“No, no, I tell you,” cried Mark impetuously. “We don’t want to rob you;” and leaning forward he touched the slender pieces of gold with his finger and then the ribbon-like band that was half hidden amongst the little fellow’s crisp curls.
“Where—where did you get them?” cried Mark.
The pigmy wrinkled up his forehead, with a disappointed look, raised his hands to his head, looking at the boy reproachfully the while, hesitated, and then snatched off the band, held all five ornaments together and thrust them towards Mark, with his face overcast and frowning the while.
“Oh, I do wish I could talk to you,” cried Mark. “Here, Mak, can’t you say something?”
The tall black shook his head and half turned away.
“He doesn’t understand either,” said Dean. “Try dumb motions, Mark.”
“All right,” cried Mark, seizing the set of rings, small and large, and they jingled musically together, while the pigmy with a gloomy look picked up his ostrich feather, which had fallen to the ground, thrust it into his hair, and turned frowningly away.
“No, no; hold hard,” cried Mark merrily, and he prisoned the little fellow by the arm and twisted him round, making him look up in angry wonderment, and his eyes flashed resentment as Mark snatched the ostrich feather from out of his hair and stuck the quill end into one of the buttonholes of his flannel Norfolk jacket.
The little dark face before him was lined with creases, and the flashing eyes nearly closed, while as he stood unresistingly Mark replaced the band of gold—for gold it was—about his head, and then taking the ostrich feather from his breast he thrust the quill beneath the band so that it hung over on one side with quite a cock.
“There, he looks splendid now,” cried Mark, “only don’t look so fierce. Now then—right arm;” and seizing it the boy held it up, thrust one bangle over it and ran it up the pigmy’s plump little arm right above the elbow, till it was arrested by the tightened biceps.