I kept away from every point where I could catch so much as a glimpse of the freshet.
“You have robbed me of the brightest and best boy I ever knew,” I muttered, in bitterness of spirit; “he was one whom I loved as if he were a son.”
The shadow of death seemed to rest on the office when I reached it. The loss of Ben Mayberry was a personal affliction to everyone there. Only the most necessary words were spoken, and the sighing, which could be heard at all times, came from the heart.
I went to my desk in a mechanical way, and had just placed my hand on the instrument, when I was thrilled by a call which I would have recognized among a thousand. Others heard and identified it also, and held their breath. The next instant this message reached me:
“Dear Mr. Melville—Tell mother I am all right, but in need of dry clothing.
“Ben Mayberry.”