“And how far may that be?”
Buddie couldn’t tell exactly.
“But it can’t be a great way,” she said. “I live in the log house by the lake.”
“Pooh!” said the Donkey. “That’s no distance at all.” Buddie shrank another inch or two. “I’m a great traveler myself. All donkeys travel that can. If a donkey travels, you know, he may come home a horse; and to become a horse is, of course, the ambition of every donkey!”
“Is it?” was all Buddie could think of to remark. What could she say that would interest a globe-trotter?
“Perhaps you have an old saw you’d like reset,” suggested the Donkey, still thrumming the lute-strings.
Buddie thought a moment.
“There’s an old saw hanging up in our woodshed,” she began, but got no further.
“Hee-haw! hee-haw!” laughed the Donkey. “Thistles and cactus, but that’s rich!” And he hee-hawed until the tears ran down his nose. Poor Buddie, who knew she was being laughed at but didn’t know why, began to feel very much like crying and wished she might run away.