“In the stone barn,” was the reply; and together the lads fetched the rough harness of old leather and rope, with an extra piece for fastening about the root.
“I say, Dick, he won’t kick that root to pieces like he did the little tumbril,” said Tom, who for convenience had placed the collar over his own head.
“Nor yet knock one side off like he did with the sled,” replied Dick with a very vivid recollection of one of Solomon’s feats. “Now, then, open the gate and let’s pop the harness on. Stop a minute till I get a stick.”
“Get a thick one,” said Tom.
“Pooh! he don’t mind a thick stick; he rather likes it. Hicky says it loosens his skin and makes him feel comfortable. Here, this will do. Must have a long one because of his heels.”
“Oh, I say, Dick, look at the old rascal; he’s laughing at us!”
It really seemed as if this were the case, for as the lads entered the yard Solomon lowered his head still more in its corner, and looked at them between his legs, baring his gums the while and showing his white teeth.
“Ah, I’ll make him laugh—gimble, as old Dave calls it—if he gives us any of his nonsense! Now, you, sir, come out of that corner. Give me the collar, Tom.”
As Dick relieved his friend of the collar, and held it ready to put over the donkey’s head, though they were at least a dozen yards away, Solomon began to kick, throwing out his heels with tremendous force and then stamping with his fore-feet.
“Isn’t he a pretty creature, Tom? He grows worse. Father won’t sell him, because, he says, he’s an old friend. He has always been my enemy.”