Chapter II

I had not gone many steps ere I fell in with a donkey. Now an ass is an animal I can never pass without giving him the time of day. There is a gentle patience with which he listens to my discourses that wins my heart in spite of myself.

He was harnessed to a sort of barrow, laden with mackerel, and he was standing in Farringdon-street to allow the stream of traffic to pass up Ludgate-hill.

“’Tis ever so, Honesty!” said I; “thou and I must e’en wait to let our betters go by. See how yon ‘Bow and Stratford’ rolls by――mark that _Pickford’s_ van――and thou’rt obliged to wait with thy fish, though they be perishable goods at best.”

As I said this I had taken up one of the mackerel, and was moralizing over it.

“Come, I say, jest drop that ’ere?” said a voice. I looked up. It was Jack’s master. “And this is thy tyrant, then!” I thought to myself. “Thine must be a hard lot, with one so suspicious of his kind――so devoid of sentiment.” But I said nothing, and replaced the fish.

Just at this moment the tide of traffic was broken for an instant, and the ass’s master hastened to take advantage of it. “Kim up!” said he to Jack; and before the poor animal could obey him, he seized him by the head and dragged him along, dealing him at the same time a score of heavy blows with a thick stick that he carried in his right hand.

I could have found it in my heart to have given the rascal a sound drubbing for his pains. But I refrained. I protest I am too soft-hearted. I feared I might by chance hurt him, or he me.

“Farewell, Honesty!” said I, as Jack shambled off with his load. And then I knew not what tender emotion stirred me, but I felt a tear trickling down my cheek. “Farewell, Honesty!” said I again, as I put my hand into my pocket for my kerchief.

It was gone!――――