Fred’s hand moved about in search of hers, as he asked,—
“How did you know I’d come?”
“Rob told me last night.”
“Did he tell you”—
Fred could go no farther. Bess pulled the appealing little face over against her shoulder, and gently smoothed his hair, as she answered, using all her self-control to speak quietly,—
“Yes, dear, he did. I can’t tell you how sorry we all felt for our boy. That doesn’t make it any easier to bear, I know; but perhaps in time we can help you a little.”
For the first time since his learning the sad truth, the boy broke down. He had listened to the words of the oculist without a tear, too much stunned even to speak, and he had met his father and mother with perfect quiet. But the few gentle, loving words had broken his firm resolve not to be a baby; and the tears gathered fast and fell, as he sat with his head on Bessie’s shoulder, her arm about his quivering little body.
“Oh, don’t tell the boys!” he sobbed at last. “Don’t tell them I cried. I didn’t
