Today is Saturday.
He felt hopeless and helpless. He thought all the possibilities and eventually realized that the only chance that he could become himself again was that someone could take the pebble and wish the rock beside him to become a donkey. Someone would find the remarkable pebble, but what on earth would make them wish a rock were a donkey? The chance was one in a million at best. Sylvester could do nothing but fell asleep. Meanwhile his parents were worried about him. They tried their best to look for him. Few times they passed him but they didn't realized the rock on the hill was their son. After a month of searching the same places over and over again, and inquiring of the same animals over and over again, Mr. and Mrs. Duncan no long knew what to do. They concluded that something dreadful must have happened and that they would probably never see their son again. (Though all the time he was less than a mile away.) They were miserable. Life had no meaning for them any more. Sylvester on the hill woke up less and less often. When he was awake, he was only hopeless and unhappy.
