So he was not alone, not
alone. He could not quite have told any one why he was so glad, and this
warmth had come to him. His cheeks were burning. No wonder that Bonaparte
called in vain, and Doss put his paws on the ladder, and whined till three-
quarters of an hour had passed. At last the boy put the book in his breast
and buttoned it tightly to him. He took up the salt pot, and went to the
top of the ladder. Bonaparte, with his hands folded under his coat-tails,
looked up when he appeared, and accosted him.
"You've been rather a long time up there, my lad," he said, as the boy
descended with a tremulous haste, most unlike his ordinary slow movements.
"You didn't hear me calling, I suppose?"
Bonaparte whisked the tails of his coat up and down as he looked at him.
He, Bonaparte Blenkins, had eyes which were very far-seeing. He looked at
the pot. It was rather a small pot to have taken three-quarters of an hour
in the filling. He looked at the face. It was flushed. And yet, Tant
Sannie kept no wine--he had not been drinking; his eyes were wide open and
bright--he had not been sleeping; there was no girl up there--he had not
been making love. Bonaparte looked at him sagaciously. What would account
for the marvellous change in the boy coming down the ladder from the boy
going up the ladder? One thing there was.
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