The man still stared, but gradually he began to grasp the situation. His mouth slowly opened, a grin began to creep round to his ears, and he cackled. Cackled offensively and long.
We could not stand that, and we hurried along the road. The man stood up in his wagon, looking after us, and still uttering that idiotic cackle.
"Well, we're a lot of numb-heads," remarked Rob Currier.
Apparently we all agreed, but no one said so. We stubbed along in the dust, silent and ashamed. The fiasco had taken the life out of us. We did not want to go back to the woods and we did not want to return home. The jeers that might greet us there would be worse than the laughter of the man in the wagon.
Out for an all-day expedition on the last day before school opened, out for a grand exploration of the wild country,—and we had eaten all three of our meals and come home at nine o'clock in the morning! What were these bats and night-birds that we had seen? Where was the sunset and all the rest of it? This last day of vacation to be spoiled—
Suddenly Joe Carter stopped in the middle of the road.
His mouth opened, and then a grin spread over his face.
"By Jings!" he shouted.
We stopped and gazed at him.
Then he began to jump about excitedly on one leg.