The boy nodded. Lawson pulled out of the road and the boy drove abreast of him. He had a wagon-load of dead branches he had been gathering up through the woods. He reined in to say, "Mr. Carroll is my father."
Lawson looked his friendly interest.
"I've been getting wood for the kitchen stove; it burns better than the green wood," the boy volunteered by way of conversation as he drove ahead.
Suddenly Lawson called to him, "Your cousin is staying with you?"
The boy standing on the board in front of the wagon, the reins in his hands, looked back, "Who?" he called.
"Miss Holloway!" shouted Lawson.
"She was; she's gone; went this morning."
For one moment Lawson sat speechless. He saw the dark vistas of the wood, the desolate road, the bare trees and whirling leaves and thin undergrowth. Then he felt he must speak, "When, did you say?" dully.
"This morning!"