Only Cassowary and Dallas saw the point of this cruel joke.
My young master became so red that he was almost purple. What lively blood he had that it could so quickly surge to his face.
He felt already that I was his friend through thick and thin, and turning his head to me he muttered, "Let sleeping dogs lie."
These children, in spite of their politeness, had sized him up, judged him and condemned him in spite of their father's apology for him to Cassowary.
While they all stood staring at him, Cassowary did a very kind thing, as girls often do when boys have been unkind. She put her arm through Dallas' and said, "Don't mind him—he's an awful tease. You'll get something on him some day—— Come on and see the pigs. They're coming home to roost."
This was such a queer statement that it distracted my young master's attention from himself. He gave a kind of stagger, and went along with Cassowary.
"We'll call Dallas, Cousin," she suddenly screamed at the top of her young lungs. "That will make him feel at home."
As she said this we were all—children and pony—sweeping over the lawn toward the road. Mr. Devering was walking in the rose garden with his wife. He heard Cassowary's cheerful yell and he called, "Hooray! So you have found that out."
They didn't hear him—the wild young creatures. Cassowary was the wildest of all and a great runner. She just seemed to pick up her long legs and skim over the ground like her namesake, who can out-distance a horse. We had a fine dash up the road in the direction of the head of the lake, and then they all came to a stop, not one winded but Dallas, who was breathing heavily.