The boys uttered a war-whoop, and nearly fell over the fence they were climbing. Rosie was a wreck as Happie and Gretta raised her; dust—the red shale dust of the region reddening her clean gingham; her sunbonnet flattened into a reddish mass, and her face crimson from heat, wrath and the shock of her fall.
"Mahlon hain't much of a man, but he's got the right to swear; I hain't," she remarked grimly, evidently regretting masculine rights and her own limitations.
Gretta wiped away the tears of laughter on her own dusty apron.
"Eunice will be furious because I'm gone so long," she said, "but this is worth a scolding. And do look once at those calves!"
Apparently the three young reprobates had taken Rosie's fall as a melancholy warning of what happened when people ran, for they had turned into their own gate as meekly as if that had been their intention from the first, and stood chewing and looking out at the heated group of their pursuers.
"They look as if they were going to sing: 'Speak gently, it is better far to rule by love than fear,'" said Happie, pulling herself together; she was weak from laughter.
"For mercy's sake, drive them in before they change their minds again!" cried Bob. "Here come mother and Aunt Keren back."
Rosie, Gretta and Happie ran up to the gate of the Ark just as the boys reached it from the other side, and just as Don Dolor, in the road, was nearly abreast of it. To every one's horror there came a loud report, apparently a pistol shot. Snigs shot up into the air about a yard, and fell, screaming aloud. Don Dolor arose on his hind legs, danced a moment as Miss Bradbury vainly tried to get control of him, then bolted down the road in a cloud of dust.
It had all happened so quickly that for an instant the terrified group around Snigs stood petrified, gazing at the prostrate boy, and down the road after the flying horse. Then Ralph picked up Snigs with agony stamped on his face, and Rosie cried: "What in time has happened? Why," she added, feeling of Snigs, "you're all wet; are you bleeding?"
"I guess so," moaned Snigs. "It's the ginger—ginger ale."