ing 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.

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