Harry pushed his bandage aside, and said, with sincere sorrow, “No, no! Mrs. Dobson; not a word. We were only”—he stopped, with an instinctive feeling that they had been very unfeeling to make-believe on the subject at all.
Kate took up his sentence bravely. “I’ll tell you all about it, dear Mrs. Dobson,” throwing her arms about the old lady and urging her to a seat in a rocking chair. “It was all me, every bit of it; and we were just trying to make-believe that he got saved when the Snow went down.”
“Did the Snow go down? Who knows?” she asked, sobbing and crying, and quite broken down by hearing the fact put into words.
“I’m sorry we said a word,” said Kate, crying with Mrs. Dobson; and, dropping down upon a footstool, she laid her head in Mrs. Dobson’s lap.
“You will please forgive us, won’t you?” spoke up the boy in the bed.
“Forgive you! Yes, indeed. I’m glad you thought enough about my poor—about Captain Dobson to talk of him at all, and to-day, too! Why, I always go down the harbor to-day; it is just thirty-seven years ago to-day since we were married and the ship went on its voyage.”
“And you will go this afternoon, won’t you?” questioned Kate.
“I mustn’t,” she said simply.
“Why not?”
“Why, I’ve got a little boy of my own to look after to-day, don’t you see?” she said, suddenly smiling, with an uplifted face.