CHAPTER II.

Next day after, I thought over my good fortune. “Here I am saved,” thought I; “they never will find me, and in a couple of days, when I am quite rested, I will go farther on.”

Just then I heard the far-off barking of a dog; then of a second one; and several minutes afterwards the yelling of a whole pack. Restless and frightened, I got up and went towards a little brook that I had noticed in the morning. I had hardly ventured into the water, when I heard Jules saying to the dogs, “Go on, go on, dogs, search him out, find this miserable donkey, and bring him back to me.”

I nearly fell down with fright, but I quickly remembered that if I walked in the water the dogs could not follow my scent. So I began to8 run in the brook which was fortunately bordered on both sides with thick bushes.

I went on for a long time without stopping. The barking of the dogs as well as the voice of Jules became fainter, until at last I heard nothing more.

Breathless and exhausted I rested a minute to drink. I ate a few leaves off the bushes. My legs were stiff with cold, but I did not dare to get out of the water lest the dogs might come upon my scent again. When I had rested a little, I set off again, always following the brook until I got out of the forest. I then found myself in a meadow where over fifty cattle were grazing. I lay down in the sun in a corner of the field. The cattle paid no attention to me, so that I could rest at my ease.

Towards evening two men came into the meadow. “Brother,” said the taller of the two, “shall we take the cattle in to-night? They say there are wolves in the woods.”

“Wolves! Who told you that nonsense?”

“People say that the donkey from the farm has been taken away and eaten in the forest.”

“Bah! don’t believe it; the people of that farm are so wicked that they have killed their donkey with bad treatment.”

“Then why do they say that the wolves have eaten him?”

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“So that people won’t know that they have killed him.”

“We had better take in our cattle, all the same.”

“Do as you wish, brother; it is all one to me.”

I was in such fear of being seen that I lay in my corner and did not stir; fortunately the grass was long and hid me; the cattle were not on the side where I was. The men drove them towards the gate, and then to the farm where their masters lived.

I was not afraid of wolves, because the donkey of whom they spoke was myself, and because I had not seen the tail of a wolf in the forest where I passed the night. So I slept beautifully and was finishing my breakfast when the cattle came back to the meadow, guarded by two large dogs.

I was looking at them, when one of the dogs saw me, and, barking fiercely, ran towards me, his companion following. What should I do? how could I escape them?

I flew towards the hedges surrounding the meadow, through which ran the brook I had followed. I was fortunate enough to jump over it, and I heard the voice of one of the men I had seen yesterday, calling off his dogs.

I went on my way at my ease, and walked as far as another forest, the name of which I don’t know. I must have gone more than ten miles.10 I was saved; nobody knew me; and I could show myself without fear of being taken back to my former masters.

But it began to grow cold, for winter was coming on, and I thought it high time to look out for a comfortable home. I trotted on right through the forest, and out at the other side, and after some days’ travelling, I arrived at a village that I had never seen or heard of before. Here I felt I should be safe.

Just outside the village there stood a little cottage in a garden quite by itself. It was very clean and neat. An old woman was sitting by the door doing some needlework. I thought she looked both kind and sad; so I went up to her, and put my head on her shoulder.

The good woman gave a shriek, and jumped up quickly.

I did not move, but lifted my face towards hers with a gentle and pleading look.

“Poor thing!” she said at last; “you don’t look like a bad creature. If you don’t belong to any one, you shall take the place of my poor Greycoat, who died the other day of old age, and I shall still be able to earn my living by taking my vegetables to market to sell. But,” she added, with a sigh, “you’ve got a master somewhere, I’ll be bound.”

“Granny, whom are you talking to?” said a11 pleasant voice from the house, and a nice little boy came out of the door. He was six or seven years old, poorly but very neatly dressed. He looked at me, half admiring, half afraid.
I galloped along.
“I galloped along.” P. 12.

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“Granny, may I stroke him?” he said.

“Of course you may, George, my dear; but take care he doesn’t bite you.”

The little boy stretched up his hand, but he was so short that he had to stand on tiptoe before he could reach my back. I didn’t move, for fear of frightening him; I only turned my head round, and licked his hand.

“Oh, granny, granny! just see! what a dear donkey! he licked my hand!”

“It’s very strange,” said George’s grandmother, “that he should be here all by himself. Go to the village, my dear, and ask whether anybody has lost a donkey. Perhaps his master is very anxious about him.”

George set off at a run, and I trotted after him. When he saw me come up, and then stand still by a mound on the roadside, he climbed up on my back, and said, “Gee up!”

I galloped along, and George was enchanted. When we got to the village inn, George cried, “Whoa back!” and I stopped immediately.

“What do you want, laddie?” said the innkeeper.

“Please, sir, do you know whose donkey this is?”

The innkeeper came out, and looked me all over. “No, my boy, he isn’t mine, and he doesn’t belong to any one I know. Go and ask farther on.”

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So George went through the village asking the same question, but nobody had ever seen me before. At last we went back to the good old woman, who was still sitting with her work at the cottage door.

“So you can’t find his master, my dear? Very well, then, we may keep him till he is claimed. He mustn’t stay out all night. Take him to Greycoat’s shed, and give him some hay and a pail of water.”

The next morning George came to fetch me out of the shed, and gave me some breakfast. Then he put on the halter, and took me round to the cottage door. The old woman put a light pack-saddle on my back and mounted. Then George brought her a basket of vegetables, which she took on her knee, and we set off to market. Nobody in this market-town had ever seen or heard of me, and I came back joyfully to my new home.

I lived there for four years, and was very happy. I did my work well and never did anybody any harm. I loved my good old mistress and my little master. They never beat me or overworked me, and they gave me the best food they could. We donkeys are not dainty. The outside leaves of vegetables and plants that cows and horses won’t eat, and hay and potato-peel and carrots and turnips, are all we need.