Koma nodded, silently.
“What?” she inquired. “What was that bitten you, Koma?”
“Gnat!” said the boy, briefly.
“Gnat?” She crept a few paces nearer to him, and peered up into his face.
“Yes—gnat,” he repeated, “bad devil gnat.”
The expression on the little girl’s face was involved. How was it possible for any one ever to know just what Komazawa meant when his face was so grave and smileless. She had an odd little trick of glancing up at one sideways under her eyelashes. She peeped up at Koma now for some time in this manner. Her mirth had changed to a matter of speculation. Did or did not Koma know what had bitten him? He had said it was a gnat. Her intelligence was not sufficiently developed to include the possibility that he might have meant her for the gnat. She ventured:
“Did you see that gnat bite you?”
“Yes, twice.”
Her eyes became wide.
“Where is it gone?” she inquired, breathlessly.