The tears swiftly gathered in Miss Mollie's soft brown eyes.
“I'm afraid he's gone,” she said.
There was a pause. Brown followed a crack in the floor from the desk to the wall opposite and back again with his embarrassed glance.
“Anything happened?” he at length asked, and the very bluntness of his query threw him into a state of intense and painful confusion, but he gripped himself hard and went on. “She”—he jerked his thumb in the direction of the diningroom where Mollie could be heard clearing away the supper dishes—“she's feeling pretty bad,” he hazarded, and once more was stricken dumb.
“Yes, she's feeling awful bad, Mr. Brown. Johnny's gone. He sent down word—a good-by—from the Red Bird this afternoon, and said he was going.”
Brown considered.
“He should be fetched back,” he presently observed with conviction.
“Where is Mr. Bunny?” asked Miss Mollie, and her tone betrayed anxiety.
Brown flushed under his sunburn.
“He's left Sunset. He went sudden.”