As he felt more tolerant in his after-dinner
mood, he tried to cheer her up by telling her how fine father had
looked beside the other two men. Mother raised her face, all swollen
and spoilt with weeping, and gazed at her son in astonishment. "They
are taking him to prison," she wailed, "and God knows what will
become of us." For a moment Jack felt alarmed. Then a thought came to him and he
smiled, like a little boy who has just found a new and delightful
game. "Never mind, mother," he said, "we'll help him to escape." But mother would not stop crying. Shepherd's Boy

The path climbed up and up and threatened to carry me over the
highest point of the downs till it faltered before a sudden
outcrop of chalk and swerved round the hill on the level. I was
grateful for the respite, for I had been walking all day and my
knapsack was growing heavy. Above me in the blue pastures of the
skies the cloud-sheep were grazing, with the sun on their snowy
backs, and all about me the grey sheep of earth were cropping
the wild pansies that grew wherever the chalk had won a covering
of soil. Presently I came upon the shepherd standing erect by the path, a
tall, spare man with a face that the sun and the wind had robbed of
all expression. The dog at his feet looked more intelligent than he. "You've come up from the valley," he said as I passed; "perhaps
you'll have seen my boy?" "I'm sorry, I haven't," I said, pausing. "Sorrow breaks no bones," he muttered, and strode away with his dog
at his heels. It seemed to me that the dog was apologetic for his
master's rudeness. I walked on to the little hill-girt village, where I had made up my
mind to pass the night. The man at the village shop said he would put
me up, so I took off my knapsack and sat down on a sackful of cattle
cake while the bacon was cooking. "If you came over the hill, you'll have met shepherd," said the man,
"and he'll have asked you for his boy." "Yes, but I hadn't seen him." The shopman nodded. "There are clever folk who say you can see him,
and clever folk who say you can't. The simple ones like you and me,
we say nothing, but we don't see him. Shepherd hasn't got no boy." "What! is it a joke?" "Well, of course it may be," said the shop-man guardedly, "though I
can't say I've heard many people laughing at it yet. You see,
shepherd's boy he broke his neck. . . . "That was in the days before they built the fence above the big
chalk-pit that you passed on your left coming down. A dangerous
place it used to be for the sheep, so shepherd's boy he used to lie
along there to stop them dropping into it, while shepherd's dog he
stopped them from going too far. And shepherd he used to come down
here and have his glass, for he took it then like you or me. He's
blue ribbon now. "It was one night when the mists were out on the hills, and maybe
shepherd had had a glass too much, or maybe he got a bit lost in the
smoke. But when he went up there to bring them home, he starts
driving them into the pit as straight as could be. Shepherd's boy he
hollered out and ran to stop them, but four-and-twenty of them went
over, and the lad he went with them. You mayn't believe me, but five
of them weren't so much as scratched, though it's a sixty feet drop. Likely they fell soft on top of the others. But shepherd's boy he was
done. "Shepherd he's a bit spotty now, and most times he thinks the boy's
still with him. And there are clever folk who'll tell you that
they've seen the boy helping shepherd's dog with the sheep. That
would be a ghost now, I shouldn't wonder. I've never seen it, but
then I'm simple, as you might say. "But I've had two boys myself, and it seems to me that a boy like
that, who didn't eat and didn't get into mischief, and did his work,
would be the handiest kind of boy to have about the place." The Passing of Edward

I found Dorothy sitting sedately on the beach, with a mass of black
seaweed twined in her hands and her bare feet sparkling white in the
sun. Even in the first glow of recognition I realised that she was
paler than she had been the summer before, and yet I cannot blame
myself for the tactlessness of my question. "Where's Edward?" I said; and I looked about the sands for a sailor
suit and a little pair of prancing legs. While I looked Dorothy's eyes watched mine inquiringly, as if she
wondered what I might see. "Edward's dead," she said simply. "He died last year, after you
left." For a moment I could only gaze at the child in silence, and ask
myself what reason there was in the thing that had hurt her so. Now
that I knew that Edward played with her no more, I could see that
there was a shadow upon her face too dark for her years, and that she
had lost, to some extent, that exquisite carelessness of poise which
makes children so young. Her voice was so calm that I might have
thought her forgetful had I not seen an instant of patent pain in her
wide eyes. "I'm sorry," I said at length "very, very, sorry indeed. I had
brought down my car to take you for a drive, as I promised." "Oh! Edward _would_ have liked that," she answered thoughtfully; "he
was so fond of motors." She swung round suddenly and looked at the
sands behind her with staring eyes. "I thought I heard--" she broke off in confusion. I, too, had believed for an instant that I had heard something
that was not the wind or the distant children or the smooth sea
hissing along the beach. During that golden summer which linked
me with the dead, Edward had been wont, in moments of elation,
to puff up and down the sands, in artistic representation of a
nobby, noisy motor-car. But the dead may play no more, and there
was nothing there but the sands and the hot sky and Dorothy. "You had better let me take you for a run, Dorothy," I said. "The man
will drive, and we can talk as we go along." She nodded gravely, and began pulling on her sandy stockings. "It did not hurt him," she said inconsequently. The restraint in her voice pained me like a blow. "Oh, don't, dear, don't!" I cried, "There is nothing to do but
forget." "I have forgotten, quite," she answered, pulling at her shoe-laces
with calm fingers. "It was ten months ago." We walked up to the front, where the car was waiting, and Dorothy
settled herself among the cushions with a little sigh of contentment,
the human quality of which brought me a certain relief. If only she
would laugh or cry! I sat down by her side, but the man waited by the
open door. "What is it?" I asked. "I'm sorry, sir," he answered, looking about him in confusion, "I
thought I saw a young gentleman with you." He shut the door with a bang, and in a minute we were running through
the town. I knew that Dorothy was watching my face with her wounded
eyes; but I did not look at her until the green fields leapt up on
either side of the white road. "It is only for a little while that we may not see him," I said; "all
this is nothing." "I have forgotten," she repeated. "I think this is a very nice
motor."