"My dad's dead! That's his grave," he said, with a wave of his hand.
"Where?" said Denys aghast.
He pointed to the dancing waves. "What colour does you call that sea? Does you know colours?" he asked gravely.
"Why, yes! I know them. The sea is blue."
Harry shook his head unbelievingly.
"It's a red sea where my dad is?" he said.
"Where is your mother?"
Harry nodded inland, and a shadow fell over his sturdy little face.
"She's always coughing—she don't come out with Harry no more," he said, plaintively. Then his tone brightened. "She's going away somewheres; she's going to get quite well—it's along of Jesus, our best Friend—and I'm going with her," he added determinately.
There was a pause. Denys felt a great compassion for the little chap. She wondered what would happen to him when mother got quite well, and yet—with Jesus for best Friend—need she have wondered?