"I don't believe it was a bee," said Frank, "or we'd have heard the buzzing. Ouch——"
This time he sprang to his feet and fairly danced about as the same sharp, stinging sensation caught him in the forehead.
Sammy laughed at the figure Frank was cutting.
"I never knew you were such a good dancer, Frank," he mocked. "Give us a Highland——"
But at this instant something struck him on the tip of the nose and he, too, jumped up and down while he grasped his nose with his hand.
"Who's dancing now?" asked Frank gleefully.
But Sammy's eyes were fixed on a little pellet that lay on the sand at his feet. Stooping down, he picked it up and looked at it solemnly. He pinched it and handed it over to Frank who regarded it curiously.
"There's the sand fly that stung us," said Sammy.
"A putty ball," declared Frank. "Somebody's been shooting at us with a putty blower."
They looked at each other for an instant and then by common consent they looked toward the window of the room where Bob had been put to bed.