He shut the door with a bang, and in a minute we were running through the town. I knew that Dorothy was watching my face with her wounded eyes; but I did not look at her until the green fields leapt up on either side of the white road.
"It is only for a little while that we may not see him," I said; "all this is nothing."
"I have forgotten," she repeated. "I think this is a very nice motor."
I had not previously complained of the motor, but I was wishing then that it would cease its poignant imitation of a little dead boy, a boy who would play no more. By the touch of Dorothy's sleeve against mine I knew that she could hear it too. And the miles flew by, green and brown and golden, while I wondered what use I might be in the world, who could not help a child to forget, Possibly there was another way, I thought.
"Tell me how it happened," I said.
Dorothy looked at me with inscrutable eyes, and spoke in a voice without emotion.
"He caught a cold, and was very ill in bed. I went in to see him, and he was all white and faded. I said to him, `How are you Edward?' and he said, `I shall get up early in the morning to catch beetles.' I didn't see him any more."
"Poor little chap!" I murmured.
"I went to the funeral," she continued monotonously, "It was very rainy, and I threw a little bunch of flowers down into the hole. There was a whole lot of flowers there; but I think Edward liked apples better than flowers."
"Did you cry?" I said cruelly.