Elsa pointed pityingly to the bare little feet and legs, cruelly scratched and with dark bruises.
“I don’t know. I found him just this way.”
“Sainty! Wake up! My! How sound he sleeps! And how red his face is!”
“He’s sick. I’m sure. I found him all curled up, his little arms under his head. He moans, sometimes, but he doesn’t know anything that I say.”
At that moment a hoarse yell made Gerald look away from the boy and a leap of something to his shoulder made him yell in response.
“Jocko! Down! Behave! Oh! he’ll hurt you. They’ve both been asleep in that spot where the sun shines through. Oh! Stop—stop!”
The monkey was attacking Gerald’s face, snapping at his ears, pulling his hair, and almost frightening him into a fit. But Elsa laid Saint Augustine gently on the ground and went to the rescue. With sharp slaps of her thin hands she soon reduced Jocko to submission and, as if fearing punishment herself, Joan crouched behind a bush and peered cautiously out.
“Pshaw! How’d you do it? I was coming after the monkeys, they’re mine you know—or half mine, but—do they act that way often?”
“Yes, rather too often. That’s what makes everybody afraid to handle them. They’ll get better natured after a time, I hope. But no matter about them. They’re nothing but animals while this darling little boy—I don’t know as I can carry him. You’ve been sick and so can’t either, I suppose. Yet we can’t leave him here. Will you go back to the Lily and get more help? If you brought a hammock we might put him in that. He’s awfully sick. I’m afraid—he’ll die—and his mother—”
Gerald had stood looking upon the little lad while she said this, wondering what would best be done, and annoyed that he should be put to the bother of the matter. His decision was made rather suddenly as again Jocko leaped upon his back and resumed his angry chattering.