“Well; they were cantering along--doing the handsome--and had just come to the border of a pond, when a donkey pops his innocent nose over a fence in their rear, and began to heehaw' in a most melodious strain. The nags pricked up their ears in a twinkling, and made no more ado but bolted. Poor aunty tugged! but all in vain; her bay-cob ran into the water; and she lost both her presence of mind and her seat, and plumped swash into the pond--her riding habit spreading out into a beautiful circle--while she lay squalling and bawling out in the centre, like a little piece of beef in the middle of a large batter-pudding! Miss Scragg, meanwhile, stuck to her graymare, and went bumping along to the admiration of all beholders, and was soon out of sight: luckily a joskin, who witnessed my dear aunt's immersion, ran to her assistance, and, with the help of his pitch-fork, safely landed her; for unfortunately the pond was not above three or four feet deep! and so she missed the chance of being an angel!” “And you the transfer of her threes!--what a pity!” said the sympathizing Mr. Timmis. “When I heard of the accident, of course, as in duty bound, I wrote an anxious letter of affectionate enquiry and condolence. At the same period, seeing an advertisement in the Times--'To be sold, warranted sound, a gray-mare, very fast, and carries a lady; likewise a bay-cob, quiet to ride or drive, and has carried a lady'--I was so tickled with the co-incidence, that I cut it out, and sent it to her in an envelope.” “Prime! by Jove!”--shouted Mr. Crobble--“But, I say, Wallis--you should have sent her a 'duck' too, as a symbolical memorial of her accident!” CHAPTER X.--The Pic-Nic. --had just spread out their prog on a clean table-cloth, when they were alarmed by the approach of a cow. “People should never undertake to do a thing they don't perfectly understand,” remarked Mr. Crobble, “they're sure to make fools o' themselves in the end. There's Tom Davis, (you know Tom Davis?) he's always putting his notions into people's heads, and turning the laugh against 'em. If there's a ditch in the way, he's sure to dare some of his companions to leap it, before he overs it himself; if he finds it safe, away he springs like a greyhound.” “Exactly him, I know him,” replied Mr. Timmis; “that's what he calls learning to shave upon other people's chins!” “Excellent!” exclaimed Mr. Wallis. “He's a very devil,” continued Mr. Crobble; “always proposing some fun or other: Pic-nics are his delight; but he always leaves others to bring the grub, and brings nothing but himself. I hate Pic-nics, squatting in the grass don't suit me at all; when once down, I find it no easy matter to get up again, I can tell you.” Hereupon there was a general laugh.