All the next winter I had no one to take care of me. I had to live in the forest, where I found scarcely enough to keep me from dying of hunger and thirst. I had plenty of time to think how wicked I’d been; how happy I was until I had given myself over to laziness, and spitefulness, and revenge; and to make up my mind to turn over a new leaf if ever I got the chance.

When the spring came, I went one day to a village on the edge of the forest, and was surprised to find quite a commotion there. The people were walking up and down; everybody had on his Sunday clothes; and, what was stranger still, all the donkeys in the neighborhood seemed to be there. They were sleek and fat, their heads were decorated with flowers and leaves, and not one of them was in harness or had a rider.

I trotted up to see if I could find out what all this was about, when suddenly one of the boys who were standing there saw me, and shouted,—

“Oh, I say, look here! here’s a fine donkey!”

“My word!” said another, “how well groomed he is! and how fat and well fed!” and they roared with laughter.

“I suppose he’s come to run in the donkey race,” said a third, “but he won’t win the prize! No fear!”

I was very much annoyed at these rude jokes and personal remarks; but I thought I should enjoy taking part in the race, so I listened again.

“Where are they going to run?” asked an old dame, who had just come up.

“In the meadow by the mill,” said a man named Andrew.

“How many donkeys are there?” asked the old woman.

“Sixteen, Mother Evans, and the one that comes in first will win a silver watch and a bag of money.”

“Oh, deary me!” said Mother Evans, “I do wish I had a donkey. I should so like to have a watch. I’ve never had the money to buy one.”

I liked the look of this old woman; I was justly proud of my running; I had been so long in the forest that I was not too fat, as some of these prize donkeys were; and so I would take part in the race. I trotted up to the others, and took my place among them, and then, to attract attention, I opened my mouth and brayed vigorously.

“Oh, you stop that!” cried out a man named Bill. “Hi! you there, donkey, you just stop that music, will you? and get out of there! You can’t run, you shabby brute! and, besides, you don’t belong to anybody.”

I held my tongue, but I didn’t budge an inch. Some laughed, and others were getting angry, when old Mother Evans said:—

“Well, he can have me for his mistress. I take him into my service from this minute. So now he can run for me.”

“Well,” said Bill, “do as you like, mother. Only if you want him to run, you’ve got to put a quarter into the bag the Squire has yonder.”

“All right, my dear,” said Mother Evans, and she hobbled off to where the Squire was sitting and paid her subscription into the bag.

“Very good,” said the Squire; “put Mrs. Evans’s name down, Richard.”

So the clerk put down my new mistress’s name. We were all drawn up in a line in the meadow. The Squire said, “One, two, three, and away!” the boys who held the donkeys let them go, and away we galloped as hard as we could, while the crowd ran cheering alongside.

The sixteen donkeys had not gone a hundred yards before I was in front of them all, an easy first. I thought I would beat them all now, at any rate, and I flew along as if I had wings. I passed proudly before the winning-post, not only first, but a long way ahead of all the rest, amid loud cheers from those who had no donkeys in the race.

The Squire sat at a table to give away the prizes, and Mother Evans, who was almost beside herself with delight, stroked and patted me, and led me up to the table with her to receive the first prize.

“Here, my good woman,” said the Squire; and he was just going to hand the watch and the bag of money to the old woman.

“Please, your worship, it isn’t fair!” cried Bill and Andrew. “It isn’t fair! That donkey doesn’t really belong to Mother Evans any more than it does to us! Our donkeys really got in first, not counting this one. The watch and money ought to be ours. It isn’t fair!”

“Did Mrs. Evans pay her quarter into the bag?” said the Squire.

“Well, your worship, she did, but—”

“Did any of you object to her doing so at the time?” asked the Squire.

“Well, no, your worship, but—”

“Did you raise any objection when the donkeys were just going to start?”

“Well, no, sir, but—”

“Very well, then. It’s all perfectly fair, and Mrs. Evans gets the watch and bag of money.”

“Please, sir, it isn’t fair, it isn’t fair! You—”

When I heard this, I at once put my head down on the table, and taking up the watch and bag in my teeth, put them into Mother Evans’s hands. This intelligent action on my part made the people roar with laughter, and won for me thunders of applause.

“There!” said the Squire, “the donkey has decided in favor of Mother Evans; and,” he added, with a smile, looking at Bill and Andrew, “I don’t think he is the biggest donkey present!”

“Bravo, your worship!” “Good for you!” resounded on all sides. And every one began to laugh at Andrew and Bill, who went away looking cross and ill-tempered.

And was I pleased? No, not at all. My pride was hurt. The Squire had been very rude to me; he had actually put men, these stupid men, on a level with an intelligent and right-minded donkey like myself! It was too much! I declined to stay in a place where I was so insulted, and I turned tail and trotted away from such an ignorant set of people.