These words seemed to bring to the mind of the boy the picture of the wildly kicking burro, with his rolling eyes and comical aspect of terror and anger, and he suddenly burst into a peal of wild laughter. In a moment he was convulsed, and it almost seemed that he was on the point of falling and rolling on the floor, as he had rolled on the ground outside.
Beneath the window the old Indian continued smoking, but a grunt that seemed an expression of satisfaction came from his lips as he heard that burst of laughter.
Frank did not laugh, but sat there quietly, betraying no effort to remain grave, until the lad had ceased to give expression to his merriment.
It must be confessed, however, that Merry found it no easy task to keep a sober face through that burst of laughter, about which there seemed something strangely infectious.
When the boy had quieted down somewhat, Frank quietly said:
“You must have forgotten the climax. Felicia, in her anxiety for Billy, ran out, was knocked down and hurt. She might have been killed. But what do you care? You laugh.”
“I do care! I do care!” panted the lad, all the laughter gone from his face now. “Billy had no right to hurt her! I’ll kill him if he does it again!”
“Then you think Billy was to blame? Of course there was nothing to cause Billy’s actions? The old tin pail that was hitched to his tail had nothing to do with it?”
The boy’s dark eyes looked Frank full and fearlessly in the face, but his face flushed. He was quick to discern the trap into which Merry was luring him, and, like a flash, he asked:
“Were you ever a boy?”