They rent the still summer air,
mingled with the sound of breaking glass and crockery. The mule
continued his mad career down the hill, his reins trailing in the
dust. In the distance was a little gipsy's donkey cart full of pots
and pans. William found his voice suddenly and began to warn the mule.
[Illustration: WILLIAM'S HAIR STOOD ON END. HE ALMOST FORGOT TO CLING
TO THE SEAT. FOR NOT ONE SCREAM CAME BUT MANY, MINGLED WITH THE SOUND
OF BREAKING GLASS AND CROCKERY.]
"Look out, you ole softie!" he yelled. "Look out for the donk, you ole
ass."
But the mule refused to be warned. He neatly escaped the donkey cart
himself, but he crashed the caravan into it with such force that the
caravan broke a shaft and overturned completely on to the donkey
cart, scattering pots and pans far and wide. From within the caravan
came inhuman female yells of fear and anger. William had fallen on to
a soft bank of grass. He was discovering, to his amazement, that he
was still alive and practically unhurt. The mule was standing meekly
by and smiling to himself. Then out of the window of the caravan
climbed a woman--a fat, angry woman, shaking her fist at the world in
general. Her hair and face were covered with sugar and a fork was
embedded in the front of her dress. Otherwise she, too, had escaped
undamaged.
The owner of the donkey cart arose from the _melee_ of pots and pans
and turned upon her fiercely. She screamed at him furiously in reply.
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