My daughter ran to him and put her arm about him. He was alive, and he shook his head and moaned, “I want my father. I want my father.”
“Yes,” said she, “your father. Is he—?”
“In there,” he whispered.
“Ah! He is—”
“Under the wall. I saw it fall on him. He is in there.”
“Oh, my poor boy!”
“I killed him. And all I wanted was to make him good.”
She put her arm under him and raised him, and he stood up.
“Come with me, dear boy,” said she.
“I can’t go away. I can’t leave him in there. Can’t you help me to see him?”