His curiosity was curtailed by the curiosity of the ass, who took to kicking, sending sundry loaves rolling on the road.
“Hi, there, come and help.”
Denise rose up, and went towards the struggling pair. She took the bridle from the boy, and began to pull the donkey’s ears, to rub her poll, and talk to her as though she were a refractory child. The beast grew suddenly docile, and the bread was saved.
Denise helped the boy to pick up the loaves. He looked hard at her when they had refilled the paniers, and then offered one of the loaves to Denise.
“Take it,” he said almost roughly, yet with the brusqueness of a boy’s good-will.
“It will be missed.”
The boy gave a determined shake of the head.
“Father’s bread. The jade served him the same trick last week, kicked the loaves on to a dung heap. He can’t blame me.”
He thrust the loaf into Denise’s hand, gave her a friendly grin, and cut the ass viciously across the hind-quarters with his stick. The response on the beast’s part was a wild and hypocritical amble.
This simple adventure on the road heartened Denise in very wonderful fashion, even as the voice of a child may interpose between a man and murder. It was like a mouthful of wine in the mouth of one ready to faint upon a journey. Denise watched the boy disappear, hardly thinking that she had been saved from despair by the obstinacy of an ass. She had the loaf in her hand and the boy’s smile in remembrance, and the mocking voices of the morning seemed less shamefully persistent.