"Is the train your little boy's?"
"Yes, dear. This was his room."
"And his bed?"
"Yes; everything in the room was his."
"Where is your little boy?"
It was quite a long time before she replied and then it was so low Bobby scarcely heard.
"He's gone away."
"When did he go away?"
That seemed a very hard question to answer.
"Three months ago," said the lady at last, her fingers at her throat as though to help the words come out.