“Will you, Hicky?” cried the boys joyfully. “Oh, you are a good old fellow! Come on, Tom, and let’s catch Solomon.”
The harness was thrust aside by the wheelwright, ready to take home, and then at a word the two fen-men came forward, and together they rolled the awkwardly-shaped root over and over toward the farm; while, once satisfied that the pine-root was on its way, Dick gave his companion a slap on the shoulder, and moistened his hand to get a better grip of his stick.
“Get a stick, Tom,” he said. “I don’t want to drum old Solomon’s ribs; but I’m just in the humour to give it him if he plays any of his tricks.”
That was just what the donkey seemed determined upon. He had been shut up for a fortnight in the yard, and hardly knew how to contain himself, as he bounded along in a way he never attempted when he was not free. There were spots which he knew of where succulent thistles and water plants grew, and after a long course of dry food he meant to enjoy a feast.
The boys shouted as they ran, and tried to get ahead; but the more they shouted the more Solomon kicked up his heels and ran, performing a series of capers that suggested youth instead of extreme old age.
“We shall never get him,” cried Tom as he panted along.
“We must catch him,” cried Dick, making a furious rush to head off the frolicsome animal, which seemed as if he thoroughly enjoyed teasing his pursuers.
Dick was successful in turning the donkey, but not homeward, and he stopped short unwillingly as he saw the course taken.
“I say, Dick, isn’t it soft out there?”
“Soft! Yes. Mind how you go!”