“Ah, oh!” cried both the girls, with one voice; and then to our amazement they plumped down upon their knees and bowed their heads to the floor and began wailing and beating their front hair with the palms of their hands.
We allowed their emotions full play for a time, but they kept up the monotonous cries and self-inflicted blows longer than we thought necessary.
“Oh, shut up, Ko-Tua!” grunted Archie, stooping down to give the pretty widow’s shoulder a vigorous shake. “Stop the racket until you’re in public. You’re not so eternally sorry, are you?”
She looked up with a smile and slowly rose, Mai Mou demurely following her example.
“I’m glad,” said Ko-Tua, frankly. “Now I no have tongue cut out. But Mai Lo my husban’, an’ he dead, an’—oh, oh! ah-oh! oh-ah!——”
“Hi! cut it out!” yelled Archie, as the widow relapsed into her wails. “If you don’t behave, I’ll—I’ll bring Mai Lo to life again!”
She stopped at once.
“You sure he dead?” inquired Mai Mou.
“Absolutely sure,” I replied. “He committed suicide, and we saw him do it. But see here, young ladies; you mustn’t mention this till tomorrow, when public announcement is made. Do you understand? Go home and control your grief until you hear the news from others, and then howl as much as you please.”
They were puzzled at this order, but when we explained that our own lives depended upon their silence they willingly promised to obey.