(Concluded from page 402.)

IV.

'Please, sir, could you speak to Simmons?'

'Ask him to come in here. Wonder what Simmons wants at this hour?' said Major Raeburn to his wife, when the parlour-maid had closed the door.

'Well, Simmons,' as the groom quietly entered the room, 'what is the trouble?'

'It's the oats, sir. Some one is stealing them.'

'Are you sure?'

'Certain, sir. It has been going on for a day or two.'

'Extraordinary,' murmured the Major. 'Well, we must watch. Have other things disappeared?'

'No, sir, not so far as I have seen. I can't make head or tail of it. The two lads are as honest as the day; indeed, it was one of them who first noticed it. He refills the bin in the stable, and it is from there the oats are being stolen. I generally go to have a bit of lunch about ten or half-past, and I think the oats are taken then.'

'Well, look here! it is just ten, so you go to your lunch as usual; that will put the thief off his guard; but send one of the boys to hide in the stable and I will go and join him.'

'Any one there?' he whispered, a little later, as he crept into the stable.

'Yes, sir, Robin. I am in the loose-box,' continued the voice of the unseen Robin.

They had waited for over an hour, when Robin sat up and listened intently.

'Hear something?' inquired his master.

'The paddock gate, sir.'

Now, as no one used the paddock gate except Simmons or one of the boys—when Tim was turned out—Major Raeburn rose softly to his feet, and cautiously moved towards the small window.

'Quick, Robin!' called the Major, laughing softly, 'look at this!'

There at the paddock gate stood Tim; his head was down and he was trying to open the gate. They could see his soft nose pushed through between the bars of the gate, and hear the metallic click that the latch made as it fell back into its groove.

At last Tim's efforts were successful, and pushing the gate forward, he walked into the yard.

On he came towards the stable, past the window where the two watchers stood motionless, and then his head appeared through the doorway.

'Hush!' whispered Major Raeburn, afraid that Robin would break the silence.

Straight towards the bin where the oats were kept did Tim go, and here he paused and looked around.

Fumble, fumble, fumble, went his nose against the iron bolt of the bin; but Tim was an expert burglar, and not easily discouraged. After many failures, his struggles were crowned by success, and Tim pressed up the lid with his strong, brown head until, with a dull thud, it feel back against the wall; then whisking his tail over his back, with a movement that expressed perfect satisfaction, Tim's head disappeared in the depths of the oats-bin.

Then, but not till then, did Major Raeburn and Robin give way to their mirth.

'Upon my word,' said the Major, 'that donkey is just a little too clever for any ordinary family.'

'Come out of that, you little villain!' he shouted to Tim, who was evidently making the most of this golden opportunity; 'and allow me to tell you that this is the last feed of oats you will be able to steal.'

'Are you going to drive, Father?' asked Harry, in a tone of dismay, when he saw his father take the reins.

'Yes; got any objection?'

'No—o. Only, you see, Mother does drive so beautifully.'

'Oh, yes, I know that; but Mother is pretending to be a visitor to-day, and we are taking her for a drive.'

'Do you think nobody will get thrown out?'

'I hope not.'

'Oh, but, Father, that isn't very exciting. Just think what fun it would be if we all got thrown out, and Nannie had to put sticking plaster on our noses.'

'Oh, yes, it would be lovely,' said the Major, dryly, and Mother, who was pretending to be a visitor, laughed merrily.

'Turn down towards the Hall, Jack,' she said at the cross-roads. 'It is such a pretty road.'

'So far as I can see,' exclaimed Major Raeburn, 'this little animal is splendid between the shafts. He may have been a little too fresh yesterday; but you must own that he has gone beautifully to-day. Haven't you, Timmie? Hullo! what's that black thing looking over the hedge?'

'Where?' asked Harry, jumping off his seat. 'Please show me, Father. Oh, yes, I see now! It's Sambo.'

'And who is Sambo?' queried his father.

'Why, Sambo is the Hall donkey. Once'—in a tone of great importance—'I gave Sambo a carrot, and'—in an awe-struck voice—'he ate it!'

'Extraordinary animal!' murmured the Major, in a voice of the greatest surprise. 'Now, then, Tim, my boy, don't get alarmed; that black head belongs to your brother, Sambo.'

If Tim was surprised to see Sambo, Sambo was evidently still more astonished to see him, and the black head disappeared, only to reappear over the hedge in a line with the cart.

Up went Tim's ears in an inquiring way, and he shied violently to the other side of the road.

'Do speak to him, Jack,' said Mrs. Raeburn. 'If he shies like that again, he will have us all in the ditch!'

'Go on now, Tim,' and the Major gave the reins a sharp jerk; but Tim remained stationary, gazing at Sambo. To make matters worse, he was now standing right across the road, as this position enabled him to look at his new friend more thoroughly.

The inspection having proved satisfactory, Sambo's head suddenly went up in the air, and he started to bray with all the force of his powerful lungs.

Tim stepped back in feigned alarm, till the wheels of the cart were on the edge of the ditch; then he also raised his head, and joined in the noise.

The sound was so deafening that Mrs. Raeburn put her hands over her ears, while many expressions chased each other across Harry's face. He had never heard a donkey bray before, and at first was frightened. 'Father,' he whispered—there was a note of alarm in his voice—'what is that queer noise?'

'Why, that is only Tim and Sambo talking to each other,' his father answered, laughing heartily. 'Sambo is saying, "I say, where do you come from?" and I suppose Tim is telling him that he has just come from a greengrocer's shop; but I wish that they would be quick and finish their conversation.'

This, apparently, was the last thing that the donkeys had any intention of doing; even the whip was used without any result. Tim's conversation with Sambo was so interesting that he even forgot to kick when the whip came in contact with his thick brown hide. Occasionally they stopped to take breath, only to start again with renewed vigour.

'Stop that noise, Tim,' shouted the now angry Major. 'You will have us all deaf!'

Harry stared at his father in astonishment 'Why, Father, I like it, now. This is much nicer than going a walk with Mary.'

'Hi!' shouted the driver of an approaching waggon, 'I'm sorry to trouble you, sir, but I must get past.'

'If you will tell me how you are going to manage it,' called back the Major, 'I shall be only too pleased to allow you.'

The man drew his horses up by the side of the road, and then scrambled down to see whether he could be of any assistance.

'I never saw such a stubborn little brute,' he muttered, after many fruitless attempts to turn the donkey round. 'Perhaps if the lady would take the donkey's head, we might just lift the cart; and the little gentleman could throw stones at the black donkey.'

This brilliant idea was in process of being carried out; but it is doubtful whether it would have succeeded, had it not been for the timely appearance of the Squire's pony-cart.

The Squire himself was driving, with a tall schoolboy beside him, and his cheery, 'You seem to be having a bad time, Major,' acted like a tonic upon the depressed spirits of Major Raeburn and his wife. 'Now then, Frank, you know about donkeys and their ways, so jump out, and help them to turn the cart.'

Three pairs of muscular arms lifted up the light cart, and turned it round, so that Tim could no longer see Sambo.

'Push now,' shouted the Squire, and he roared with laughter when he saw the expression on Major Raeburn's face. 'Oh, yes, I assure you, this is one of the ways to drive an obstinate donkey!'

By dint of much hard work, in which Harry imagined that he had largely assisted, Tim was at last got past the waggon; while Mrs. Raeburn, by means of stone-throwing, kept Sambo's head back from the hedge.

When the manoeuvre had been successfully carried out, Major Raeburn suggested that as Frank seemed to understand donkeys, he might drive Tim home.

'You see, my boy, I feel as if I had done enough driving for to-day!'

'Oh, thank you,' murmured the boy, flushing with pleasure, for he loved driving; 'and now, Mrs. Raeburn, where is your box of stones?'

Mrs. Raeburn stared at him in surprise; 'My what?'

'Your box of stones,' he repeated. 'You can't drive a donkey like any other animal. Not got any? Oh, no wonder you had trouble! Father, have you got Sambo's stones there? Thanks, that is the box,' as the Squire handed him a large cocoa tin half filled with pebbles. 'Now, Harry, you must hold the box and stand at the top of the cart close to Tim. Yes! that's it. Now away we go. Come along, old boy!'—this to Tim; but Tim refused to move. 'Now then, Harry, lean over, and rattle the stones as hard as ever you can.'

Trembling with excitement, Harry did as he was told; the result was instantaneous. Away went Tim as hard as he could gallop.

'Well!' sighed Mrs. Raeburn, in utter astonishment 'that is a simple remedy; but what can we do to stop him when he shies?'

'At what sort of things does he shy?'

Tim answered this question for himself, by shying violently at a dark shadow that fell across the road.

'Ah! he is nervous, Sambo did that at first. You see he was a town donkey also, and when carts and shadows suddenly came upon him in a quiet lane he was afraid of them. Now he is used to them!'

'And when he bolts, Frank?'

'Don't give him so much to eat, Mrs. Raeburn. Stop that, Tim.' Tim had taken advantage of the conversation to try and get a bite of grass from the side of the road. 'Stones again, Harry,' and Harry, only too glad to feel that he was assisting in the driving, rattled the stones gaily, laughing and chattering with delight.

Away went Tim again, and Mrs. Raeburn's spirits rose. 'Why, he goes beautifully with you, Frank.'

'There is no trick about it, Mrs. Raeburn; only he has evidently been accustomed to stones, and won't stand a whip. We heard how he smashed up Mrs. Wood's gate! If you had had stones he would have been all right.'

They reached home safely, Harry greatly pleased with the new method of donkey-driving. Tim remained in his new home, and although there are days when Mary wishes that he were not so clever, and Simmons mutters that he is more trouble than he is worth, yet they all get to love him.

The End.