'Don't you be nervous, Miss,' said the girl cheerfully; 'nothing ever comes along this road, for it only leads to the Mill Farm.'
Mary's words were greeted by a loud 'Hullo!' from the driver of a baker's van that was coming along the road behind them at a sharp pace.
'Oh, dear! oh, dear!' murmured Mary, 'it's Crawford the baker! What will he think when he sees that I am beaten by a little donkey? Can you drive, Miss? Perhaps you could make him go.'
Miss Raeburn shook her head ruefully. She was a Londoner, and her knowledge of animals was extremely limited.
'What shall we do?' she said nervously, and mentally she drew an awful picture in which the baker's weary-looking horse became a spirited charger, dashed into the donkey-cart, and trampled the whole party to death.
In vain did Mary, now desperate, bring the whip across Tim's fat, well-groomed sides; he merely shook his long ears, whisked his tail angrily against the shafts, and resumed his investigation in the hedge.
'Let me see if I can help you,' called the young baker at last. 'Donkeys are artful little things; but perhaps if I get him round again, he will follow my van; that is to say, if I can pass in this narrow road.' As he spoke he took Tim firmly by the head.
For a second or two the donkey tossed his head in a vain endeavour to free himself; then he gave the baker one of his gentlest glances and stepped round into the road.
'Oh, thank you so much,' said Aunt Mollie, as the baker carefully drove his van past the little cart; but poor Mary only hung her head. She had been beaten by a little donkey!
'Perhaps he will follow if I give him a lead,' suggested the obliging young man; 'but if I were in your place, I would take him home by another road. Coop, coop, coop!' he called to the donkey, in a sing-song voice as he drove away, and Tim, who seemed to understand his language, galloped after the van as fast as he could put his four little feet to the ground.