“Oh, Janet!” said he.
“Oh, Roy!” was all she could answer.
And the boy and girl stood crowned with the golden halo, in absolute silence.
At last, as the sun’s rays were passing away, Roy spoke:
“Janet, they’re all gone! Taken away while you went with the work. Janet, the baby was dead in the night.”
The child said but one word, “Froze?”
“No,” said Roy, “it was the dipthery. And your mother had it, too. Somebody told on ’em, an’ so the Board of Health sent in a jiffy, an’ a great black ambulance came an’ took her an’ all the children, and then some men came and took everything out and burned it all, and did something to the room. I came and looked at them awhile, but they sent me away. I see the ambulance drive off. I was close to it.”
“Where?” Janet gasped.
“I don’t know,” said the boy.
Again there was silence. The children of the slums, born in poverty, sorrow, and disgrace, do not cry. Life is too stern a reality.