Fortunately, Amy did not understand a jest of this nature, but she was swift to see the brightening of his face. She put her hand on his arm, and tried to draw his hand within her own.
"Maybe it won't be so bad. Lean on me, and I'll help you to a seat or to the house. And thank you, thank you so much for putting Balaam in the stable, and taking such good care of him. If Hal had known, he wouldn't have worried so about the little beast. He's been so tenderly cared for, we couldn't bear to think of him as off in the open fields with nobody but Fayette."
Mr. Wingate said not a word. He simply ceased groaning and grimacing, and he slipped his arm through Amy's, while a curious expression settled on his face. He did not lean at all heavily upon her, however, and he merely glanced toward the burro as the pair walked to the stable door. Then the animal thought it time to protest. Amy had brought him fresh grass, but she had dropped it all outside his manger, where he could not reach it. This was aggravation in the extreme. More than that, whenever, in the old days, she had been afflicted with one of these outbursts of affection, there had generally been a lump of sugar connected with it. To lose affection, hay, and sugar, all in one unhappy moment, was too much even for donkey patience.
"AH-UMPH! H-umph! A-h-u-m-p-h!"
"Whew! he's split my ears open. Plague take the beast!" cried Mr. Wingate, hurrying forward, and now stepping with suspicious freedom from lameness.
Amy hurried, too, wondering at his sudden recovery. "Oh, do you dislike his talk? I love it. I always laugh when I hear it, it is so absurd, and Pepita's was even funnier. She had a feminine note, so to speak, and she whined like a spoiled baby."
"What do you know about spoiled babies?"
"Why—nothing—only William Gladstone, he's a trifle self-willed, I think."
"William Gladstone! What do you mean? Who are you talking about? Are you all crazy together?"
"Not the English statesman, certainly. Just Mrs. Jones's youngest son. And I don't think we're crazy."