He obeyed in silence. Chicken Little kept her eyes on the road ahead. A sharp exclamation from Sherm startled her:
“God, it can’t be true!”
Sherm swearing? She looked at him in amazement. The boy was not swearing; he had cried out in utter agony. He dropped the letter on the floor of the buggy and buried his face in his hands.
“Sherm, Sherm, what is it?” Chicken Little was frightened.
He did not answer. He did not seem to have noticed that she had spoken. She reached over and touched him. “Sherm! Sherm!” He shook off her hand impatiently.
369Chicken Little hesitated a moment, then flicked the horses into a swift trot. She must get him home. Perhaps he was going to be ill. The boy did not move or look up for miles. When the horses splashed through the ford at Elm Creek, he roused himself and looked dully at Jane.
“Sherm, please tell me. It will make it easier for you to tell somebody, and I’m worried to death.”
He stooped and picked up the letter. Smoothing it out, he thrust it into her hand. “Read it.” He took the reins.
Chicken Little ran over the letter hurriedly. It bore a date some days previous.