“Oh, Mr. David, my Bell Brandon’s going! She’s going! She won’t be here to-night for my sleep-time story. She won’t be here when I wake up to-morrow. She won’t ever stay here again.”
“No, lad,” I replied.
“Won’t she, don’t you ’spose? P’r’aps if she don’t like it at Hidden Lake she’ll come back. Don’t you think she’ll come again, Mr. David?”
“No,” I repeated, sadly.
He sniffled. Then he said, in a frightened tone, “Wanza ain’t going too, is she?”
“Yes, Joey.”
He drew his sleeve across his eyes. He swallowed. Then he said, winking hard, “I’ll miss Bell Brandon, but I’ll miss Wanza most.”
After a moment, I ventured:
“You have me, Joey.”
He drew his sleeve across his eyes again, gulped, and muttered: