“Well, I never thought he’d really turn into one,” said William with spirit.
“Well, he has done,” said Ginger, “an’ we’ve gotter do something about it ’fore anyone comes along and he starts tellin’ them about us.”
At this point Maria uttered a loud “Hee-haw!”
“There, you see,” said Henry relieved, “he can only talk donkey talk.”
“I don’t believe it,” said William doggedly. “He’s jus’ pretendin’. He was readin’ his book when we came along an’ I bet he can talk. He only wants to wait till someone comes along an’ then get us into trouble.... Look at him now eatin’ grass.... Well,” virtuously, “he’s got no right eatin’ that grass. It’s Farmer Jenks’ grass ... an’ what’re we goin’ to do when they find out that the man’s disappeared an’ there’s only a donkey left an’—they’ll blame us ... they always blame us for everything.”
“Let’s turn him back now,” said Joan, “we’ve prob’ly taught him a lesson. Now he knows what it feels like to be turned into something perhaps he’ll stop turning other people into things.”
“And running pins into ’em,” said Ginger feelingly.
“Well, we’d better get him to his house, anyway,” said William, “then he can turn himself back with his own things.”
Maria had arisen from the bank and was now munching grass a few yards away. Somewhat cautiously they approached her. William addressed her sternly.
“Now,” he said, “we know that you’re a magician an’ that you turned people into frogs an’ bones an’ run pins into people so we turned you into a donkey, but we’re goin’ to let you turn yourself back if you promise never to be a magician any more?”