Now it began to grow dark; in the castle
windows the lights began to show. Then
came trouble! Slower, and slower, went the
gray donkey; slower, and slower, till, in
the very middle of a pitch-black wood, he
stopped and stood still. Not a step would
he budge for all the coaxing and scolding
and beating his rider could give. At last
the rider kicked him, as well as beat him,
and at that the donkey felt that he had had
enough. Up went his hind heels, and down
went his head, and over it went the lazy
man on to the stony ground.
There he lay groaning for many minutes,
for it was not a soft place, I can assure
you. How he wished he were in a soft,
warm bed, with his aching bones
comfortable in blankets! The very thought of
it made him remember the castle of fortune,
for he knew there must be fine beds
there. To get to those beds he was even
willing to bestir his bruised limbs, so he
sat up and felt about him for the donkey.
No donkey was to be found.
The lazy man crept round and round
the spot where he had fallen, scratched his
hands on the stumps, tore his face in the
briers, and bumped his knees on the stones.
But no donkey was there. He would have
lain down to sleep again, but he could
hear now the howls of hungry wolves in
the woods; that did not sound pleasant.
Finally, his hand struck against
something that felt like a saddle.
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