"An' dead an' burnt?"
"Yes."
"And never was no relation to any of us?"
"No."
"Oh-h!"
He lay back on his pillow, conscious of a new loneliness—of being bereft of something he had counted his. Yes; it was just as if some one belonging to him had died.
After Aunt Valeria had told him why they had burned Shelley's body, and even after she had repeated all his favorite poems, a sense of loss remained.
She thought he was asleep when she kissed him good-night. But he stirred and gave a little sigh.
"Well, I'm glad I've got my fireflies, anyhow," he murmured.