"Yes. Very much."
"Any broken bones, sir?" Jack was trying not to show how much he was moved.
"Worse. He was run down by a butcher's cart, dashing round a corner. Your father had no time to get out of the way. He was thrown down, and the cart passed over him."
"Has the doctor seen him?"
"Mr. Bateson was going by at the moment,—and I was there too. It was a sad sight."
"And he's been taken home, of course. Poor mother! That's soon for another accident." Jack's words bore evident reference to his own broken leg in the previous spring. "And what does the doctor say, sir? Does he think father will soon be up and about again?"
"No, Jack!" The words, and still more the manner, startled Jack.
"So bad as that!"
"I have not told you the worst. Not only did the cart go over him, but also—his head struck the curb-stone, as he fell. And—"
A long pause followed, which the Vicar would not break. They walked steadily, side by side; Jack's face turned away. The Vicar wondered how far he yet understood.