They surrounded the donkey nearest them, resolved to take it prisoner. After a violent conflict and four or five barked and bruised shins,—for the beast was agile, as well as headstrong, and resented this nocturnal abduction,—the seizure was effected, and Stephen adroitly slipped on a halter. While some tugged at this halter, others pushed warily and perhaps bootlessly; still others noisily threatened; one entreated; but, in compliance with their leaders instructions, none belabored. The school-boy avenger did not wish the poor animal to suffer “more than was necessary!”
In a short time the donkey was brought close to the abandoned well. Then the cords, straps, and ropes were picked up, and so securely bound on the poor animal that it was utterly helpless, and at the mercy of Steve’s youthful desperadoes. This was a hazardous attempt, considering all things; but again, what does a properly organized boy care for danger, when bent on mischief?
Stephen, weltering in sweat and already smarting from blisters and bruises, then called a halt and addressed his “accomplices” in the following approved strain: “Well, boys, we’ve nearly done it! Oh! won’t Mr. Jackson be mad when he finds his donkey in the well! Won’t he dance and holler! I know it’s a scurvy trick; but then he is so scurvy a man, it serves him just right. I guess he won’t know what to say to himself when he sees the ass here! At any rate, it will take him all the forenoon to get him out!”
Gentle reader, please to observe how rich that harangue is in notes of exclamation, and ask yourself if they were not invented as a safety-valve for the emotions of overjoyed schoolboys and bloody-minded or weak-headed romancers.
While speaking, Steve had run his hands into the pockets of his most serviceable garment. He now drew his hands out of those pockets and took up a strong rope, one end of which he made fast to the donkey, and the other end he passed over the bar of his engine. Then, the rest helping him, the donkey was slowly and carefully lowered into the well. Poor beast, how foully it was degraded!
Then those wicked boys laughed—laughed till the tears came.
All but Steve. He could not laugh. The core of an apple that he had eaten seven years before rose in his throat and choked him—him! the most uproarious and unconscionable laugher in the village!
But the truth is, Stephen was beginning to relent. Now that the deed was actually done, he saw his trick in a different light and conjured up all sorts of horrors. What if a frightful thunderstorm should come on during the night, and the donkey should be struck by lightning? What if the sides of the well should cave in and fossilize it? Or, what if Jackson should discover the guilty ones and transport him, as “ringleader,” to Botany Bay?