He told of
the queer plaything he had made, and offered to show how all had happened.
Ab was doubtful but laughing now, for the little shaft, which had scarcely
pierced the skin of Beechleaf's arm had fallen to the ground and that
young person's fright had given way to vengeful indignation and she was
demanding that Bark be hit with something. He allowed the sinner to give
his proof. Bark, taking his toy, essayed to show how Beechleaf had been
injured. He was the most unfortunate of youths. He succeeded but too well.
The mimic arrow flew again and the sound that rang out now was not the cry
of a child. It was the yell of a great youth, who felt a sudden and
poignant hurt, and who was not maintaining any dignity. Had Bark been as
sure of hand and certain of aim as any archer who lived in later centuries
he could not have sent an arrow more fairly to its mark than he sent that
admirable sliver into the chest of his big brother. For a second the
culprit stood with staring eyes, then dropped his toy and flew into the
forest with a howl which betokened his fear of something little less than
sudden death.
Ab's first impulse was to pursue his sinful younger brother, but, after
the first leap, he checked himself and paused to pluck away the thing
which, so light the force that had impelled it, had not gone deeply in.
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