"Poor lad," said Stephen Hopkins, laying his hand gently on the boy's shoulder.
"Do you want to tell us? Was it an accident?"
Francis nodded. "Bouncing Bully," he muttered.
Stephen Hopkins glanced questioningly at Constance; he thought perhaps Francis was wandering in his mind.
"That was poor Jack's great pistol that he took such pride in," cried Constance.
"Oh, Francis, did that kill him?"
"Burst," cried Francis, and said no more.
"Come home with us, Francis," said Mr. Hopkins. "Indeed, my boy, I am heartily sorry for thee, and wish I could comfort thee. Be brave, and bear it in the way that thou hast been taught."
"I liked Jack," said poor Francis, turning away. "I thank you, Mr. Hopkins, but I'd not care to go home with you. If Giles was back——. Not that I don't love you, Con, but Jack and Giles——. I'm going—somewhere. I guess I'll find Nimrod, my dog. Thank you, Mr. Hopkins, but I couldn't come. I forgot why I came here. Doctor Fuller told me to say he wanted you. It's about Jack—Jack's——. They'll bury him."
The boy turned away, staggering, but in a moment Constance and her father, watching him, saw him break into a run and disappear.