Rock did not press for particulars.
“It hurts you,” he said kindly. “I expect you thought a lot of him. But it’s done. Now, is there anything I can do?”
“What can you do?” she cried, the first despairing note that had entered her voice. “Can you give back life? Can you——”
She checked herself in the middle of the sentence.
“Oh, I mustn’t be silly,” she said, after a moment. “It’s so useless. Only, it seems—— Ah, well.”
She turned away. Rock closed the door behind them. The baby sat on the chair by the table, waiting patiently.
“If you’ll put up your horse,” she said, “I’ll get some supper.”
“Look here,” Rock said bluntly, “I’m foot-loose for the time being. Is there anything you want done? Anybody you want notified about this? My horses are fairly fresh.”
She stood a second. “Oh, I’ve got to think,” she said. “No, not to-night. And there is no one, anyway. In the morning we may——”
She turned to the kitchen stove and lifted a lid. It had gone down to a few charred sticks. Rock took that matter off her hands. He rebuilt the fire and noted empty water pails on a bench.