Butterfly rose nobly to the occasion. So did the shafts, for the animal walked away leaving the governess-cart in a state of most unstable equilibrium. By dint of hanging on to one of the shafts Billy saved his companion from being deposited upon the ground, while Butterfly, having parted company with the trap, stopped and surveyed the antics of the still oscillating conveyance. "Never knew a reef-knot to slip like that before," exclaimed Billy, regarding the trailing traces. "It would be better if the traces were made fast in the orthodox manner, I fancy," suggested Entwistle, alighting from the cart and limping to the shafts. "There, that's the way--although it's not done navy fashion." Along the main road Butterfly showed no signs of "speed-form." Downhill she walked slowly; uphill she plodded with even less haste, and since it was all either up or down progress was far from swift. "I'll have to have another shave when we get to Barborough," remarked Billy with an emphasis on the "when." "I scraped at eight this morning, but at this rate I'll have cultivated a beard before Butterfly lands us at your place." "The first mile," commented Entwistle, pointing to a milestone. "Twenty minutes fifteen seconds. Some record that." A short distance beyond Blackberry Cross the donkey's manoeuvres began to cause Billy additional alarm. Without any apparent reason Butterfly would describe a semi-circle, keeping her eyes fixed upon something in the road. "Starboard, you blighter!" roared the amateur driver, tugging at one of the reins. "You'll have us in the ditch in half a shake." "Peculiar--very," remarked the vet. "A very peculiar craft in all respects," added Billy. "She's not used to this style of yoke-line. Steady, you swab! You're swinging to port again." "I've twigged it," announced, Entwistle. "She's jibbing at those manholes. They seem to irritate her. We'll have to be jolly careful when we get to the tram-lines or she'll try conclusions with a car. I tell you what: while you are in Barborough----" "If we ever get there," muttered Billy. "You ought to get that brute shod. She may do better on the metallic roads." Two hours later Butterfly and party were in the thickest part of the traffic. To the flight-sub it was a sort of nightmare. Tram after tram had to be stopped to enable the erratic animal to pass, while a crowd of urchins (practically all the unwashed of Barborough, Billy thought) tailed on to the "Dead March in Saul" procession and contributed rounds of applause as Barcroft steered the donkey through the traffic mostly by means of his shoulders directed against the animal's ribs. "Come in," said Entwistle as the party finally drew up outside the vet's house. "Put your steed in the stable and stop and have lunch." "Thanks all the same," said Billy. "I must be getting back, or it will be dark before I see Ladybird Fold again." The two men said good-bye, and Barcroft, leading the animal, set off on the return journey.