He waited until the boy came up to him. He was still holding the telegram in his hand, but Sherm did not notice it until he spoke.
Dr. Morton’s voice was very kind. “My boy, I am–afraid—” He got no farther. Sherm saw the telegram and understood. “Father?” he questioned. Dr. Morton nodded.
Sherm stood motionless, as if he were trying to realize that the blow he had so long dreaded, had fallen. Presently he looked up at the Doctor.
“There isn’t any train before to-morrow, is there?”
“No, Sherm, and I don’t think your mother expects–here, read the message.”
364Sherm’s hand shook. He read the meager words through twice, then crushed the paper in his fist.
“I am going home to-morrow,” he said doggedly. “I’ve got enough saved up for the railroad fare. He was my father–I haven’t seen him for a year. They might have told me! I am not a child any longer!”
Dr. Morton laid his hand on his shoulder. “Don’t, Sherm–don’t add bitterness to grief. Your mother may not have known in time. Death often comes suddenly at the last in such cases. And, my boy, I would think twice before setting out rashly. Your mother asks you to wait for her letter–she must have some good reason. The message was sent this morning. There will probably be a letter to-morrow.”
“I don’t care whether there’s a letter or not, I’m going.” There was a hard look on the boy’s face.
Chicken Little came running up, with Jilly panting alongside. “My, we had a good race, didn’t we, Jilly Dilly? Why–what’s—” She stopped short at sight of their grave faces.