"Now he's gone. He's out of sight. No; I can see his head. It's going up
and down."
A long pause.
"Well, what's doing?" said Kit eagerly, and somewhat impatiently.
"Can't see a thing."
"Oh, rats! Let me look."
"Keep quiet. I see his head now."
"Is that all? What's he doing?"
"Here he comes. I can see his shoulders all bent over."
"Is he hurt?"
"Of course not, silly."
"Then why is he bent over?"
"I believe he's carrying something. Yes. He has something in his arms.
Goodness, gracious me!"
"What is it?"
"Why, he's carrying a wolf in his arms. But what a funny wolf."
"I insist upon having the glass. I'm the fellow on watch."
"Kit, you're very rude. Don't bother me. Don't you see through me? Am I
not telling you everything that occurs?"
"Oh, what's the use?" Kit shrugged his shoulders in a disgusted way, as
if he were expressing the futility of arguing with a woman, and wishing
that she were a boy, so that he could punch her head and take back his
glass again.
"What's the matter with the wolf?" Kit asked at last, in a sulky tone.
"If you get mad at me, Kit, I won't talk to you." Stella took down the
glass for a moment and looked at Kit severely.
"All right, fire away, but tell me what's going on, for Heaven's sake.
Don't break off in the middle that way.
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