In watching him, Jo tried to forget his own
self-reproach.
So far did he succeed in forgetting it that, that evening, when
Louis Rouse, one of the other boys whose parents were staying at the
resort during the summer vacation, proposed going over to the
Chinese village, Jo did not object, though he knew that the purpose
of going was to have some "fun," as Louis called it.
"Was the line of flounders up?" asked Louis gleefully, as the boys
went over the fields in the dusk. "Let's cut it again! And, say,
let's just tip over one of those frames for drying fish in the field
back of the village. We can do it carefully, so they won't hear."
Chuckling softly and speaking in whispers only, the boys crept about
the fishing-village and did the mischief planned. They pretended
that the Chinese village was a fort of enemies, and the boys were a
band of soldiers reconnoitering in the dark. They became quite
excited over the idea. Doing mischief seemed so much more glorious
than it would if they had allowed themselves to think that they were
really American boys doing a contemptible thing to quiet, peaceable
people.
Just as the boys had quietly tipped over one of the fish-frames,
letting the partially dried fish slide to the ground, there were
shouts in the dark of the Chinese village.
"The enemy's coming, boys!" whispered Louis, and the lads rushed for
the fence.
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