ank Heaven
indeed, when I am as full of thorns as a porcupine! I should just like
to know what use thistles are in the world."

"For donkeys to eat, if you will let them, Squire," answered the parson.

"Ugh, you beast!" cried Mr. Hazeldean, all his wrath reawakened, whether
by the reference to the donkey species, or his inability to reply to
the parson, or perhaps by some sudden prick too sharp for
humanity--especially humanity in nankeens--to endure without kicking.
"Ugh, you beast!" he exclaimed, shaking his cane at the donkey, which,
at the interposition of the parson, had respectfully recoiled a few
paces, and now stood switching its thin tail, and trying vainly to lift
one of its fore-legs--for the flies teased it.

"Poor thing!" said the parson, pityingly. "See, it has a raw place on
the shoulder, and the flies have found out the sore."

"I am devilish glad to hear it," said the squire, vindictively.

"Fie, fie!"

"It is very well to say 'Fie, fie.' It was not you who fell among the
thistles. What 's the man about now, I wonder?"

The parson had walked towards a chestnut-tree that stood on the village
green; he broke off a bough, returned to the donkey, whisked away the
flies, and then tenderly placed the broad leaves over the sore, as a
protection from the swarms. The donkey turned round its head, and looked
at him with mild wonder.

"I would bet a shilling," said the parson, softly, "that this is the
first act of kindness thou hast met with this many a day. And slight
enough it is, Heaven knows."

With that the parson put his hand into his pocket, and drew out an
apple. It was a fine large rose-cheeked apple, one of the last winter's
store from the celebrated tree in the parsonage garden, and he was
taking it as a present to a little boy in the village who had notably
distinguished himself in the Sunday-school. "Nay, in common justice,
Lenny Fairfield should have the preference," muttered the parson. The
ass pricked up one of its ears, and advanced its head timidly. "But
Lenny Fairfield would be as much pleased with twopence; and what could
twopence do to thee?" The ass's nose now touched the apple. "Take it,
in the name of Charity," quoth the parson; "Justice is accustomed to be
served last;" and the ass took the apple. "How had you the heart!" said
the parson, pointing to the squire's cane.

The ass stopped munching, and looked askant at the squire. "Pooh! eat
on; he'll not beat thee now."

"No,"