“Bob isn’t here; but you are a queer fellow,” said Mark.
“Yes,” said the man; and he looked from one to the other, and sighed again.
“Here, I say,” continued Mark, “where does it hurt you?”
“Hurt me?” replied the man.
“Yes. Inside? Are you in pain?”
The man shook his head.
“My way,” he said, and he sighed again.
“Well, don’t talk like that.”
“Eh? No,” said the man; and he reached out his hand to pass it over the muzzle of one of the ponies that had raised its head from where it had been cropping the green shoots of a dwarf shrub.
“The ponies seem to be very good friends with you.”