He had rushed ahead of them, and his voice could
be heard in the distance, howling piteously.
With a fresh impetus the little muddy party hurried forward.
Tiger's yelps could be heard plainer and plainer, mingled now
with a muffled, plaintive little wail.
After a while they found a pitiful little heap of sodden rags,
lying at the foot of a mound of earth and stones thrown upon the
side of the track. It was Titee with a broken leg, all wet and
miserable and moaning.
They picked him up tenderly, and started to carry him home. But
he cried and clung to the mother, and begged not to go.
"Ah, mon pauvre enfant, he has the fever!" wailed the mother.
"No, no, it's my old man. He's hungry," sobbed Titee, holding
out a little package. It was the remnants of his dinner, all wet
and rain-washed.
"What old man?" asked the big brother.
"My old man. Oh, please, please don't go home till I see him.
I'm not hurting much, I can go."
So, yielding to his whim, they carried him farther away, down the
sides of the track up to an embankment or levee by the sides of
the Marigny Canal. Then the big brother, suddenly stopping,
exclaimed:
"Why, here's a cave. Is it Robinson Crusoe?"
"It's my old man's cave," cried Titee. "Oh, please go in; maybe
he's dead."
There cannot be much ceremony in entering a cave. There is but
one thing to do,--walk in. This they did, and holding up the
lantern, beheld a weird sight.
Pages:
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106