The Twins slid off Colleen’s back, and ran to the spot where the camp had been. There, indeed, was the mark of a fire, and near by were some wisps of straw. There were the marks of horses’ feet, too, and Eileen found a white goose feather by the thorn-bush, and a piece of broken rope.
“They were here surely,” Mr McQueen said, “and far enough away they are by this time, no doubt. It’s likely the police were after them.”
They went back to the road, and the Twins got up again on Colleen’s back, and soon they had reached the near end of the bog.
Mr McQueen stopped. “I’ll be cutting
the turf here,” he said, “and the two of you can go on to Grannie Malone’s with the donkey, and bring back the jug with yourselves. Get along with you,” and he gave the donkey a slap.
The Twins and the donkey started along the road. Everything went well until Colleen spied a tuft of green thistles, on a high bank beside the road. Colleen loved thistles, and she made straight for them. The first thing the Twins knew they were sliding swiftly down the donkey’s back, while Colleen stood with her fore feet high on the bank and her hind feet in the road.
Larry, being behind, landed first, with Eileen on top of him. She wasn’t hurt a bit, but she was a little scared. “Sure, Larry, but you’re the soft one to fall on,” she said as she rolled over and picked herself up.
“I may be soft to fall on,” said Larry, “but I’m the easier squashed for that! Look at me now! It’s out of shape I am entirely, with the print of yourself on me!”
Then—“Whatever will we do with Colleen?” Eileen said. “She’s got her nose in the thistles and we’ll never be able to drag her away from them.”