One day they found the burros all down by the water-hole on the landlocked side of the Island. They had seen them before, about a dozen in number, but had not paid much attention to them. They were grazing peacefully on the outskirts of the banana-patch, and the children were quick to notice that the herd had been increased by one in the last day or two, a silky-looking little fellow with that peculiarly fascinating quality that only a baby burro has.
In glee they ran toward them, but though the burros seemed to be not at all wild, they plainly did not mean to permit any actual handling and skillfully evaded all attempts in that direction. After several ineffective attempts to round up the woolly baby, the children stopped to rest and regain their breath, and the four-legged infant sidled up to his mother and proceeded to lunch.
Suddenly Marian turned to her brother. “Delbert,” she said, “can you lasso that old burro as she stands there?”
“Reckon I could if I tried. What do you want of her?”
“See that baby there fairly guzzling down the milk, and look at our baby here without a spoonful all these days. Don’t you suppose that old mother burro has more than that little fellow really needs in his business? Anyway, if he had to go a little short he could make it up on grass.”
“O—oh!” ejaculated the boy, “burro’s milk? Why, Marian, it wouldn’t be good.”
“Indeed, my dear child, burro’s milk is a regular article of commerce in some places, just as cow’s and goat’s milk is in others.”
“Anyway,” reflected Delbert, “if we didn’t tell him, Davie wouldn’t know but what it was all right. Milk is milk to him; he wouldn’t care.”
“Of course not,” said Marian briskly; “you older children might object to it, but it won’t make any difference to him whether he shares with a baby burro or a baby calf. You just get a good loop over her head, and we’ll try this thing out.”
