“What a while you ‘ve been away, Boss,” he said. “We ‘d most given you up for lost. The mail’s in and there’s a pile of letters for Mr. Helm. None for you though.”
“Is everything all right?” asked Anderson, feeling like a man who had come back from the grave.
“N-o-o, there’s mighty bad news. I don’t like to tell though.”
“Out with it, man, don’t keep me waiting.”
The lad looked away and turned his pipe from side of his mouth to the other.
“It ‘s your youngster,” he said. “He had convulsions last Sunday. Mrs. Brook—she said as nothing couldn’t have saved him. ‘It was a blessed release,’ she said.”
Anderson flung the reins to the lad and walked quietly into the house. It was a mistake, he clearly saw, coming back from the grave. He wished he had died within five miles of Gerring Gerring Water.