“O-oh? what’s that?”
“Poor Toffee was killed.”
“What!”
Ned stopped suddenly in the mastication of the treacle tart. His eyes bulged and his cheeks became very red. He stared at his mother wildly, and repeated.
“What’s that? What’s that ye say, mother?”
“Poor Toffee, my dear. It happened right at the cross-roads. Henry was takin’ him out. It seems he ran round in front of a steam-roller, and a motor came round the corner sudden. Henry called out, but too late. Went right over his back. Poor Henry was quite upset. He brought him home. What’s the matter, dear?”
Ned had pushed his chair back and he stood up. He stared at his mother like a man who has seen horror for the first time.
“Where is he——where was——” he stammered.
“We buried ’im, dear, under the little mound beyond the rabbit hutches.”
Ned staggered across the room like a drunken man, and repeated dismally: