He was sitting in the room underneath Aggie’s. He had a pen in his hand, and his mind was unusually calm and clear. He had just telegraphed to his brother that he couldn’t go—because Aggie was dead. Now he was trying to write to Aggie’s mother to tell her to come—because Aggie was dead.
He had a great many things to see to—because Aggie was dead.
All at once he raised his head; he listened; he started up with a groan that was a cry, and went from the room.
Up-stairs in the nursery a child’s voice was singing:
“‘I saw a ship a-sailing, a-sailing on the sea.
And it was full of pretty things—for Baby—and for me.’”