many a time did he kick up his hinder legs in
defiance before George at length succeeded in throwing the halter over
his head. The mighty feat, however, was, after repeated failures,
accomplished, and George felt not a little satisfied when he found
himself safely seated on the animal. He certainly was seated, but as to
riding, it was what the donkey seemed resolved he should not do, and
there he continued to sit, perfectly still and quiet, for some minutes,
for although the animal had shown great fleetness and alacrity when
George was attempting to stop him, it was very different now George was
endeavouring to make him go on. George kicked as hard as he could kick
with both his heels, and flogged with all his might, but the stubborn
beast would not stir an inch. He then got off his back, and led him into
the road, which he had some difficulty in accomplishing, and when there
he would not go a bit better than in the field. He had no preference to
the turnpike road, and George, after fatiguing himself, and getting into
a violent heat by beating and thumping the animal's impenetrable skin,
considered that he had better get him back again into the field, and
there leave him. But here again the stubborn beast perplexed him; he
would not budge an inch, no, not even when George pulled and dragged him
by the halter till his arms ached so much he was obliged to desist. Now
what was to be done? The donkey was not his father's; it was borrowed.
If he left it on the road it would be lost or stolen, and as to riding
it or leading it away it seemed entirely impossible. He was standing in
not a very happy mood, and leaning against the donkey's neck, when a
butcher's boy came jogging along upon his shaggy and bareboned pony.

'Do you want to get him on, sir?' said the boy.

'Yes, but he won't stir,' said George.

'Oh, trust me to making him stir,' replied the hatless, greasy-haired
lad. 'Get upon his back, sir, and I'll send him on for you.'

George was upon his back in a minute, but with all the famed prowess of
the butcher's boy as a donkey driver, and with all George's renewed
thumps and kicks, the animal would not move from the spot where he had
fixed himself. The butcher's boy was quite in a rage, and he was venting
his spleen upon the stubbornness of all donkeys, and of this donkey in
particular, when the sudden sound of a horn made both the donkey and the
pony prick up their ears. In a few moments a stage coach was in sight,