Big Chief sat with terrified eyes fixed on her retreating back, and when she was out of sight he got up and staggered to Dallas as if to say, "Don't you too leave me."
"Come on in out of sight," said my young master pityingly, and he led the boy to my stall.
They sat down on a box, and with his arm thrown over Big Chief's shoulder Dallas told wonderful stories he had heard of kind people adopting children and thinking as much of them as if they were their own.
His talk floated to me as I stood in the doorway. I don't think the suffering boy heard a word he said, and when presently a voice was heard—— "Dallas, Big Chief—where are you?" the boy exclaimed, "It's Dad—I can't meet him. You go, Dallas—I'll hide."
By this time I had sauntered into my stall and was pretending to lick my revolving salt cake.
Big Chief darted in and hid behind me, and presently we two were all alone in the stable.
I had seen boys suffer but never like this, and in my pony mind I could not help comparing this lad with my young master, who in like circumstances would not have sorrowed without hope.
My master was spiritual and refined. This boy was of the earth earthy. I saw he had valued most his proud position as the eldest son of a rich man—now everything was swept from him. He knew what adopted children usually were—foundlings from the street. Probably he was a boy without a name, without a family, and these kind persons had adopted him and treated him with such kindness that it had spoiled him and he had in his pride turned the children of his benefactors into such active enemies that, as Cassowary said, they all hated him.
How did I know what was going through his mind?
By his disjointed sentences and suffering exclamations. He grovelled in a corner on my bedding, his hot face in his hands.