"We shall see about that. You would like a ball to play with in this room and in the yard?"
"O, yes! I have a ball at home."
"Frank, my boy, this is your home. You are to live here now. You are not going back."
"But I want my ball, and I want mother."
"You shall have a ball; but your mother is gone away for ever."
"Will the ball be all red and blue?" His own had been dull white, unrelieved by colour.
"I think so," said the father gravely, and grateful for the suggestion contained in the boy's words. He had forgotten that splendid balls such as are never used in fives, or tennis, or cricket, or racket could be got in the toy-shops.
The boy was satisfied.
Then Bramwell took a brush and began sweeping the empty room with great vigour and determination, chatting all the while to the boy about the wonderful adventures encountered by Frank and Freddie that day in their many journeys by sea and land.
By the time the room was swept the dinner was ready, and Bramwell, who had learned to wait upon himself, carried in the tray, cleared away half the table of papers, spread the folded-up cloth, and the two sat down.