"We sold our horse—but I've tramped close on twenty-five mile with Topsy—she'll only want a field to feed in. Father used her for a small cart, but us got rid of that when he went to war, and mother's just kept Topsy on; her couldn't bear parting with her. She follers like a dog."
"Oh, Dan, it's a wonderful present!" cried Faith, with shining eyes. "But I feel I ought to pay for Topsy, and we can't do that because we're so poor."
"Mother left her to you. She didn't want her sold. She wanted her to have a good home."
"Oh, wait a minute! I must tell Aunt Alice. It would be too glorious if she lets me have her."
Faith dashed back to the house, and Aunt Alice came out, and had a long talk with the boy. He was going to join his uncle, who kept another van, but who did not want the donkey. And after a long talk Aunt Alice said that Faith might keep Topsy.
She was taken into the orchard, where she began to munch the grass very contentedly, and Dan was invited into the cottage. Aunt Alice gave him a cup of cocoa and some bread and cheese in the kitchen, and thanked him very much for bringing the donkey to Faith.
As for the little girls, they could hardly contain their joy. They hung round Topsy watching her every movement, but when Dan took his leave, Faith walked to the gate with him and wished him good-bye very gravely.
"We'll take the greatest care of Topsy, and if you ever pass this way again, you'll come and see her, won't you? Are you always going to live in a gipsy van? How lovely!"
"I just can't live in a stuffy 'ouse," Dan said.
And then he marched away, and Faith ran back to the orchard, thinking herself the happiest little girl in the whole world.