“No?” There was a puzzled note in the pastor's voice.
“She went out,” Polly corrected.
“Out!” he echoed blankly.
“Yes—finished—Lights out.”
“Oh, an accident.” Douglas understood at last.
“I don't like to talk about it.” Polly raised herself on her elbow and looked at him solemnly, as though about to impart a bit of forbidden family history. It was this look in the round eyes that had made Jim so often declare that the kid knew everything.
“Why mother'd a been ashamed if she'd a knowed how she wound up. She was the best rider of her time, everybody says so, but she cashed in by fallin' off a skate what didn't have no more ginger 'an a kitten. If you can beat that?” She gazed at him with her lips pressed tightly together, evidently expecting some startling expression of wonder.
“And your father?” Douglas asked rather lamely, being at a loss for any adequate comment upon a tragedy which the child before him was too desolate even to understand.
“Oh, DAD'S finish was all right. He got his'n in a lion's cage where he worked. There was nothing slow about his end.” She looked up for his approval.
“For de Lord's sake!” Mandy groaned as the wonder of the child's conversation grew upon her.