“An’ he was reading his book when we first came along,” said Douglas.
“P’raps,” suggested Henry, “he’s forgotten all about bein’ a man an’ only feels like a donkey now.”
“Well, he won’t try stickin’ pins into me again, anyway,” said Ginger.
But a new aspect of the affair had come to William.
“This is Farmer Jenks’ field,” he said; “he’ll be mad findin’ a donkey in it. He won’t know it’s reely Mr. Simpkins.”
HERE WAS THE INCREDIBLE BEFORE THEM—MR. SIMPKINS,
TURNED INTO A DONKEY BY ONE OF HIS OWN SPELLS!
“Well, it won’t matter,” said Ginger.
“Yes, I bet it will,” said William. “P’raps it can talk still—the donkey, I mean—p’raps it’ll tell people about us an’ get us into trouble. I specks there’s a law against turnin’ people into things like what there is against murder—an’ he’s got a nasty look in his eye. Look at him now. I bet he c’n still talk an’ he’ll go tellin’ people an’ we’ll be put in prison or hanged or somethin’.”
“It’s your fault,” said Ginger, “why did you say a big thing like a donkey? If you’d said a little thing like a frog or somethin’ we could’ve put him in a bottle, same as he did other folks, but what can you do with a big thing like a donkey?”