Fish by L.S. Matthews Read Free Book Online Page A

fall the same way as before, I was satisfied that I'd probably stay pretty dry, although Dad might go under.
    The Guide, unusually, started to chivvy the donkey around the bank, to show her that we really had to cross. The donkey thought it would be a far better idea if we just followed this bank, where the ground was safe and dry, but finally got the message.
    She went backward and forward, putting a front hoof in here, and trying another there, her ears stuck hard forward. She slowly narrowed down an area about two feet of bank wide. Then she did some more checking and sideways shuffling, and took quite a bold step out into the mud. Soon she was walking, and the mud only came up to just above each hoof.
    Dad said, “Clever old thing. I wonder how that system works?”
    “It's like she can see through the mud,” I said.
    We took up our old positions again, but this time I felt it was Dad worrying about Mum, instead of the other way around. He kept stopping and trying to look back at her, but couldn't really keep his balance and turn with me and my pack on his back and both of his feet in the mud.
    “You look straight ahead, Dad, at the donkey and the Guide, and I'll keep checking on Mum,” I said at last, and he said:
    “OK, good idea.”
    The Guide called back, “Stay close together now. We must follow
exactly
where the donkey treads—not a little to the left, not a little to the right. I will follow her exactly, you follow me exactly, and the person behind you does the same. Use your stick all the time to the front, to both sides, before you take a step.”
    The mud became deeper—up to Dad's knees, and higher on Mum, who is smaller. But we were gettingacross. It was taking ages, however. After what seemed like an hour, we were only a little way away from the bank we'd left. Checking before every step slowed us all down.
    Dad must have wanted it over quicker than all of us. Once out in the mud, there was no way he could put me down to take a rest.
    I started telling him about my design for a mud boat or raft, remembering what the Guide had said about talking being good, and Dad thought of lots of important ideas that might help stop it from sinking.
    “Ho!”
    The Guide stopped and raised his arm suddenly.
    We looked up. The donkey, who had no stick, but, like us, was somehow checking every step before taking it, had stopped.
    None of us said anything. We didn't know how her special powers worked, but she certainly looked like she was thinking, or listening, and we did know it's easier to do that if people aren't chattering.
    The donkey cast her head and neck side to side fora moment. Then she just stood, as if she had given up the job and now it was someone else's turn.
    Carefully, the Guide waded up to the donkey's hindquarters, and staying close to her side, felt along her back until he reached her head.
    He reached with his stick into the mud in front of the donkey—this side, that side, a little further. Our hearts sank as we saw the stick disappearing.
    “Oh no, I think that means we'll have to reverse a bit,” said Dad, jockeying me up a bit higher on his back.
    The Guide moved sideways from the donkey's flank now, parallel to the opposite bank and pointing up-river, feeling every step of the way with his stick. The mud was too thick to swish the stick through it. You had to put it in, draw it back out, and try again.
    He was very patient, but I was starting to get frightened for the first time. If we gave up and turned around, would we even make it back to the bank now?
    The Guide had found safe ground. He moved along it several feet, and the donkey, encouraged, picked upher heavy head, turned sideways and began to follow. Then the Guide managed to find a shallow enough place to start heading straight on toward the opposite bank again, and the donkey set off quite confidently, so the Guide could take up his position behind her again.
    Mum and Dad each traced the maneuver with their own footsteps. Then,