e Ark."
The Parson turned his meek eyes to the philosopher, and there was in them
something so deprecating rather than reproachful, that Dr. Riccabocca
turned away his face and refilled his pipe. Dr. Riccabocca abhorred
priests; but though Parson Dale was emphatically a parson, he seemed at
that moment so little of what Dr. Riccabocca understood by a priest, that
the Italian's heart smote him for his irreverent jest on the cloth.
Luckily at this moment there was a diversion to that untoward
commencement of conversation, in the appearance of no less a personage
than the donkey himself--I mean the donkey who ate the apple.
* * * * *
Chapter VI.
The Tinker was a stout swarthy fellow, jovial and musical withal, for he
was singing a stave as he flourished his staff, and at the end of each
_refrain_ down came the staff on the quarters of the donkey. The Tinker
went behind and sung, the donkey went before and was thwacked.
"Yours is a droll country," quoth Dr. Riccabocca; "in mine it is not the
ass that walks first in the procession, who gets the blows."
The Parson jumped from the stile, and, looking over the hedge that
divided the field from the road-"Gently, gently," said he; "the sound of
the stick spoils the singing! O Mr. Sprott, Mr. Sprott! a good man is
merciful to his beast."
The donkey seemed to recognize the voice of its friend, for it stopped
short, pricked one ear wistfully, and looked up.
The Tinker touched his hat, and looked up too. "Lord bless your
reverence! he does not mind it, he likes it. I would not hurt thee; would
I, Neddy?"
The donkey shook his head and shivered; perhaps a fly had settled on the
sore, which the chestnut leaves no longer protected.
"I am sure you did not mean to hurt him, Sprott," said the Parson, more
politely I fear than honestly--for he had seen enough of that
cross-grained thing called the human heart, even in the little world of a
country parish, to know that it requires management, and coaxing, and
flattering, to interfere successfully between a man and his own
donkey--"I am sure you did not mean to hurt him; but he has already got a
sore on his shoulder as big as my hand, poor thing!"
"Lord love 'un! yes; that vas done a playing with the manger, the day I
gave 'un oats!" said the Tinker.
Dr. Riccabocca adjusted his spectacles, and surveyed the ass. The ass
pricked up his other ear, and surveyed Dr. Riccabocca. In that
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