'Hallo, Thatcher, what's wrong?' he called out.
'Why, 'tis one o' these here danged motor-cars,' replied the old man. 'Gooin' faster than an express train along this narrow way, an' knocked Jimmy into the ditch.'
The gamekeeper came up, and at the first glance called upon them to lay the donkey down again.
'Let me have a look at him,' he said. 'That cut's nothing. There's worse than that cut, I fancy.'
'I hope no bones have a-gone,' said the donkey's master.
'That's just where it is, Thatcher,' said the gamekeeper, after a short examination. 'The poor beast's shoulder is a-broke right across. He'll ne'er stand on his four legs again.'
Thatcher uttered a cry of distress.
'Broke across, ye say, keeper! Then what's to be done with him?'
'Nothing,' said the keeper; 'there's nothing ye can do to cure him. The poor brute's in agony now. Look at his eyes!'
'Nothin' ye can do,' repeated the owner in a dull voice, his eyes almost as full of distress as those of his injured helpmate. 'An' Jimmy were the best donkey as iver pulled a cart.'