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Page 58
So the gentleman and the lady and the boy took their excursion day
after day with the two donkeys.
Now, one of these was a thin-looking white donkey, and the other was a
stout black donkey; and one was called "Violet" and the other "Tidy."
The little boy liked the black donkey best, because he was bigger and
handsomer, "I like Tidy," he said; "dear papa, I like Tidy."
"Stop!" said his papa. "Let us wait a bit; let us try them a little
longer."
The party did not go out every day; sometimes the gentleman and lady
were engaged, and the donkeys remained idly in the gentleman's field.
And then, when they had done eating, they used sometimes to talk.
"Is not this happiness?" said the meek white donkey. "Instead of the
dry grass of the common, to have this rich, green, juicy grass, and
this clear stream of water, and these shady trees; and then, instead of
doing hard work and being beaten, to go out only now and then with a
kind lady and gentleman, and a dear little boy, for a quiet walk:--is
it not a happy change, Tidy?"
"Yes," said Tidy, flinging his hind-legs high in the air.
"Oh!" said Violet, "I hope you will not do that when the young
gentleman is on your back."
"Why not?" said Tidy.
"Because," said Violet, "you may throw him off, and perhaps kill him;
and consider how cruel that would be, after all his kindness to us."
"Oh," said Tidy, "people always call us donkeys stupid and lazy and
slow, and they praise the horse for being spirited and lively; and so
the horses get corn and hay and everything that is good, and we get
nothing but grass. But I intend to be lively and spirited and get
corn."
"Take care what you do, Tidy," said Violet. "The gentleman wishes to
buy a quiet donkey, to carry his little boy gently. If we do not behave
ourselves well, he surely will send us back to the common."
But Tidy was foolish and proud, and, the next time he went out, he
began to frisk about very gayly.
"I fear," said the gentleman, "that the good grass has spoiled Tidy."
[Illustration]
Tidy heard this, but, like other young and foolish things, he would not
learn. Soon, the little dog Grip passed by, and Tidy laid his ears back
on his neck and rushed at Grip to bite him.
"Really," said the gentleman, "Tidy is getting quite vicious. When we
get home, we will send Tidy away, and we will keep Violet."
Tidy, as you may believe, was sorry enough then. But it was too late.
He was sent away to the bare common. But Violet still lives in the
gentleman's field, eats nice grass, goes easy journeys, and is plump
and happy.
[Illustration]
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
Poets have a great deal to answer for, and they should be careful what
they say, for they've no idea what an influence they have. Now, I'm
told that about one hundred and fifty years ago, one by the name of
Thomson (Thomson without a _p_) sang:
"Hail, gentle Spring! Ethereal mildness, hail!"
and made no end of trouble, of course. March being the first spring
month, was the first to hear the command, and so, ever since, she has
been trying her best to hail. Failing in this, as she nearly always
does, her only recourse is to blow; and blow she does, with a will. So
don't blame her, my chicks, if she deals roughly with you this year,
blows your hair into your eyes, and nearly takes you off your feet.
It's all the fault of that poet Thomson.
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