The boy smiled. Then he turned to the window and pressed the palm of his disengaged hand against the window-pane. He spread out his little fingers, and presently pointed at the slowly passing hill-crests as though counting them. Then, all in a moment, he squatted on the floor of the car with a bump.
A gurgle of laughter broke from him.
“Up-ee!” he crowed. And he scrambled again to his feet, and came with a rush to his nurse’s knee.
“Hurt, boy-man?”
The nurse was smiling happily as she put the unnecessary question.
“Bad ole puffer!” came the laughing reply, as two chubby hands clapped themselves on the dark-skinned hand that was held out to caress.
Luana fondled one of the little hands. She drew a deep breath.
“Bimeby we mak home on the big lake,” she said. “No more holiday. No more big city. No more old bad puffer. Boy-man see big lake. He see all the dogs. Nap. Ketch. Susan. An’ the Indian papooses at the mission. And all the mans. Yes? And Luana play the forest game with boy-man. She run an’ hide. Yes? Oh, yes. Maybe to-morrow—after boy-man sleep.”
“Why us jump like anything?” the child asked, as the train crashed its way over some uneven points.
Luana laughed.