The good-natured wheelwright went cautiously towards where Dick was standing waiting for the rope; but at the third step he was up to his middle and had to scramble out and back as fast as he could.
“I’m too heavy,” he said; “but I’ll try again. All right, I’m coming soon!” he added as the donkey uttered another dismal bray.
But his efforts were vain. Each time he tried he sank in, and at last, giving up to what was forced upon him as an impossibility, he coiled up the rope to throw.
“Thou mun heave it over his head, my lad. Don’t go no nigher to him; it isn’t safe.”
He threw the rope, and Dick caught the end and recoiled it preparatory to making a start over the moss.
“Nay, nay, stop!” shouted Hickathrift.
“I must go and try if I can’t put it round him, Hicky,” cried Dick.
“Come back, thou’lt drownd thysen,” shouted Dave excitedly.
“No, I won’t,” said Dick; and picking his steps with the greatest care, he succeeded in stepping within ten yards of the donkey, which made a desperate struggle now to get out and reach him, but without success; all he did was to change his position, his hind-quarters going down lower, while his fore-legs struck out into the daylight once or twice in his hard fight for liberty.
“Now, my lad, heave the rope over his head, and we’ll haul him out,” cried Hickathrift.