“Happy thought,” gasped Clarence. “Say, Ezra, if you’ll tell Dora you’re sorry for taking liberties with her, I’ll be glad to shake hands with you.”
For answer, Ezra broke into half audible maledictions.
“What did he do?” asked Ben.
Clarence explained.
“You apologize,” said Ben sternly, on hearing the story, “or I’ll give you another licking myself.”
“I’m sorry,” said Ezra, with the worst possible grace.
Then Clarence caught Ezra’s hand and pumped it up and down with an assurance which was amazing.
The night was now well advanced, and dark clouds, black and heavy, had within the last half hour shut out the friendly eyes of the stars. A peal of distant thunder was heard.
“We’d better get ready for bed,” said Ben.
At his word, all seated themselves about the dying fire, save Pete and his wife who at once made for the larger tent. One of the children came running to Ben with a guitar; whereupon Dora rose and with clasped hands stood beside the young gypsy.