Ralph proceeded homewards. It warmed his heart to see how thoroughly his mother entered into all his hopes and projects. She was soon busy in her quick, sure way, sewing on more strongly the buttons of jumper and overalls, and promised to have a neat light cap and working gloves ready for him by nightfall.
Ralph explained to her about the broken window, got a rule from his father's old tool chest, and went over to the vacant factory.
It was surrounded by a high fence, but at one place in seeking lost balls members of the Criterion Club had partially removed a gate. Ralph passed among the débris littering the yard, and went around the place until he found a door with a broken lock.
He gained the inside and went up a rickety stairs. Swinging open a door at their top, Ralph found himself in the compartment with the broken window.
The air was close and unwholesome, despite the orifice the baseball had made. A broken skylight topped the center of the room, and a rain of the previous night had dripped down unimpeded and soaked the flooring.
"The ball must be here somewhere," mused Ralph. "There it is, but----"
As he spied the ball about the center of the room, Ralph discerned something else that sent a quick wave of concern across his nerves.
He stood silent and spellbound.
Upon the floor was a human being, so grimly stark and white, that death was instantly suggested to Ralph's mind.
His eyes, becoming accustomed to the half-veiled light filtered through the dirt-crusted panes of the skylight, made out that the figure on the floor was that of a boy.