to passing its own front door the donkey simply would not.
It ended in Oswald getting down and going to the animal's head, and
having it out with him, man to man. The donkey was small, but of
enormous strength. He set all his four feet firm and leant back--and
Oswald set his two feet firm and leant back--so that Oswald and the
front part of the donkey formed an angry and contentious letter V. And
Oswald gazed in the donkey's eyes in a dauntless manner, and the donkey
looked at Oswald as though it thought he was hay or thistles.

Alice beat the donkey from the cart with a stick that had been given us
for the purpose. The rest shouted. But all was in vain. And four people
in a motor car stopped it to see the heroic struggle, and laughed till I
thought they would have upset their hateful motor. However, it was all
for the best, though Oswald did not see it at the time. When they had
had enough of laughing they started their machine again, and the noise
it made penetrated the donkey's dull intelligence, and he started off
without a word--I mean without any warning, and Oswald has only just
time to throw himself clear of the wheels before he fell on the ground
and rolled over, biting the dust.

The motor car people behaved as you would expect. But accidents happen
even to motor cars, when people laugh too long and too unfeelingly.
The driver turned round to laugh, and the motor instantly took the bit
between its teeth and bolted into the stone wall of the churchyard. No
one was hurt except the motor, but that had to spend the day at the
blacksmith's, we heard afterwards. Thus was the outraged Oswald avenged
by Fate.

[Illustration: ALICE BEAT THE DONKEY FROM THE CART. THE REST SHOUTED.]

He was not hurt either--though much the motor people would have cared if
he had been--and he caught up with the others at the end of the village,
for the donkey's pace had been too good to last, and the triumphal
progress was resumed.

It was some time before we found a wood sufficiently lurking-looking for
our secret purposes. There are no woods close to the village. But at
last, up by Bonnington, we found one, and tying our noble steed to the
sign-post that says how many miles it is to Ashford, we cast a hasty
glance round, and finding no one in sight disappeared in the wood with
our bundles.

We went in just ordinary creatures. We came out gipsies of the deepest
dye, for we had got a pennorth of walnut stain from Mr. Jameson the
b