“Happy?” said the boy; “who’s to be happy after what I’ve done? Why, I shan’t never dare to come past Ergles now in the dark.”
“Why?”
“’Cause old Purlrose and his men’ll come popping out to haunt me for getting ’em killed. I shall never like to come by there again.”
“They won’t come out this way, Dum,” said Mark, trying to look very serious; “they’ll come the other way, and get into the mine to lie in wait for you in the dark parts, and heave blocks of stones at you.”
“Think they will, Master Mark?” gasped the boy, and his eyes and mouth opened wide.
“Sure to.”
“Get out: you’re laughing at me.”
“I’m more disposed to cry; to think of such a stout, brave lad as you should believe such nonsense.”
“Nonsense?” cried Dummy. “What, don’t you be—believe in ghosts and bor—bogies, Master Mark?”
“Do I look as if I did?” cried Mark contemptuously. “You wait till I get well, and if you tell me then that you believe in such silly old women’s tales, I’ll kick you.”