And he went across the world with his songs.
And Who Shall Say——?
It was a dull November day, and the windows were heavily curtained, so that the room was very dark. In front of the fire was a large arm-chair, which shut whatever light there might be from the two children, a boy of eleven and a girl about two years younger, who sat on the floor at the back of the room. The boy was the better looking, but the girl had the better face. They were both gazing at the arm-chair with the utmost excitement.
"It's all right. He's asleep," said the boy.
"Oh, do be careful! you'll wake him," whispered the girl.
"Are you afraid?"
"No, why should I be afraid of my father, stupid?"
"I tell you he's not father any more. He's a murderer," the boy said hotly. "He told me, I tell you. He said, `I have killed your mother, Ray,' and I went and looked, and mother was all red. I simply shouted, and she wouldn't answer. That means she's dead. His hand was all red, too."
"Was it paint?"
"No, of course it wasn't paint. It was blood. And then he came down here and went to sleep."