“No,” he said slowly. “It was to put it back on the stick, so as the other boys could not catch it first.”
“What was done then!”
Dexter was silent, and he seemed to be taking a wonderful deal of interest in the frog, which was panting hard in his hot hand, with only its comical face peeping out between his finger and thumb, the bright golden irised eyes seeming to stare into his, and the loose skin of its throat quivering.
“Well, Dexter, why don’t you tell me!”
“Am I to?” said the boy slowly.
“Of course.”
There were a few more moments of hesitation, and then the boy said with an effort—
“They used—”
He paused again.
“We used to get lots of stones and shy at ’em till they was dead.”