He has no thought for self at such a time.
As it turns the corner, his mournful eyes are seen at the window, gazing after his little playmate who is being carried away.
Or does he realize it is only the beautiful body they are taking, which was all too frail for the bright spirit now flown these two days since!
CHAPTER XVIII
Again the mother is in the city home. No crib stands by the fireplace; no tiny garments are spread out to air. All is orderly as in the years that now seem so far away.
She sits with book or needle.
The book falls to her knee, the work slips to the floor; tears steal down her cheeks.
Bruno presses near, his head against her arm. With his uplifted, pleading eyes, he seems to say,—