Some boys caught their feet in the big, spread-out net, and fell,
and rolled over, shaking with laughter. Others stuck between the
barbed wires of the fence, but all were outside, running across the
fields, before the Chinese had sallied out toward their frames. Some
distance from the fishing village, the boys dropped breathless
behind the large rocks near the sea, and laughed softly together. Jo
laughed with the others, though he said, "I sha'n't dare go near the
village for a week, till my hand gets well. The barbed wire gave me
some pretty deep scratches on the back of one hand, and the Chinamen
might guess how I got the marks."
"I've got one on my forehead, I guess," answered Louis, laughing.
"It feels so, anyway, and I guess it's bleeding."
The boys went home. Jo was silent on the way.
"I'm tired, laughing so much," he explained to the rest.
He could not help remembering how kind Quang Po's voice had sounded
when he said, "You draw like Melican."
During the next week Jo stayed away from the fishing village. The
scratches on his hand and on his cheek were all too plainly visible.
He occupied his vacation-time in rambling in other places besides
the Chinese village.
One morning, in his rambles, he went to what had once been an old
adobe dwelling. It was on a hill, quite a distance outside the town,
and was not often visited by any one.
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