From that day onward I lived a very happy life. My kind old mistress said that I should never be sent away; that I should never want for anything, but should remain with the family as long as I lived, and that they would do all in their power to take care of me. Jack had loved me even when I was wicked and miserable, so I was always looked upon as Jack’s donkey, even when Jack was at home in London. He always paid his grandmamma a long visit every summer, until he was ten years old, and then he went away with Janie and his father and mother to Australia. After that I was considered to be Harry’s donkey, because Harry, of all her grandchildren, paid the most frequent visits to his grandmamma. Harry is not so good as Jack was, but he is a kind boy; he never treats me roughly, he always takes great care of me, and calls me his dear old Neddy.

A series of talks between Harry and his cousins made me think of writing my memoirs. Harry always said that I did not understand what I did, nor why I did it. His cousins and Jack admitted my intelligence and my desire to do good. I profited by a severe winter which did not permit my being much out of doors, to compose and write this account of some of the important events of my life. Perhaps they may amuse you, my young friends, and in any case they will make you understand that if you wish to be well served, you must treat your servants well; that those you fancy the most stupid are not always so stupid as they appear; that a donkey, as well as others, has a heart to love his masters and to suffer from bad treatment; a will to revenge himself or to show his affection; that he can, thanks to his masters, be happy or unhappy, be a friend or an enemy, poor donkey though he be. I live happily; I am loved by everybody, cared for like a friend by my little master Harry. I begin to grow old, but donkeys live long, and as long as I can walk and stand up, I will hold my strength and my intelligence at the service of my master.

Your affectionate friend,
Neddy.