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.