But as
the boy came to a halt, against a sharp-pointed rock, and sat up,
sniveling with pain, the great dog's aspect changed. Seeming to
realize he was somehow to blame, he jumped lightly down from the
car and went over to offer to the sufferer such comfort as
patting forepaw and friendly licking tongue could afford.
"Here!" called the guide, who had seen but a crosssection of the
collision. "Here, you! Stop a-playin' with the dorg, and hustle
them bags onto--"
"I wa'n't playin' with him," half-blubbered the boy, glowering
dourly at the sympathetic Lad; and scrambling up from his
bruise-punctured roll on the ground. "He came a-buntin' me; and
I--"
"That'll do, Sonny!" rasped Barret, who was strong on discipline
and who fancied he had witnessed the climax of a merry game
between boy and dog, "I seen what I seen. And I don't aim to take
no back-talk from a wall-eyed, long-legged, chuckle-headed brat;
that's hired to help his poor old dad and who spends his time
cuttin' monkeyshines with a dorg. You take that collie over to
the truck, and ask his boss to look after him and to see he don't
pester us while we're aworkin'.
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