“Are you sorry you killed me and brought me here?”
“But I did not kill you, little one. I would not have hurt you for the whole world. Now look straight in my face and tell me if you don’t believe me.”
“W-e-l-l,” drawled Owlet, hesitatingly, “I may believe you didn’t intend to do it, but you did do it, all the same, and what you did it for the Lord only knows—I don’t.”
Here the train stopped, and people began to leave their seats.
“What are they going out for?” inquired Owlet.
“To get something to eat. Shall I go and fetch you some cake and some sweet wine?”
“Oh, yes, do! I am awful hungry! My stomach’s gone to my backbone. I’m as hollow as—as anything.”
Hanson went out and crossed to the refreshment room, and soon returned with a paper bag of cakes and a glass of sweet wine.
“Here,” he said, “drink the wine first, because I must take the glass back to the room. You can eat your cake while I am getting something for myself.”
“All right,” said Owlet. “Don’t let me keep you.”