶ the year before.
 
At first Nimble had thought it fun to use his new horns to jab anybody that happened to be with him. One day he even stole up behind his own mother and gave her a sharp prod⁷ with them.
 
He never did that again. His mother quickly taught him better. She wheeled and struck him smartly with her fore⁴ feet.
 
"There!" she cried. "That's the first ti............