“You ran away,” Joel repeated loudly, so astounded at such a reception, that all he could do was to repeat it again, “you ran away.” This time his round face became very sober—and in a minute down he went flat on his face by David’s side.
Davie by this time was quite gone in misery, and he burst out, “I want Polly!”
Joel didn’t say anything as Davie cried on. And everything was so still that Davie forgot that he was there—until a queer little rustle made him poke up his head. Joel was stuffing the end of his calico blouse into his mouth and making frantic efforts to hold back his sobs. It was now David’s turn to precipitate himself on Joel.
“I want Polly,” came in gusts from Joel, and he rolled over and over trying to stop.
“Oh, don’t, Joel,” begged Davie, very much frightened.
“I want her,” screamed Joel, “and I’m going right straight after her to Mr. King’s house to bring her home.” With that he hopped to his feet. His face was dreadfully red, but he had stopped crying. “They sha’n’t keep her there,” he declared, and his black eyes flashed defiantly.
“Oh, Joel, you wouldn’t do that!” David, in his terror, gripped Joel’s sleeve.
“I would, too,” declared Joel stoutly. “I shall start this minute,” and he tore himself free, and darted down the mossy bank.
David, without stopping to think of the impossibility of such a plan ever coming to completion, dashed after him, screaming, “Don’t, Joel,” with all his might, and catching his foot in a rambling vine, over he pitched headlong down a steep descent in the bank.
Joel heard him go, and rushing back to scramble down after him, he found David picking himself up from a heap of dried leaves.