“If it was meself I wouldn’t shed a tear to plase ’em,” he said. “Some of the haythen are just cruel enough to be pleased to see it, although it doesn’t sthrike me that the chief is one of the number. He seems to be more tender-hearted than the others.”
“But how can I help it when I think of my friends?”
“I s’pose it ain’t aisy, but then don’t think of ’em. Just think of the situation we bees in this minute, and then larf.”
“Ah! it’s hard work to see anything to laugh at—oh!”
At this juncture, Teddy caught his toe in a root and stumbled to the ground. His fall was so ridiculously grotesque, that several of the stoical bronzed faces were relaxed, and Ruth could not forbear a smile herself. Not one of them suspected it was a piece of strategy, got up for the especial benefit of the female captive herself. Teddy took his discomfiture good-humoredly.
“You are not injured, I hope,” said Ruth; “you must pardon me, but I could not keep from laughing, you seemed so much taken by surprise.”
“I’d much rather see you laugh than cry; it’s more pleasant to all concerned. But did you see the unmannerly dogs grin at me? That chap seemed to enjoy it as much as yourself.”
Teddy was going sideways, looking toward the savages as he spoke, when he again stumbled so awkwardly as to bring a grin into the face of every savage in the company.
“What yes laughing at?” he demanded in either pretended or real fury. “Have ye no more manners than to laugh at a fellow that stubs his toe? Yer no christians but haythens, all of yes.”
“Poor man!” said one of them in much sympathy, “much hurt pale face—sorry—much hurt?”