Reels And Spindles

The white burro had a will of her own. So, distinctly, had her mistress. As had often happened, these two wills conflicted. For the pair had come to a point where three ways met. Pepita wanted to ascend the hill, by a path she knew, to stable and supper. Amy wished to follow a descending road, which she did not know, into the depths of the forest. Neither inclined toward the safe middle course, straight onward through the village, now picturesque in the coloring of a late September day. "No, Pepita. You must obey me. If I'm not firm this time, you'll act worse the next. To the right, amiable beastie " Both firmness and sarcasm were wasted. The burro rigidly planted her forefeet in the dust and sorrowfully dropped her head. Amy tugged at the bridle.