Chapter VIII

THE TRIAL COMES TO AN END—AN OLD FRIEND VISITS MY STABLE—I TAKE MY
FIRST RAILROAD TRIP AND FIND MYSELF IN WELL-REMEMBERED SCENES—HOME
AGAIN—CONCLUSION.

As days passed on, and still I neither saw nor heard anything of my dear mistress, my heart misgave me. Was it possible, after all, that she had forsaken me? Would she give me back into the power of that dreadful man? Oh, how I wished that I had not suffered myself to be led out of the court! that I had stayed by her side, and never lost sight of her until I was once more in the pleasant green fields of my early home. It was in vain to regret the past.

I might fume and fret, but it would make no difference to the tiresome present. If I could but have released myself from the bridle that bound me to my stall, I would have made my escape from the stable, and never rested, I thought, until I had once again found my mistress. Happily for me, I was not permitted to accomplish my object, or my second flight might have been attended with as disastrous consequences as my first; all that I got by my efforts to escape was to draw upon myself the attention of my guardians, and make them secure me more carefully than before.

I hated them then,—foolish donkey that I was!—but I have owed them such a debt of gratitude ever since that nothing pains me more than to hear a word said against the police. Let every one speak as they find; I say, they are a fine, brave body of men, who have a very difficult duty to perform, and do it faithfully and well.

But to come back to myself. I was standing musing, I am afraid, in a very discontented state of mind, when I heard the door of the stable open. Thinking, however, it was only one of the men come to attend to their work, I did not even trouble myself to turn my head, until suddenly I felt a hand laid on my shoulder, and heard a voice I thought I remembered say, sadly enough:

“Why, Neddy! who would have thought that you and I should have met again in such a place as this; and you so altered? Poor old Neddy! how badly you have been used!”

Old Neddy, indeed! My heart swelled with such mortified vanity at the name that for the moment—ungrateful that I was!—I felt more vexation than pleasure as I recognized Thomas standing by my side. But it was only a momentary feeling, and, looking up in his face, I endeavoured to show my pleasure at seeing any one connected with old times.

“Ah, Neddy!” continued Thomas, “so you know me, do you? It is more than I should have done by you. You do look dreadful bad. Why, I shall never get that rough, shaggy coat of yours right again. No, not though I groom you for hours at a time.”

Thomas groom me again! I never thought of the rudeness of the speech in my exceeding joy at hearing I was to be again in his care. Ah! then I must be free from my detested master. I must be going back to the home and the mistress I loved so well.

“So it is all over, is it?” inquired a policeman, who at that moment entered the stable and proceeded to unfasten my bridle.

“Yes; it was decided some hours ago,” said Thomas. “It was a queer trial, was it not?”

“The queerest I have ever heard,” returned the policeman; “and that is saying a good deal, for strange stories come to our ears. If it had not been for this donkey here, ten to one your master would never have gained his cause. The man told a wonderful plausible tale. But this dumb beast here told a better. You should have been in court that day. It was a sight to remember, and there was many a one who thought it no shame to be seen with tears in their eyes; and as to Mr. Wickharde, I never seed him so moved in all my life. That donkey is a first-rate witness. For my part, I would rather have him than half the men I know.”

This testimony in my favour seemed to raise me in the estimation of Thomas, for he patted me far more kindly than before, saying: “Poor old Neddy! He will be glad enough to be amongst his old friends again.”

“How did the trial go?” asked the policeman. “I wanted to hear the end; but I was on duty here this morning, and could not manage it. I almost thought they would have sent for the donkey, and I meant to have taken him down myself.”

“It did not last long,” returned Thomas; “there was no question about the donkey being Mr. Morton’s property. The only point was whether Jackson stole him or not; fortunately, he had been met by one of master’s own workmen the morning after the theft. Jackson was riding the donkey at that moment, and Mills felt sure he recognized it by the star on its forehead. It is a very peculiar mark, you see,” continued Thomas, as he turned my head to the light, and pushed back some shaggy hairs. “Jackson had never thought of concealing it; and it was rare and lucky for Neddy he did forget.

“Mills had words with Jackson at the time about the donkey; but the man rode off, and Mills did not like to stop him, for he did not know our donkey had been stolen; however, he came on straight to our house, and told his story; but master was away at the moment, and so time was lost; and when the Squire returned, and a hue and cry was raised, Jackson had got clean away, and from that day to this we have never been able to get clue nor trace of him, nor of the donkey neither.

“And it is wonderful, I say, how all this matter has been found out; and it just shows me that, sooner or later, God, who watches over all, will bring our crimes to light. Murder will out, they say; and I think theft must be much the same. Well, of course, as soon as mistress claimed Neddy here, the first thing to do was to send for Mills, and he swore to the donkey and swore to the man, and the verdict was given in favour of my master.”

“Ah!” thought I; “I see it all now; why, how stupid I have been! So that was the man who came in the other day when I was eating my grain, and I was so cross at being disturbed, and so sulky, I would hardly let him look at my head; and, after all, he had only come to save me, and I, like a fool, was angry at a momentary inconvenience. Neddy,” thought I, “will you never learn wisdom by experience? will you never understand your own utter ignorance,”—and I gave such a great sigh that Thomas broke off his speech suddenly, and, looking at me, added, with a smile:

“Well, I should like to know what the beast has got in his head now. He always had such a queer way with him; I believe he understands every word we say. If he could but speak, maybe it would be a strange story he would have to tell us.”

Strange? Strange indeed! Ah, you men! with all your wisdom, it is but little you know of what is passing through the minds and hearts of poor dumb beasts.

The idea of freedom was still so new to me that I could hardly realize the fact that I was safe from the brutal treatment of the man whom, for the last three years, I had been forced to call my master; and, as Thomas led me out of my place of confinement, and I found myself once more in the streets of London, I turned and looked about me in nervous dread, fearing that I should suddenly hear the sound of Jackson’s hated voice, and feel myself in the grasp of his powerful hand.

“So, whoo, Neddy! gently, my man!” exclaimed Thomas, in the reassuring voice of old times. “No need to be afraid now; there is nobody coming to hurt you. Come on, old fellow, come on. Come, make haste, and do not put your tail between your legs in that miserable way. I ain’t a-going to flog you, Neddy. Why, you are making a sight of yourself and me, too!”

True enough. I felt I looked a pitiful, craven-spirited wretch; but I had been so long accustomed to find that a word and a blow went together that it had become a sort of habit of nature to endeavour to protect myself from the assault, and I could have no more helped cowering down and holding my tail tight between my legs than I could have prevented myself from blinking if I had been forced to look suddenly at the sun.

However, seeing that Thomas was vexed at my miserable appearance, and not wishing to mortify the kind-hearted old man, I endeavoured to pluck up courage, and to trot along by his side with somewhat of the air and spirit of bygone days; and, as I found that we passed street after street, and square after square, without stop or molestation, I began gradually to acquire confidence, and to believe in the reality of my deliverance. Having gone a considerable distance, we at length arrived at the entrance to one of the great railway stations.

“Now, my man,” said Thomas, as he pulled me up for a moment, and gave me an encouraging pat, “do not you go for to make a fool of me and yourself; you are going to see queer sights and hear queer sounds, so make up your mind to behave like a sensible beast, as you are. There, do you hear that? that is one of them,” added Thomas, as a shriek was suddenly heard close by our side, followed by screeches, little less discordant, ending in a series of agitated puffs, as if some mighty monster was giving up the ghost.

“Do you hear that, eh, Neddy?” repeated Thomas, as he turned my head in the direction of the noise, as if to accustom me to the sound.

Hear it? Of course I did; but what did I care for it? Had I not been accustomed to almost every railway in the kingdom? and did not I know the sound of a locomotive, bursting for very spite at being stopped in its mad career?

Often and often, when I had been drawn up by the side of some country railroad station, had I speculated on the nature of those great iron animals that, day after day, and night after night, go tearing along across the country, dragging their loads after them, without ever so much as seeming to feel their weight, or ever showing symptoms of vexation or weariness, except when they are pulled up in mid-career: then, indeed, they squeak, and spit, and hiss, and make a pretty to-do. Ah! often and often as I had watched the locomotives, I had wished I had a skin like theirs. I envied them their strength and powers of endurance. I afraid of them? I should think not, indeed; and, quite proud to have an opportunity of reinstating myself in Thomas’s good opinion, I held up my head, and, shaking my ears with an air of supreme indifference, I walked with dignified unconcern right into the shed where the engine was showering out a perfect cloud of white breath.

“Well done, Neddy! good donkey!” said Thomas, patting me approvingly; and then he proceeded to lead me up the platform to where a great square box was standing with its doors wide open. Into this dark, uncomfortable-looking cage he bade me enter; and now I confess a feeling of terror came over me, putting all my boasted courage at once to flight, and, turning around, I struggled hard to escape from Thomas’s hold.

“Whoo, hoo—gently, stoopid! What is the matter?” said Thomas, crossly. “Why, what are you afraid of now? Who is going to hurt you, Neddy?”

Ah, indeed, who? “How am I to tell,” thought I, “shut up all alone in that dark prison? Who is to say whether I shall ever make my escape alive, or, if I am so fortunate, whether it may not be only to fall into the hands of my tormentor; or, worse still, who can say that he is not hidden in some dark corner of the box?”

“Why, Neddy, one would think that you expected to find your late master there,” added Thomas, in a milder tone.

“And so I do,” thought I; but how was I to tell him so?

“You need not be afraid, old donkey,” continued Thomas; “he is far enough away now. He cannot get to you. Come, Neddy, come along; you will be quite safe and comfortable in there, and I will give you some grain to eat, and you may amuse yourself with it during your ride. Come, Neddy, come along.”

It was impossible to misdoubt the kind tones of Thomas’s voice.

“If he meant any treachery against me, he would never speak like that,” thought I. “Besides, have not I always found him a true, good friend? and is it not very wrong not to trust him now?” and I turned around and looked into the box. It did not look pleasant, certainly; but, after all, I had lived in worse places; and so, summoning up my resolution, I put one step on the sloping board that led up to the cell. Dear me! how hollow my footfall sounded! I did not like it at all, and was all for drawing back again; but Thomas was by my side, and for very shame I did not dare act the part of a faithless coward; so I took another step, and then another. Still that hollow, hollow sound. But it was over now, and I stood inside the box, and looked around, half in terror, half in surprise. It was not so very bad, after all.

There were nice, soft-looking sides to the stall, and plenty of clean straw to lie upon; and Thomas remembered his promise, and put some food in the manger, and then, tying me up quite tight, he bade me good-bye. The doors were shut, and I was left alone in the darkness. Soon came a whistle, a shriek, and then a tremulous motion. Oh, how my heart sank within me! But there was no escape. I had but to submit, and bide my fate. Then my prison swang from side to side, and rush—rush—rush—roar—ro-r-r—ro-r-r-r—where were we going? I knew nothing—remembered nothing—till suddenly a vibration, a stop. Whirr—whirr—whirr—fainter grew the sound till now all again was silence. My box swings around—I feel quite sick with fright, when open fly the doors, and there stands Thomas, looking so kind and pleasant. I had never loved his face so well before.

“Well, Neddy,” he said, as he undid my halter, “it is all over. We shall soon be at home again. Ay, do you remember the old place?” he added, as, leading me out of my prison, I stood still, sniffing in with delight the pure fresh air of heaven.

Remember it? I should think so. I knew every inch of the ground as we drew toward home; and, forgetting all my troubles and sorrows, I kicked and jumped about as if I was once again the frolicsome donkey of years gone by. Even gruff old Thomas seemed moved by this evidence of my delight; and, throwing off his usual dry, hard manner, he spoke to me so kindly that my heart leaped again and again with joy. But when at length the gates of my own dear, dear home came in sight, I could no longer contain myself, and trotted on as fast as my legs could carry me, Thomas letting go the rein, saying, with a smile: “You know your way now, old fellow, I guess, and will not run away again, I fancy.”

Open went the gates, and then the avenue was before me, straight now up to the doorsteps; and whom should I spy standing there, but my mistress, and her father, and the strange gentleman. Oh, how I kicked up my heels with joy, and then galloped up the drive as I never thought my old legs could have galloped more!

You should have heard my mistress’s merry laugh. It was the pleasantest sound my ears had listened to for many a long day past; and you should have seen how she patted and caressed me, and called me her “dear old Neddy—her good, faithful donkey;” adding: “We will never part again—no, never. Will we, Neddy?”

I could only rub my nose against her soft white hand, and whinny out my joy and gratitude. My heart was too full; I almost thought it must have burst from my excess of happiness. And then, when she led me—she, my own dear mistress herself—to the field where I had spent all the first happy years of my existence, who may describe the emotions which overpowered me? First, I galloped around and around the field; then I threw myself down on the soft green grass, and rolled, and rolled, and rolled myself again and again in my ecstasy. Then, at last, rising up, and looking around me, I seemed as if I could never tire of gazing at all the well-remembered spots. Every twig in the hedges seemed like some old familiar friend; and as the birds sang out their merry songs from the boughs of the trees which had so often sheltered me, it sounded to me as if they, too, were carolling forth my welcome home.

Home! Ah! those who have never lost it can never fully appreciate its value; and, as I lay down to rest that night, it was with feelings of such overflowing gratitude as I know not how to express.

I thought of my mother’s words, and how she had warned me against the self-willed, presumptuous spirit that had made me discontented with my happy lot. I remembered my own insolence to herself, and how I had mocked her when she had foretold that hard blows and bad fare would bring down my proud spirit, and make me understand the blessing of my quiet green fields and tranquil, peaceful home.

“I understand it all, sure enough, now,” thought I; “and can only humbly hope that what I have lost in strength and beauty, I may have gained in wisdom. Come what will, it shall not be my fault if I ever again lose the home I prized so lightly, regretted so deeply, and have regained so wonderfully.”

And, full of happy thoughts and good resolutions, I fell into the most peaceful, refreshing sleep I had known for years.

There is but little more to tell. My mistress and I have never parted since, though I do not live now in that home of which I have told you, and to which I was so much attached. I followed my dear mistress to a new home; but the fields there were quite as green, and the sunshine was just as bright, and the air was just as pure, and I soon learned to love it quite as well as the place which I had left; and there I have grown old and gray and staid, and I cannot do much work now; but I go out every day with a group of merry, happy, bright children, and sometimes one and sometimes another rides upon my back, and sometimes two panniers are thrown across my shoulders, and then, to judge by the joyous shouts and laughter, there must be several little folks all taking their ride together; and Neddy is a general favourite, and there is always some pleasant treat in store for the old donkey. No heavier whip ever falls upon his sides than a bunch of wild-flowers; and so well he loves those children that a daisy chain is bridle enough to guide him where they will.

And his dear mistress, she is growing older too; but to Neddy she is still the same. He cannot see gray hairs, or graver brow; he only hears the well-remembered voice, the endearing tones of kindness, the gentle touch of that loving hand. She says Neddy shall never leave her; that while she lives he shall never want a home; and that, dying, she will commit him to her children’s care.

THE END.